Page 22 of Caught in His Sights

“We didn’t know about the other Omegas from the apartment complex.” Caleb’s words break the silence, and I flinch in surprise. “We thought the building manager was greedy and jumped on a fast way to earn a lot of money when he sold out Leo.”

My hands fist on my thighs. “The blackmail might have been opportunistic, but that man definitely knew what he was doing. He was facilitating the exploitation of Omegas and helping them disappear.”

“Did you tell the cops about it?” Caleb asks.

“Of course I did,” I say, my voice dull. “But they treated me like a hysterical Omega. They’d send someone over to talk to the apartment manager, who’d tell them he kicked out anyone caught working on the premise or late on rent, and nothing ever came of it.”

I watch the expensive houses pass by. “I suspect the police were being bribed to look the other way.”

Caleb remains silent.

Exhaustion sweeps over me, and I rest my head back against the headrest. “Yesterday, Detective Wells told me Dylan’s case isn’t a priority because he’s most likely dead.”

When Caleb doesn’t say anything, I stare out the window, feeling hollow. “I already knew, statistically, it was unlikely for Dylan to still be alive after so long.”

“Is that why you didn’t care when I showed up in your apartment to kill you?” Caleb asks, a rumble in his voice.

“I’m just numb to the idea of dying.” I swallow hard. “There’s nothing left to keep me going.”

A bitter laugh escapes, an empty pit opening in my chest. “Maybe I’m more like my papa than I realized.”

Caleb pulls into the garage of a stylish townhouse and parks the car before grabbing my jaw and turning me to look at him.

His intense regard burns into me. “Then we’ll have to figure out a way to make you want to live.”

The breath catches in my throat as I stare back at him, something inside me shifting, a flicker of hope trying to ignite.

As Caleb leads me into his home, I take in the modern architecture and minimalist furniture that leaves few places for someone to hide. Artwork fills a gallery wall, and my fingers itch to check behind them for stashed weapons and secret safes.

It’s high-end but not too flashy, fitting for a billionaire playboy without being excessive. Narrow windows sit side-by-side in a row, an architectural detail that also isn’t wide enough for anyone to slip through.

Bulletproof glass?

“If you’re looking for a way to escape, I wouldn’t suggest it.” Caleb circles a finger to indicate the room. “There are cameras and alarms everywhere.”

“Got it.” I wander into the adjoining kitchen, where I find gleaming, stainless-steel appliances, marble countertops, and a high-tech lighting system.

Caleb follows and leans against the large island, watching in amusement as I investigate the barren cabinets before walking to the fridge.

I open it to display sparkling, empty shelves. “Can we order some groceries? And do you have silverware and plates?”

When I turn to him, he raises an eyebrow. “Are you having fun making yourself at home?”

“You said not to run away,” I point out.

“You’re not going to argue?” he asks, expecting resistance from me.

“Isn’t the plan for you to give me a reason to live?” I join him at the island. “That doesn’t work if I escape, now, does it? Besides, I only clung to my old apartment because it’s where I lived with Dylan.”

Caleb looks sympathetic but doesn’t offer any meaningless words of reassurance. Instead, he pulls out his phone, opens an app, and passes it to me. “Add whatever you like to the shopping list.”

Bending over the screen, I pick out groceries, both for myself and him. “I expected your house to be bigger.”

“Why?” Caleb slides down the island to be closer. “I don’t invite people over, and I don’t want a house cleaner. So, I’m keeping things modest.”

“Modest.” I snort, glancing at the expensive artwork. “Do you expect me to believe those are knockoffs?”

“They’re investments,” he corrects.

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