Page 37 of Faith and Fury

Sirena checks her watch. “Couple hours.”

“Maverick should be back by now.” He paces the bullpen, then turns to me. “You get an update?”

“About thirty minutes ago,” I answer. “Said he’d be back soon.”

Caleb chuffs, displeased.

I can sense Sirena’s eyes on me, wondering what the hell’s gotten into him. Maybe it was a mistake to take him away from Faith, at least until we had something solid to show for it. I kind of get what Maverick was bitching about, now.

Caleb is absolutely drenched in heat pheromones.

At last, our red-haired scout comes charging through the doors. He makes a beeline for Caleb, casting me a stern sideways glance that reads, We need to talk.

The three of us head into Caleb’s office. No-one sits.

Maverick doesn’t waste any time. “Finally got a tip from my snitch at the sports bar on Fairweather. Mentioned a fight broke out last night—some rich prick getting into it with a bookie.”

Caleb folds his arms. “What about?”

“Apparently he’d placed a winning bid. Big one—we’re talking six figures big.” Maverick shrugs. “Hadn’t been paid off.”

I scowl. “Did he give any other specifics?”

“Yeah. Something about his ‘champion’. Went by the tag F-7.”

F-7. Okay. That’s a lead. Means all we have to do is talk to the rogues who escaped and see if they know who fought under that tag. Odds are, the ringleaders are going to want this person back, either to make good on the bid, or to avoid paying it back. God knows they need the cash.

We can use that. Lure them out. Make them—

I suddenly realize Caleb hasn’t said anything. When I look at him, the color has drained out of his face.

“Hey.” I touch his arm. “You with us, boss?”

He swallows. “The champion. He give a description?”

“Uh …” Maverick frowns. “Only that it was a rogue omega. And apparently she was a real piece of work.”

That’s when it starts to dawn on me. When we raided the arena, and Caleb checked on the rogues, and I unlocked the ring … there were two omegas in that ring. One, beaten and defeated.

The other, victorious.

It’s too soon to say for sure, and yet I can feel it, the same way I know Caleb can feel it—like something cold and rotten sinking through me.

“Faith,” Caleb says. His voice is grim. “He bid on Faith.”

Chapter Twenty

Micah

I get Faith set up on the couch with plenty of pillows, though not once has she taken me up on my offer to nest.

If she were my patient, that’s where I’d start, my psychiatric training nags.

I shove it down. Faith is not my patient. Good psychiatrists do not sleep with their patients.

I bring her some snacks to eat in front of the TV. God, she looks cute—draped in a fuzzy blanket, hair still damp from the bath, soft and blushing in all the right places. Her blue eyes glow, absently watching a sitcom.

I’d give anything to see her laugh. To just see her smile.

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