Page 5 of Faith and Fury

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay. You’re okay. We’re getting you out of here.”

Her lips part, but no sound comes out. She tries to move her hands—maybe to gesture, or maybe to rip my throat out—but either way, it’s a risk I can’t take.

“I’m sorry,” I explain, “this will only hurt for a second.”

I hastily administer a sedative, wincing as I see the needle disappear into her neck. Those wild blue eyes flicker urgently, like she wants to tell me something. She’s unconscious before I can ask.

I grab my radio. “Get me paramedics. We’ve got two beaten omegas—one sedated, the other knocked out. Possible head trauma to both.”

Maverick’s voice comes back immediately, “On their way. Did you cuff the ringleaders?”

Cradling the black-haired omega in my arms, checking the other’s pulse, I glance over my shoulder. Most of the SWAT team have taken off down a crude-looking tunnel. Caleb is standing on the other end of the room, glaring into two empty cells.

I grit my teeth. “We’re working on it.”

“You let them get away?”

“I said we’re working on it, jackass.”

“Well what about the rogues? They safe?”

I look again. Two cells empty—prisoners who were unlucky enough to escape with the ringleaders—but another two cells are still full. Rogue alphas and omegas stand together, shuffling uncertainly, like they still don’t quite believe they’re being rescued.

My gaze returns to the omega in my arms. She looks so much smaller when she’s asleep. It’s hard to believe she could hurt anyone—not when she’s been so badly hurt herself.

“I’ll get back to you on that,” I say at last.

“What the hell, Jax—?”

“Just get those damn paramedics here. Caleb will brief you on the rest.”

With that, I drop the radio, holding the omega closer to me.

My inner alpha already seething at the idea of letting her go.

Chapter Four

Jaxon

Twenty-five arrests, including four of the arena’s ringleaders. Nearly thirty rescues. Not a bad job, by all accounts.

Except that I’m still pissed.

“They got away,” I snarl, pacing the bullpen. “Two ringleaders, and god knows how many more rogues. How the fuck does that happen?”

Caleb sighs. “Their scout must’ve tipped them off. Given them just enough time.”

“Time to what? Relocate? Set up shop all over again?”

He gives me a hard look, those dark green eyes penetrating. A part of me hates when he gets like this, pulling the head alpha card while we’re at work, but another part of me knows I need it.

“They’re not setting up shop anytime soon,” he says at last. “They don’t have the resources, or the clientele. We made damn sure of that.” The words bring me some comfort—at least this long-awaited raid wasn’t completely in vain—when Caleb angles his head. “You’re on edge.”

I gesture around the bullpen, indicating the scattered RDF personnel at their desks. “Yeah. We all are.”

“This is different.”

“Different how?”

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