Page 43 of Fallen Omega

Right now, she’s annoyed she’s here with me. And that makes two of us.

“Everyone’s heard of them,” I say. “They’re outlaws. They live outside of society.”

As I speak, my tone is slightly snotty. I’m aware of the idiocy of my words.

Worse, I’m aware of the hypocrisy.

Dad and I, we didn’t commit crimes, not in the way the Unholy Trinity does—with their gambling and illegal goods running, bars and clubs open past city and state law decrees.

Hell, I’ve heard it all. Murder, prostitution, shake downs, loan sharking.

And living in a way that’s uncomfortable, when you look at it, like we do—did…outside Council reach.

“I’m guessing your life,” the woman says, “is in some ways similar to ours.” Then she sighs. “I’m not your enemy, but I’m not your friend.”

“So why did you kidnap me?”

She points at her chest in the tight top. It’s not low cut, but it’s tight, like leather that’s been painted on her skin. And if anyone has the body for the second skin look, it’s this woman.

“Me?” the blonde says, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Then—”

“For the record, no one kidnapped you. Dante deemed it wise not to let you out to get yourself mated and marked by some low life. Which you were very much on your way to doing when Knight stepped in.”

I grimace.

“Girl, you’re in heat. The beginning stage before the main event, but you’re gonna have to ride it out here. At least until the worst is over. Unless you want us to turn you out right now.”

The blonde comes in close and puts her hands on her thighs, leaning in. She’s all sleek muscle, lithe, like a huntress, and I almost draw back.

Except she isn’t trying to attack me.

“And judging by the way you look, the way you’re shaking and clutching that bottle, I don’t think you’re gonna make it far. So take your pills, eat, drink, get extra blankets if you need them. I’ll check on you in the morning.”

“So, I can leave if I want?”

“Now, that’s not very civic minded of us, is it?”

And with the final word, she leaves. The click of the deadbolt lock tells me my answer instead.

“Which means,” I say to no one, “I’m a damn prisoner.”

I try to think of what Dad would do. But the thing is, Dad was the wily one. He wouldn’t get into this situation. He wouldn’t have panicked.

I have vague memories of the places we’ve lived when we were on the run. Sometimes we’d leave in the middle of the night, and since I was so little, I only have bright images that fade, but I always remember that it was important I stay quiet. Do what he said. And act like all was normal when things were in freefall.

Dad didn’t panic, and he told me he picked Starlight City because it’s big. Here, we blended.

Until he died and left me.

Then everything fell apart.

I hug the water bottle tighter, trying to draw the heat into me.

For a few moments, I give in to the self-pity that wants to crush me into a puddle and I squeeze my eyes tight.

“Get it together,” I mutter. “You got yourself into this, you can get yourself out.”

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