Page 35 of Waiting for Fate
“Omen,” she whispers before hiding her face against Ridley’s chest, sadness flooding her expression as she looks away from me. I can’t tell if I’ve upset her or if the other omega has. My teeth grind in my effort to hold back from comforting her. Ridley has her. She doesn’t need me interfering when I refuse to bond her.
“What about her?”
“She’s locked herself in her nest since we returned from the show in Philadelphia. Won’t answer when I knock. It’s been two days, and she hasn’t left. Hasn’t eaten or showered. I can’t handle staying in this apartment knowing she is falling apart in there and won’t let me help.”
Ridley plops down on their couch, rearranging Bea’s legs so she’s straddling his lap, and presses her against his chest to get the full effect of his purr. “We’ll help you keep an eye on her. She has to surface tomorrow for the show in New York City. We’ll make sure she eats and showers then.”
I look away from where they are quietly whispering to each other, ignoring the jabs of jealousy when they trade soft kisses and focus on scouting the apartment. We’re visiting to settle Ridley’s instincts, and to set up the security cameras hidden in my trunk.
“Let’s grab dinner,” Ridley suggests, pulling Bea to her feet. He shares a knowing look with me over her shoulder, and I nod in response. If he gets her out of the apartment for an hour or two, I can get it set up without her knowing it is there.
Is it wrong to install it without her knowledge and permission? Probably. I’m not taking any chances, though, and I know Bea would fight me on them.
The whirl of my drill accompanies the silence of the small apartment as I place the last lens outside of the window on the back of the building. From this angle, I will see the small enclosed yard and both bedroom windows. I have similar views on the front and the left side. Since they are the last in a row of townhouses, I shouldn’t have to worry about the right side. Not with the scent blocking insulation omega-safe housing is required to be built with.
I’m returning my tools to the trunk when Ridley and Bea return. Her cheeks are flushed, plush lips swollen. My fingers grip the trunk of my car hard enough the metal groans in protest. I have to keep reminding myself why staying away is best for us both. I struggle too much with the PTSD and paranoia my upbringing induced to allow myself to bond with her.
Forcing her to face every single moment of my emotional turmoil as if it were her own is the last thing I want to do. She deserves to be surrounded by the sunshine Ridley swears she brings.
“Come on Lex, we brought food from the Filipino restaurant across town.” Her voice washes over me. My name falling from her lips makes every hair on my body stand on end. Being close is torture, but I’ll spend every minute of my life suffering if it means keeping her safe.
“Okay, we have Beef Salpicao, Chicken Inasal, and an insane amount of garlic fried rice.” Ridley pulls out containers as he names the dishes, arranging them beside the plates he has already pulled from the cabinet.
“And Halo-Halo!” Bea adds where she is placing one of the large paper bags into their freezer.
With just the three of us here, it feels like we are sitting down to a pack dinner. This could be our future if my trauma didn’t have me in a chokehold.
Shaking myself free from the longing the pull between us causes, I grab a plate and dish small amounts of food on it before disappearing down the hallway. I knock on Omen’s bedroom door before swinging it open. The room is empty and the door to her nest is closed. I stomp over and bang on the door several times before sitting the plate off to the side. Still within view, but she won’t hit it if she opens the door.
Satisfied my charge has fresh food within reach, I make a plate for myself and claim an armchair in the living room. Bea and Ridley are side by side on the couch, sharing bites of their food while she scrolls through a streaming app to find something to watch.
Ridley passes out first, his loud snores filling the room alongside the paranormal teen drama playing on the TV. She shakes him, commanding him to go sleep in her bed. He tries to drag her along, but she slips from his arms and gathers the snack wrappers and empty plates. He hesitates, swaying on his feet, so I wave him off and help her.
Bea slips down the hall and returns with a pillow and blanket, laying them on the end of the couch. She joins me at the sink, rinsing the dishes I am washing. Her arm brushes against mine, the soft skin like a live wire sending an electrical current through my body. I’m hyper aware of how close we are. How strong her scent is when she’s inches away. I missed the salty undertones, like an ocean breeze blowing across the sun-kissed shore of a tropical island.
“Do you want anything else?” Her voice takes on a breathy tone as she leans against the counter, those midnight blue eyes riveted to my arms as I dry off my hands.
A single lapse in control. A breath too deep and filled with the sweet notes of her arousal, and I’m pinning her to the island. My arms framing her body where my palms slap against the granite. Her lips are soft against mine, filled with hints of the candy she had for a late-night snack. She doesn’t let me take control for long, her tongue sneaking out to tease along mine and her teeth nipping at my lips. It’s a battle for dominance, sparking a fire in my balls. I burn for the tight grip of her pussy around my cock.
She pulls back, her chest heaving against mine as she tries to catch her breath. I freeze, realizing what I’ve done. Her eyes turn cold when I step away, my mouth opening to admit I messed up.
“Don’t.”
I bite my cheek hard enough my mouth fills with blood as she walks away, a little extra sway in her hips. The door to her bedroom slams shut and reality crashes down around me. Fucking hell, I’m an asshole.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SHARING THE SAMEblood doesn’t make you family. My half-brother Marcus is proof of that. The consequences of his decisions are not mine to bear, yet I cannot rest while he ruins the legacy my parents built, dragging our family name through the thickest mud. My misplaced guilt doesn’t want to accept he’s still running free after discovering his alleged involvement with a breeding ring.
I watch the footage from the warehouse raid for the hundredth time. He wasn’t there. I confirmed as much with my own eyes when I joined the team sweeping the upper floors. My mind is trying to convince me I will catch a glimpse of him, anyway.
Slamming the lid to my laptop closed, I tip my beer to my lips and let the cool liquid slide down my throat. Obsessing blindly won’t get me anywhere. If I am going to find Marcus, I need a new plan.
Leaning against my desk, I study the map of the East Coast pinned to my office wall. Red pins cover the page, marking each disappearance suspected to be related to the breeding ring. Green pins are the ones we’ve rescued, and the rare black pins mark the suspected warehouses and camps we have already raided.
Two thousand six hundred and forty-nine red dots, a little over three hundred green, and only six black... It isn’t enough. Even one person left in their clutches would be too much.
How are they slipping through the cracks this easily?
