Page 101 of Hunted Omega: Part Two

“Are you okay?” Zane asks, his hand gentle on my shoulder, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on my skin. The contrast between his intense gaze and gentle touch speaks volumes.

I nod and take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the comforting scents of my pack. “I will be,” I say, my voice shaky but determined. “And we have a lot to talk about. Noah revealed more than he intended.”

Quinn’s eyes light up with curiosity. “Oh, intel gathering. My favorite part. Well, second favorite after the witty banter.”

Dash throws an arm around my shoulders, his touch light and comforting. “Spill the tea, sparkles. We’re ready to turn Noah’s plans into confetti.”

Malachi’s steady gaze meets mine, his eyes full of pride and something deeper. “You stood your ground like a true warrior, Aria. I couldn’t be more proud. Let’s get you home where it’s safe, and then we can discuss what you’ve learned.”

As we leave the café, the cool outside air is a welcome relief after the stuffy, tension-filled interior. I lean into my pack’s warmth, drawing strength from their presence. We walk in comfortable silence, each lost in our own thoughts about the confrontation.

“I wish Cayenne could have seen this,” I murmur, thinking of my fierce, supportive friend. “She always said I had it in me to stand up to Noah.”

Dash grins. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve been texting her the whole time. She’s probably already planning aNoah can suckitparty as we speak.”

As we walk, the pack’s excitement about Noah’s revealed plans is palpable. Quinn’s mind is clearly racing, connecting dots and forming theories. Zane’s protective instincts are on high alert, his eyes scanning our surroundings constantly. Dash’s usual playfulness is tempered with a determination I rarely see in him. Malachi’s calm exterior barely contains the storm I can sense brewing within him.

Noah may think this isn’t over, but he’s right about one thing. I’m not the same Aria he knew. I’m stronger, I’m loved, and I’m ready to fight. The future’s a blank canvas, and we’re holding the paintbrushes. Time to create our masterpiece.

This time, we’ll be the ones making the rules. Let’s show Noah what happens when he messes with a pack-bonded omega. The game has changed, and Noah doesn’t even know it yet, but he will.

44

DASH

The blue lightof my computer screen is the only illumination in my cramped office, casting eerie shadows that dance across the walls. I blink hard, trying to focus on the encrypted files before me. The scent of citrus and ocean breeze—my own pheromones—mingles with the acrid stench of stress and exhaustion. A forgotten cup of coffee sits beside me.

The pack house creaks and settles around me, everyone else long asleep, but sleep isn’t an option. Not when I’m this close.

My fingers fly across the keyboard, tapping a frantic rhythm in the silence. Quinn would have figured all of this out faster, but he was so exhausted that I couldn’t possibly expect him to keep looking.

I couldn’t sleep.

The cravings…

Focus, Dash.

Suddenly, the words on the screen snap into focus, and my blood runs cold.

Shipment of twelve omegas arriving at dock twenty-seven. Prepare holding cells.

“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my greasy hair. This is bigger than we thought.

I reach for my phone. Should I wake the others? No, I need to be sure first.

Taking a deep breath of the musty office air, I dial a number I swore I’d never use again—one that got me into a lot of trouble in my foster days before Quinn came back for me. “Hey, Ricky,” I say, injecting a forced lightness into my tone. “It’s your favorite troublemaker. Listen, I need some intel on dock twenty-seven, and it isn’t for a new gig.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line, and I can almost hear Ricky’s gears turning. He knows I wouldn’t reach out unless it was serious.

“Dash, my man,” he drawls, his voice rough from cigarettes and late nights. “Thought you’d gone straight. What has you sniffing around the docks at this ungodly hour?”

I hesitate, weighing how much to reveal. Ricky’s always been a wild card, but right now, he’s my best shot at getting the information we need.

“Let’s just say I’m looking into some… shipments. The kind that breathes.”

Ricky lets out a low whistle. “Shit, kid. You’re playing with fire.”

As Ricky talks, filling me in on the underground operations at the docks, a familiar itch crawls under my skin. My throat feels like sandpaper, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. God, I could use a drink right now. Just one to take the edge off, to help me focus…

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