Page 39 of The Omega Trials: Part Three

My mother’s father died in a car accident before she was born, and my grandmother never remarried or had other children. AJohn knocked up my mom, so my unwitting sperm donor could be any number of men.

For my entire life, that was the extent of my family.

No siblings, no cousins, no aunts or uncles, just me and Ma with Celia’s occasional appearance.

So, when I come back upstairs to a bustling kitchen after checking on the boys in the vault, it’s like experiencing something that you thought only existed in movies. It’s loud and a little hectic and makes my heart crack open, mourning something I never had while equally grateful that now I do.

The Beryll alphas are watching a football game on their computer, periodically erupting in cheers or groans of disappointment. Penelope checks on the ribs, while Paisley does her best not to cry cutting onions. Even Merigold is chatting happily while she prepares the salad.

At the next commercial break, Griffin gets up and nudges Paisley away from the cutting board. “I got it,” he says, taking the knife from her hand.

“Okay, tough guy.” She chuckles while sniffling and wiping her eyes.

“I just hate to see you cry,” he teases.

“Chivalry isn’t dead.” Merigold laughs.

I feel like pinching myself because how did we get here?

Cooking dinner for two noble packs, using the family recipes of two alphas I very much love, and laughing with my arch nemesis while she chops romaine.

My hand subconsciously goes to my sternum, where my ceremonial scars lie under my shirt. It feels like just yesterday I was holding my breath in the tub, my chest freshly cut and burning, thinking I was better off dead. And yet, I can hardly recognize that girl.

She was so full of rage, scared and angry. She felt like she had no one. No one except for the quiet and mousy attendant who carefully cleaned her wounds and was known by only a number.

That girl wanted to burn the world, then go up in flames with it.

I’m not her anymore.

I still want to burn the world, but I no longer want to go down with it. I want to build something better from the ashes.

Chapter 22

Leverage

Titus

Here’s the thing about Seventeen: she makes me uncomfortable as fuck. Always appearing out of thin air, quiet as a ghost. She’s like a mouse . . . ghost, a ghost mouse.But, I need a favor.

So, I put on my big boy panties and suck it up. I only have so much time before our meeting later.

I wanted to meet with her alone, and she’s practically trembling in my presence. She can’t look me in the eyes, hers are glued to her shoes.

“Hey, so, I was wondering if you could help me with something,” I start awkwardly for other reasons that don’t haveanything to do with her. My question gets all tangled in my throat. I feel like a goddamn teenager about to ask some chick to prom.

By the time I finally get it out, she has apparently gained the courage to unglue her gaze from her feet. She meets my eyes with the hint of a timid smile on her face.

“Of course, Alpha, sir. I would be honored to help you.”

Ecker connected with an old client who got us a conference room at her country club. The whole room smells like orange furniture polish, the grand table gleaming. Landscape oil paintings in ornate frames hang on the cream walls. Just the kind of a place for a good ol’ boys club meeting like this.

Which is why Sinclair felt like her presence might ruffle their feathers, so she stayed home despite all of us wanting her here.

My brothers and I are not waiting long before our guests arrive. We asked the club hostess to have them wait until they all get here to bring them to us. It felt like a small but important power move, making it clear this isourmeeting and we will be running it.

A light rap on the room’s door precedes the hostess poking her head in to say, “Sirs, your guests have arrived.”

“Let them in, thank you,” I instruct, channeling a lifetime of anger, betrayal, and injustice into a calm and controlled facade. We have one shot to pull this off.

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