Page 14 of Omega Alliance

There is only vast and endless possibility.

I don’t have to be the people’s omega anymore. And if I can get a grip on my body’s instinctual responses, I might not even have to be an omega at all.

I can discover who I really am. Who I would have been if I hadn’t been captured and turned into the OA’s unwitting puppet.

Because now that I have finally escaped, I would sooner die than return to the Alliance’s clutches.

Our drive across the countryside ends entirely too soon for my liking, but even I realize that we can’t stay out in plain sight without risking my recapture.

Kieran guides the bike down a thin dirt road lined with thick trees. One branch snags my sleeve as we ride past, bringing with it a sharp sting. I don’t cry out though. These are the wounds I don’t mind, the ones that correspond to experiences I’ve chosen for myself rather than ones that have been forced upon me.

It’s true that Dani and her pack orchestrated this escape, but I had to choose to trust them, choose to follow, and as we near a run-down house seated far back from the dirt road, I am gladder than ever that I chose to do so.

I only knew what the OA complex looked like from the inside where they kept me holed up for years on end. I didn’t even bother looking back once Kieran pulled me through that shattered glass door. I was done with that place and didn’t want to give it a second more of my attention.

Still, based on the grandeur of the interior, I assume the exterior must have also been quite the sight to behold. My prison had been designed for appearances, not for comfort. The house before me and Kieran now looks the complete opposite—lived in, cherished.

Life has happened here. Messy, beautiful life, and the dwelling shows all the signs. A garden with overgrown flower beds that must have once been the pride and joy of whoever lived in this place. A happy yellow paint peels from the boards, and I can imagine the owners selecting this color from the infinite number of options available to them for the task. I can see them laughing and enjoying the simple pleasure of each other’s company as they drag their brushes along the planks, bringing their home new life and a healthy dash of personality. A pair of weathered rocking chairs sits on a large front porch, creaking softly as the wind nudges them into motion. I picture myself sitting there too—calm, relaxed, not a care in the world. If only.

“Sorry it’s a bit run down,” Kieran says as he parks and helps me dismount the vehicle. “We thought it would be safer that way. That it would be less likely for someone to discover us before we’re ready.”

Before we’re ready? I will never be ready for others to find me, knowing they could drag me straight back to the OA at any time. Does Kieran understand that too? Or is there another part of their plan that I’m not privy to?

I ignore the gnawing in my gut and plant a broad smile on my face. “It’s okay,” I say. I’m always saying that things are okay, assuring others that I’m fine, no matter how much the opposite is true. But this time I do really mean it. Things are A-okay.

“I like it here,” I say as I step toward the old house. Our safe house.

Kieran follows wordlessly behind me, which means it’s up to me to grab the doorknob and twist. I push the heavy front dooropen and step tentatively into the house. My eyes dart toward the ceiling in search of cameras, but there are none here. At least not that I can see.

Still, I must remain vigilant, now and always. As long as I am free, I will always be at risk of recapture. In that way, I’m not free at all, I suppose. But it’s the best I can ever hope for given my past, given the fact that everyone knows my name, my face, me.

Kieran pushes past me and moves deeper into the house. “We’ll have to stay here for a few days, or at least until the worst part of the search is over. They’re going to go crazy looking for you.”

I frown. Does he really think I want to hear this?

He sighs and shakes his head, as if also realizing that now himself. “Anyway, you must be starving after all that. C’mon, I’ll make you something to eat.”

I follow him into a small and intimate kitchen, and he motions toward a variety of boxes and cans laid out across the counter. “There’s not much to choose from, but what do you think you’d like?”

Something gets caught in my throat when I try to respond. He wants to know what I would like. What I want to choose.

But I never get to choose.

I study Kieran carefully, and he smiles encouragingly, motioning toward the dry goods once more. “Go ahead. Tell me what you want.”

I eye the red and green cans, the black and yellow boxes, and at last land on the one I want. It brings back so many good memories, memories I’d mourned and buried a long time ago but am happy to resurrect now. I smile wistfully and pluck a thin, rectangular blue box from the counter and hand it to Kieran with a grin. “This one.”

“Mac and cheese it is,” he sings out, then reaches past me to grab a small red and white cylinder as well. He holds it out so that I can read the label, condensed milk.

“We don’t have any power here, so I’ll need to make a few quick modifications. It will still be good though, promise.”

And God help me, I believe him.

It will be good. This food, this house—hell—maybe even this life. For the first time in a long time, I find my heart filling with hope, real and unmanufactured hope.

Maybe it’s not too late for me, after all.

seven

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