Page 71 of Feral Alphas

I do a quick check of my Kevlar as the OCB bus bumps along a rough trail carved through a forest over a thousand miles away from Darinian City. Thirty other grim-faced officers around me also do a last inspection of weapons and gear as we narrow in on the GPS coordinates of our hunt.

Thanks to my new promotion, I’m leading the Darinian team in this massive joint operation to bust the illegal omega center where Rose was held captive. With her detailed testimony about the landscape, the taskforce was able to retrace the journey she took. It’s three hundred miles from Laversham City where Grom Kennels was based to this secluded mountain. Satellite imagery has picked up transport vehicles heading here that might have otherwise been mistaken for logging trucks.

Now we’re here to take them down for good.

I lean one fist against the cool glass as we lurch from one pothole to another, the forest filtering the morning sun into slanted beamsacross the undergrowth. This joint taskforce even includes the military and one of their camouflage all-terrain vehicles leads the way ahead of us, the soldiers in the back hanging onto their automatic weapons.

After serving eight years in the military, Colt probably knows some of them, which is why he should have been here. But I stuffed up. I didn’t even get a chance to explain what happened with Minstrom and the assistant director of the OCB at the meeting. But fuck if he doesn’t have a wild temper!

I flex my jaw, still feeling the hint of bruising. He’s got a powerful right hook too, that’s for sure. Completely bowled me on the ass. Power is a good word to describe the man, even though he always keeps himself locked down with iron control. Maybe that’s why I enjoy needling him so much, to get a hint of that force hiding under the surface.

Although I only ever seem to succeed in making him mad.

Probably doesn’t help I’m ranked as a senior agent, despite being his junior. Colt’s forty-two years old, although I think he looks in his thirties. But he served his country before retraining for the OCB, whereas I went straight for this career.

Omega protection is what my mom and her dad before her did. Guess you could say I’ve inherited it—along with a knack for pissing people off every time I open my mouth. Plus, losing your own omega makes you feel pretty protective.

In another year Colt will earn his fifteen-year service badge and promotion to senior special agent. I know Minstrom has his eye on Colt, but I hope this suspension doesn’t mar his record. Despite being pricklier than a rose bush, the man’s a good agent. Better than my ego wants to admit.

The radio crackles with the operation director’s voice. “Five minutes out. All teams at the ready.”

I stand up, surveying my OCB colleagues. “Last checks. Five minutes to go time. Stay in your teams, especially when we break through the entrance. Scouts’ reports suggest a hundred individuals inside, and they’ll be desperate.” Everyone nods. Incarcerating and selling omegas comes with a lifetime prison sentence and I’ll happily put them there.

Taking Rose’s statement was difficult, listening to all the sweet omega endured thanks to this snake pit. I also couldn’t stop thinking about the fact it was Colt who helped her through her heat. Did he take her in his gruff way, or melt into a soft persona I’ve never been privy to?

My Kevlar rustles as I slide the radio back into its pocket and eyeball Russell. My partner puts on his safety glasses and gives me a nod, confirming he’s ready for action. Our bus swings to the side and the door flings open.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” I call, pitching loud enough to be heard over the engine.

The military guys are a step ahead of us, already hooking up explosives to the rockface where the track ends.

“Fire in the hole!” One shouts, and we turn our backs and crouch. The explosion rocks the vehicles and sends up a cloud of dust and granite fragments. When the smoke clears it reveals a shadowed tunnel leading down into the hillside, just as imaging suspected. One of the vehicles with a bar at the front zips ahead, shoving most of the rubble to the sides.

I give the hand signal and we press through right behind the special forces team, plunging into the shadows. The orange lightsoverhead flicker and then cut out, leaving us in darkness. The guys ahead of us switch on the flashlights mounted on their long rifles, and we pull our mag lights out, crisscrossing the hazy tunnel into a white grid.

“Halt! Security door!”

Russell passes me my tablet and wires and I push forward. “I got it.” The army guys nod and form a protective circle while I expose my back to the tunnel and the OCB agents protect the other side.

I clip the wireless reader onto the panel.

“What’ve we got?” Russell asks quietly.

“Simpson three-hundred model, double encoded with an alphanumeric sequence.” I punch the commands into my tablet. Top end of the market, but not quite bank vault level. Numbers and letters flick through the six-digit code as I run the lock-hacker.

“Should be about sixty seconds,” Russell informs the tense army major. He nods and issues commands to scout further into the tunnel.

We all feel vulnerable here in the dark with no cover. My screen flashes as the code locks in and the thunk of the bolt sliding open sounds loud in the silent tunnel. I open the door but it catches. I huff out an annoyed breath.

“Bring the ram,” I call, and two strong alphas from my team step forward, swinging the heavy black cylinder. It only takes three hits and the door flings inward.

“Breach!” the major calls, taking his strike team in first, except for the squad who will guard our exit.

“Clear!”

I signal the OCB team and we rush inside. It looks like a hospital with pale walls and polished concrete floors. Clinical cleaning scentshits my nose, but not even bleach can cover up the omega haze thick on the air. Heat roars through me. How dare they prey on vulnerable omegas, selling haze and passing them off to places like the underground fight rings?

Gun shots pepper the air. “Contact! Contact!”

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