Page 1 of The Omega Project

Emily

“Aunty Em, you’re lying on my Spiderman!”

I roll over with a groan, my nephew’s little fingers burrowing under my ribs for his missing toy. Since I’m stupidly ticklish, it’s a pretty effective way of getting me to move, even though the light leaking through the living room blinds tells me it’s way too early to get up on a Sunday.

“Five more minutes, Jay?”

“But he’s suffocating! He’s not like Aquaman. He needs air to breathe, you know?”

My groan is more of a laugh this time, and I force myself upright, my spine popping at the stretch. What I’m saving in rent by sleeping on my sister’s couch will probably cripple me in chiropractor bills down the road, but life has made me a ‘living in the moment’ kind of person. And right now, that means bedding down with my nephew’s sticky fingerprints, OJ stains, and lost action heroes.

“Here he is, buddy,” I tell Jacob, handing over the plastic toy. Unlike me, Spiderman looks no worse for wear from my restless night. “Remember to play quietly until Gran wakes up.”

“She’s already up,” Jacob chirps, then casts a sideways look at the kitchen door. You can glean a lot from the eyes of an inquisitive six-year-old, so I brace myself as he says, “She’s having breakfast with Mr. Wagner, and she’sstill in her nightie.”

My nephew sounds a little scandalised by the fact, and I’dcringe if my heart wasn’t suddenly beating in my throat.

What the hell is Rick doing here?

The bigger question would be why my mum let my ex into the house, but unfortunately, she refuses to accept that I kicked Rick out of my life six months ago. As far as she’s concerned, he’s the best thing that ever happened to me, and our only chance at moving back up in the world. I’m not sure if it was all the years she spent mated to a master manipulator, but Lori Nash is a firm believer that behind every happy woman is a dominant man.

Gritting my teeth, I haul myself off the couch, grabbing a hoodie to throw over my PJs. It’s way too big on my five-foot-four frame, but it smells like my best friend Derek, which instantly settles my nerves. The fact that my ex will know I’m wearing another man’s clothes is just an added bonus.

The antique kitchen table is also oversized, but it’s a relic from our childhood home, and Mum insists on keeping up appearances, as she calls it. That includes laying a crisp linen tablecloth beneath her porcelain dinner set and keeping a vase of plastic roses on the counter. She’s also dressed to the nines in a silky robe and high-heeled slippers, her hair perfectly curled and coral-pink lipstick in place. My mum is a beautiful woman, but there’s been a sour note to her omega scent ever since my dad walked out, and she tries to cover it with too much perfume. Just another reminder of the damage a powerful alpha can do, not that I need one with the scar tingling on my wrist.

As I enter the kitchen, my mum is in the process of pouring Rick another cup of coffee, a basket of freshly baked croissants between them. When she sees me standing in the doorway, she flings me an ecstatic smile, a hectic blush burning in her cheeks. “Look who’s come to see us, Emily! And he’s brought some pastries from that French bakery you love so much. How considerate is that?”

She’s actually referring to the bakerysheloves; I think it’s overpriced, and the snooty owner looks down his alpha nose at me every time I venture inside.

Although, French baked goods are the last thing on my mind as my ex leans back in his chair, his eyes lingering on my frayed sleep shorts. When we were together, he always insisted I wear silk to bed, so he gives me a very different kind of smile than the one on my mother’s face. “Bed too lumpy, darling?”

The smug edge to his voice makes me grit my teeth harder, but I focus on the real menace in the room. “Mum, can you give us a moment? I need to talk to Rick in private before I head off to uni.”

“But it’s a Sunday, Emily!” she tuts, her eyes narrowing in reproach. “And it’s still so early. You can spare a moment to eat, can’t you?”

“I’ve got a lot of work to do on my thesis,” I remind her, since my mum has a habit of ignoring the parts of my life she doesn’t agree with. “Rick and I can chat while I show him out.”

“Don’t be rude, Emily,” she scolds me, her mouth drawn into an uncompromising line as she gestures towards the seat next to my ex. “Sit down and spend a little time catching up. Rick has some very important news he wants to share with you, and you owe him at least that much.”

“Mum!” I hate using such a harsh tone, but I can’t indulge her a moment longer. For her sanity – and mine – I need to wrap this up as quickly as I can. “Rick and I broke up, so he’s not staying for breakfast. Please go back to your room while I show him out.”

“Where are your manners, Emily?” Tears well in my mother’s big blue eyes as she grips the edges of her robe. “I didn’t raise you to be like this!”

“I’m sorry, mum, and you can scold me all you want later, but right now I need you to leave.”

She gives a despairing cry as I steer her out of the kitchen, her high heels clacking frantically on the old linoleum. She feels small and fragile beneath my hands, but she hasn’t given up the fight, and when she turns at the door, her thin fingers dig painfully into my arm. Her eyes are now as hard as blue gems, every strain line visible under her makeup. “You need to think very clearly about what you say to him, Emily, or you’ll give him the wrong impression and ruin everything.”

“Don’t worry, Mum.” I pat her hand while simultaneously removing her claws from my arm. “Rick knowsexactlywhat I think of him.”

I shut the door firmly on my mother’s aggrieved face, because there’s no way she will retreat to her bedroom. In her world, listening at keyholes is perfectly acceptable behaviour for the mother of an obstinate child. Except we’re not in some Jane Austen romance, and the alpha lounging at our kitchen table isn’t here as a starry-eyed suitor.

I round on him, taking in his messy brown curls and smirking mouth, before my gaze moves reluctantly down his body. Rick runs marathons when he’s not managing his trendy sports bar in the city, and he’s wearing his usual weekend attire of black tights and a white compression tank. Every dip and muscle of his lean body is on display, but all I feel is revulsion as he flexes under my inspection. “Get out of my house, Rick!”

“Your sister’s house.” He stretches his long legs out, looking so comfortable it makes acid burn in my belly. “Or should I say,myhouse. The news I came over to share is that your landlord signed the whole apartment complex over to me last night. That means you and your family belong tomenow.”

Before I can stop myself, I’m tucking my scarred wrist behind my back. “You’re lying.”

He leans forward, a predatory light filling his eyes. “You know I only tell the truth, kitten, even when it hurts.”

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