Page 35 of Generation Omega: Revealed

Gideon doesn’t drop the gun, but he also doesn’t raise it. All the world becomes a swirling deathtrap that omega instincts chose for us. Without air, my lungs squeeze in a fist of fear while my throat tightens to the point I can’t swallow.

I should be doing something. I should scream, claw, fight. The heat of my touch could be useful again, but if I grab his wrist—if I could even reach it with Gideon leaning against me—the burns could make the man fire his weapon at Gideon or me.

But it’s the red dots that demand my attention. Four red dots, barely moving, all positioned on Ethan’s chest, directly over his heart. I can’t feel his heartbeat like Gideon’s, but I remember when I hugged him and listened to its beautiful, steady beating. Those red dots and the sniper rifles that project them onto their target could steal Ethan’s heart from me, his life from me.

I flinch from the sight and the sounds of Ethan’s weapons clanking onto the concrete as he drops them. With effort, he stands erect and spreads out his arms, a man surrendering or defiantly luring our enemies to assume he’s done with this fight. I don’t need words to know which role Ethan is playing. Gladiators don’t surrender. My certainty reaches Gideon through our shared awareness.

“Drop it, Mr. Blake,” the Russian repeats.

But Gideon doesn’t drop anything. He spins and fires the gun, but I can’t see where he’s aiming or what happens, but the man behind the dumpster is suddenly not there. I lean around Gideon and watch as Ethan drops to the ground, temporarily escaping those dots and the bullets that follow them.

Without warning, I have a gun in my hand, courtesy of the guy who just barked at me about not using a weapon.

“Change of plans,” Gideon mutters, and then I lean to see them, more shadows, the dark forms of a dozen men approaching us. Gideon shoves me back to safety.

Ethan grabs one of the guns he dropped and fires at the men, while scrambling to his feet. Gideon’s firing too, but I can’t see anything beyond the dumpster. It’s all so loud, my heightened senses amplifying each sound that strikes me like the hail of bullets all around us. I just keep wincing and cowering, and hating myself for it and for not using the instrument of death in my hand. But who am I supposed to shoot when I can barely see anyone? Then I get it. It’s a weapon of last resort.

Ethan seems confused when he glances at his chest and finds no dots. Muffled bullets still fire, but not at Ethan, not at us. The angry shouts of our enemies are in other languages, not just Russian. Bodies fall somewhere near us, but I don’t know who shot them or why.

A wave of terrible certainty crashes over me, a warning. This isn’t over. It’s barely begun.

There’s no sound for one long moment and then Ethan’s thrown back by the impact of a silent bullet that struck him. I can’t tell where he was hit. He’s on the ground and I’m trying to reach him, but Gideon’s hold is too powerful and it’s soon followed by a bark for me to stay where I am.

I want to scream at him, but I still can’t find my voice. I can’t exist in this violent world. I can’t… I can’t… I can’t… thiscan’tbe my life.

Images flash in my mind, a thousand per second, memories of all the moments Ethan and I have shared. The moments that built my life, that define my life, that made my life worth living. There’s nothing but Ethan.

Almost lazily, the Russian says, “I told you to drop your weapon or he would die.” Then he grunts his annoyance and murmurs in Russian to someone else, probably over a radio. He’s standing beside the dumpster again, his gun trained on Gideon. “I apologize for that rude interruption, Mr. Blake. Let me be very clear. You have no way out. Both ends of the alley are covered by snipers. You’re caught. You were caught at that hotel and you will never get free of us. But you don’t need to die here and neither does she.”

“What are you saying?” Gideon demands, not moving an inch.

“I’m saying you can live to fight another day, for yourself and for her. Or the three of you can die in this alley.”

He wants to take us alive. That’s the truth pummeling me, along with the question of whether I want to be taken alive. Exactly how bad can this get, either here or somewhere else? My thoughts return to the professor and those slides of the omegas who revealed. Were they killed? Or did they face a worse fate in captivity? I will die in this alley with Ethan before I leave him to die alone because of me.

Ethan is too quiet and I steal a glance, while Gideon and the Russian are locked in a staring contest. Ethan’s not on the concrete anymore. He’s up and rushing toward the Russian, grabbing him and launching him, before attacking him where he lands on the ground. Ethan grabs the man’s gun and pistol whips him, like Gideon did in Ethan’s favorite movie. Then he tosses the gun away and gets to work, beating the snot out of his would-be killer like this is just a typical Saturday night in his favorite kind of cage.

But this isn’t a normal fight night. Ethan has a bullet wound and he must be bleeding, but it’s too dark to see anything but the shapes of the two men who grapple like they know one will live and the other will have to face the Devil.

I search for those deadly red dots, but I can’t find any.

Gideon’s still shielding me when he says, “See if Titus is here.”

I don’t understand, but then I remember the phone in my hand and lift it to my ear. “Are you here?”

“Almost,” a man answers, his voice a rough baritone. “You just hold tight. I’m dealing with some pesky snipers on the south end. But don’t you worry, I’ll get you out of here without a scratch.”

Without a scratch? Ethan’s been shot. He has bruises, for sure, and bleeding cuts. My gaze gets caught on our oven mitt where it lies alone on the filthy ground, like just another piece of trash. Trembling begins in my core and quickly overtakes my body. If I were still myself, I would be in that brawl, helping Ethan or dying with him. But I’m something else now—someone else.

An invader has taken over my body and she’s keeping me here, behind Gideon who isn’t helping Ethan because that would expose me to danger. I don’t know this omega who’s battling me for control, but I don’t like her. She’s weak. She’s worthless. Maybe the omega legacy chose the right girl after all, if this is what being an omega is.

The Russian taps out and Gideon mumbles, “What the fuck?”

“You won,” the Russian coughs, spitting up blood. “I surrender.”

Ethan pauses, warily moving back until he stands, though he struggles to keep his balance. “You’ll let us leave?”

The Russian coughs again and then he moves in the darkness. I don’t see what he does—he’s still lying on the ground—but Ethan is staring down at his own chest.

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