Page 76 of Stolen Omega

And there she goes, off to meet with another lost soul in need of help.

I wait for the front door to close before I pick the vodka back up.

Well, at least now I can add a mixer to this shit.

I take it into the kitchen and bring a glass out of the cupboard.

Pour in a suitable amount of booze, add some off-brand coke and head back to my bedroom to consider actually calling the guy I’ve barely said two words to since fuck knows when.

We were supposed to be something.

Even if he isn’t into me the same way he would have been Zoey, we were still supposed to be pack brothers. Best friends who always have each other’s backs. Chosen family who look after each other.

My mom is right. I should call him.

I sit down on the futon that was my poor choice of bed when I got the chance to upgrade my room last year. I didn’t think about how shitty the mattress would be. I just thought it was cool that it could be folded up into a couch. That’s a choice I’ll have to live with until I can afford to buy a new bed.

The choice to walk away from Zane doesn’t have to be so permanent.

I take two sips of the drink I’ve poured before I set it down on the packing crate I’ve been using as a bedside table. I can’t call him. I need to see him.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Zane

Six Years Ago

Turns out, buying an Omega isn’t as simple as showing up at a shady location with a wallet full of cash. There are so damn many hoops to jump through and checks to pass that I’ve never once made it to the end of the process.

Two whole fucking years of wading through online scum has gotten me nowhere.

Getting on the dark web was only the start. Figuring out which chatrooms were worth hanging around in took months. There are big fish and small fish, and none of the really big guys swim in these waters, but the bait that exists to hook potential new customers is lying around on the floor of this murky pond, just waiting to be swallowed.

I’ve bitten more than a few lines, only to be thrown back into the water the instant they check me over. The fake identity I’ve created for myself isn’t shady enough, or they see right through it.

Instant rejection, every goddamned time.

I do everything right, and I still can’t find an in.

It’s almost as if these bastards know I’m sitting here seething in rage at their fucked up, sick conversations. As if they’ve figured out that I’d give anything to be in the same damn room as them in real life, so I can physically release the anger that’s been growing inside me ever since Zoey was taken.

Her absence has left an open wound in my soul that’s never going to heal.

The hopelessness of that loss is more than my heart can handle.

I know it’s too late to save her, I’m not crazy enough to believe she’s still out there, somewhere, alive and well. That hope faded out a long time ago, but I’d give anything for the chance to end the lives of the men who took her.

That’s all I have left now. Rage and the need to let it out on the right people.

Revenge isn’t sweet. It’s a toxic, bitter response to pain.

What that does to me ultimately doesn’t matter.

Nothing could be more painful than losing Zoey.

Knowing what we were meant to be meant everything to me.

Now, I’m a hollowed-out shell full of festering rage.

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