Page 40 of The Omega Trials: Part One

They can have my bloody back, but I won’t give the satisfaction of anything else.

When it’s done, Ecker and Bishop appear in front of me. Their arrival is the only reason I know it’s over. The Elders don’t say anything. I just hear the shuffle of their loafers as they exit.

I sway on my tiptoes until the rope is lowered enough for the shackles to be reached. As my feet flatten, one slips on the slick pool of my blood on the marble. My brothers steady me, then catch me when I’m finally released.

Gratefully, people began leaving as soon as the show was over. Without an audience, I allow myself to rely on my brothers on either side of me, my arms draped over their shoulders.

Sinclair is waiting. She is now the only person in the hall other than the guard mopping up my blood.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe some gratitude or even a little inkling of respect. Instead, she’s emotionless. It feels like a sucker punch.

I’ve saved her from two lashings, even taking one myself.

My voice is hoarse and deadpan. I have nothing left. “We’re even now.”

I’m met with a cold stare and an even colder smile. “Oh, we’re not even close, sugar tits.”

1. Play “Jagwar” by SHELLS until end of chapter, through all ornamental breaks

The Games

Sinclair

Seventeen and I follow a cave entrance lined with torches until it opens into a cavernous arena.1 It’s as if the coliseum were carved into a mountain rather than erected from the ground. It’s been filled with giant blocks of rock to form tiered seating around a sand-covered, sunken floor.

I follow Seventeen as she leads me under the stone bleachers. We reach a fork in the underground tunnel. Plaques of the families’ animals are hung on the earthen walls, split between the two directions as if street signs.

“Are the guys already there?” I ask as we turn down the side with the bear. I haven’t seen them since the lashing, taking dinner in my room.

“Yes.”

I get a chilling feeling as we venture deeper into the mountain, following the bear signs. I stand behind my actions, but I can’t help but feel trepidation for what’s waiting for me ahead.

Especially since Titus’s surprising moment of chivalry—or maybe he was just saving face. I didn’t graffiti the Cyans’ wing to get him in trouble. I keep trying to tell myself the turn of events that resulted in his punishment is a good thing. It furthers my end goal of getting them kicked out and me back home.

Still, guilt gnaws at me as I remember the sound of his torn voice and picture the puddle of his spilled blood.

But then I remember the sharp sting of his palm against my cheek. The bruises left on my hips from him roughly fucking me into the sink. And his cowardly fucking excuse.I did what I had to.

I’m calling bullshit.

They’ve made it plenty clear they relish my pain, and as Paisley pointed out, it would be nice if they’re the ones hurting for once.

We reach our destination, a carved-out cove framed with wooden support beams like a mine. Bishop and Titus sit on a dug out bench and Ecker stops his pacing when we arrive. Three sets of eyes fall on me and my skin prickles, goose bumps raising as if their gazes are lightly trailing fingers.

I stop myself from crossing my arms to cover my body. I’m in a similar dress to the one I wore to the ceremony except instead of sheer black, the fabric is a cream-colored linen. When Seventeen showed it to me, I assumed it was some sick symbolism of being purified since joining the Echelon.

Once they stop canvassing my body with their eyes, none of them look too pleased to see me. And I can’t say I’m all thrilled to see them either.

Titus’s entire torso is wrapped in bandages, and he looks stiff and in pain where he sits, resting forward on his elbows. Bishoplooks like he’s regained some color . . . or it might just be the row of candles on a shelf behind a giant rock table or island bringing a warm glow to the space.

Nausea spills into the pit of my stomach as my eyes catch on two short chains bolted into the solid rock, metal cuffs attached to the ends.

“What is that?” I ask Seventeen, but Ecker is the one to answer.

“The victor’s prize,” he says with a chilling smile. “The alphas left standing at the end of the games are said to be beasts. Completely consumed by a violence-fueled rut.” He trails his fingers over a spot of darker stone, and I realize it’s blood that’s soaked into and stained the rock.

He picks up a rusty chain then lets it drop with a sickening clatter and cuts his gaze to mine. “At some point, they realized it was easier for everyone if the omega couldn’t run.”

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