Page 5 of Waiting for Fate
As soon as we step into his safe space, the door clicking shut behind us, he beelines for the canter of bourbon on the shelf behind his desk. My eyebrows raise as I watch him pour several fingers full before taking his seat. This man is not a heavy drinker, even on the worst of days.
“The assignment I have for both of you is personal. Kind of.” He takes two file folders off his desk and passes one to each of us.
“Soulbound Echo Studios have recently hired an omega in our designation protection program. Omen Powell is the daughter of Pastor Grant Montgomery. She and her roommate, Bea Powell, are going to be touring with the band Primordial Covenant, beginning the first week of June.”
I open the folder to see a picture of Sarah, and next to her is a stunning woman labeled as Bea. Golden skin and dark, curly hair frame dark blue eyes and pouty lips. Alarm screams through my mind when I struggle to pull my eyes away from her photo.
“With the tour running alongside Pierson’s campaign, there are several coinciding stops. We have concerns the increased number of protests outside of the band’s concerts may lead to the Montgomery family discovering the identity we helped Omen create when she fled the cult four years ago.”
“Why not pull them from the tour? Soulbound will agree if they believe there is a threat to either omega’s safety.” Ridley asks. He hasn’t taken his eyes off the pictures inside of the files.
Donovan frowns, leaning forward to rest his arms on the top of his desk. “Omen grew up in the cult her father runs and has suffered abuse at his hands for most of her life. She’s free from his captivity. It would be unfair to stifle her growth. Which is why I said this mission is personal. As a leader of the DAU, it would be the easiest call to have them both step back until we dismantle the Montgomery cult and the threats against her. As a man who has witnessed Omen’s trauma and watched her overcome it, I’d much rather send the two of you to keep them safe than trap her behind gilded bars.”
“Understood.” I say before Ridley can add anything. Protecting omegas is what alphas were born to do. If missions like this keep me from going feral later in life, I’ll never decline one, no matter the reasons behind it.
CHAPTER THREE
“SO, OMEN, AREyou excited to be touring with this Primordial Covenant band?” Pops asks, sliding a basket overflowing with garlic bread onto the table before taking his seat. She signed a contract two days ago to be the tour photographer for the band Primordial Covenant, who are the headliners for the tour I am working as a manager-in-training.
To celebrate, my parents invited us to their house for dinner. Pops made his ‘famous’ stuffed shells—using a recipe he found on social media—one of my omega dad’s favorites. I guess my dad isn’t taking the news well that both of his girls are going on tour.
Omen’s practically drooling over the food, which makes Pops’ chest puff up with pride as he watches her load her plate full. I get it though. When Oms had first come to live with our family, it was a task to get her out of her bedroom, let alone to convince her to eat more than toddler sized portions. A reaction to the remnants of the trauma caused by her fucked up family. She wasn’t used to being able to eat whatever she wanted, let alone to ask for seconds.
Slowly but surely, she found her place with us. As soon as she accepted her new status as a Powell, my parents started doting on her the same as they always have me. We don’t push her limits much, but food is always the one form of affection she easily accepts.
“They are my favorite band, so yes. I’m ecstatic.”
We all sense the but, having expected my troubled best friend to struggle with the sudden influx of good fortune in her life.
“But?” Pops presses gently.
“We’ll be on tour for over two months. Sharing a small tour bus. It worries me.”
Ah, I hadn’t considered how difficult it would be to live on a tour bus with strangers when you have to take drastic steps to hide your identity. If the guys from Primordial Covenant see Omen without her icy blue contacts or notice the brown of her roots growing out, they might ask questions she can’t answer without outing herself as a Montgomery.
My dads share a look, one that says they have also been worried about this.
“We’ll make it work,” I promise. “I can help cover for you as needed. You aren’t in this alone, Oms.”
She gives me a strained smile, but her eyes show her relief. She knows I’ve always got her back. That’s what best friends are for.
“How’s packing going?” My mother asks, earning a groan from me. There is still a lot of stuff in my bedroom to put into boxes, but I’d rather pretend it will all magically pack itself. Mom laughs, patting my shoulder lightly as she passes me a bowl of salad.
Family dinners are my favorite. I’m going to miss them while we’re on tour, but Omen and I can make our own family dinners while we’re away.
“Bumblebee.”
I stop when I hear my omega dad call my name. “What’s up, Dad?”
“Be careful, okay?” His blue eyes grow teary as he pulls me in for a bear hug, squishing me against his chest. I awkwardly pat his back to soothe him. He’s a natural worrier. It was difficult enough to console him when we left for the Omega Academy four years ago, and that was a situation where we would only be a few hours’ drive away. Going on tour means we will be on the opposite side of the country at some points.
“We will be fine, Dad.”
“I know you think that but-“
“Come on, Forrest, you’re suffocating her.” Mom appears and gently pries his arms from around my back. She gives me a grateful smile before turning soft eyes on Dad.
I look just like her. The same dark curly hair, though hers is short while mine hangs around my shoulders. Golden bronze skin gives us a youthful complexion. We’re often mistaken for siblings instead of mother and daughter.
