Page 2 of The Omega Trials: Part Three

Sin scoffs. “That doesn’t mean anything. You know better than anyone that ‘mom’ is just a word.”

“I’ll help,” Ecker says, stepping up to Sinclair. “We’re gonna do everything we can to save her.”

She stutters, “But—”

“You don’t have to trust her, just me. You trust me, right, baby girl?” I can feel Sinclair calm at his husky purr, soothing her by speaking to her omega nature.

“Y-yes,” she says softly, and he presses a chaste kiss on her lips.

I give her hand a testing pull and am met with resistance again. Her brows fret together as she stares, lonesome, at her grandma on the floor.

“We have to go now, Sin.” Just to be safe, in a light alpha growl, I add, “Come with me.” This time when I give her a small tug, her feet stumble reluctantly forward.

I realize it’s not her grandma she’s staring at, but Titus’s stoney gaze when he vows, “Everything in my power, Omega.”

Chapter 2

The Bungalow

Sinclair

Grinwald’s apartment has a tall sheet of plywood in place of a door. Titus’s doing, I assume. It took threatening the lazy bastard for him to fix the elevator, so I’m not surprised he hasn’t fixed his own door.

Bishop lifts his fist as if to knock but apparently decides there’s no time for pleasantries. Since it’s just resting against the doorframe, he knocks the plywood over with a light push. It lands on the floor with a loud smack and a plume of wood shavings and dust. I hear the apartment super squawk at the startling noise.

“What the fu—” he stutters.

“Stay here,” Bishop whispers, then pushes in. “I think you know who sent me.” Bishop’s voice is cold and exacting.

“I fixed the elevator!” I hear Grinwald gripe

“That’s not why I’m here. Your car keys, give them to me.”

“Wh—but—” he sputters, reluctant but clearly intimidated.

“Quickly now, Grinwald,” Bishop drawls threateningly.

I hear the jingle of keys, then Bishop adds, “And if anyone comes asking, I was never here and you have no idea what happened to your car.”

“Yeah, sure, sure,” Grinwald mumbles.

“Whatever they threaten, I assure you I’ll do ten times worse if you talk.”

“Y-Yes, I understand.”

“You better. It will be your own neck if you decide to call my bluff.”

“We’ll walk from here,” Bishop says without looking at me. Then he gets out of Grinwald’s beat up sedan.1

We’re in the parking lot of what looks like a trailhead. It took us an hour of driving out of the city to get to this more rural, wooded area, and Bishop barely spoke three words.

It’s not like I’m in a chatty mood, but I don’t like the guilt and self-hate I see weighing him down. He’s shutting me out. If I’m going to survive whatever happens next, I need him to be my strong, confident mate. Not the little boy who blamed himself for his father’s abuse trapped in an alpha’s body.

I get out of the car and speak across the hood. “I don’t blame you.”

My voice is raw and scratchy after sobbing so hard—I feel like a hard-wrung towel. The muscle at the back of his jaw forms a tight ball and he swallows, hazel eyes boring into me wordlessly but far from silent.

I continue trying to convince him. “The only reason we got to her in time was because youweren’twith us. If you weren’tat the Estate, who knows when we would have found out.” He swallows. The light behind his eyes remains dim. “You can’t be everything, everywhere, all the time. That’s why we form packs, Bishop. You’re not Atlas; you don’t have to carry the world on your own.”

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