Forsaken Duty (Red Team #9)(7)

What had changed in the Omni world that brought him here?

She regained her composure quickly and continued down the marble stairs. She stepped off the bottom stair and paused, studying him, wondering what his presence meant. She felt outside of herself. He was here. Owen. The boy she’d worshiped as a girl, the guy she’d fantasized about as a teenager, the man she’d known as a woman, the monster she now hated. He was here, following her from the foyer into the blue salon.

Standing in the middle of the room, she faced him. For a moment, they just glared at each other. His eyes were still the pale blue she remembered—colder maybe. She squared her shoulders.

He lifted his hand, letting his palm touch her face. She waited for the pain, waited for him to dig his fingers into her skin, waited for him to bare his teeth as he spewed vile words. The threats. The—

“Laidy.” His voice broke on the nickname he’d given her decades ago, a play on her name that he’d used when he’d pretended to be her knight in shining armor. He caught her face in both hands. His nostrils flared. “My Laidy.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.

Tears filled her eyes. Her fingers wrapped around his wrists, at first to keep him from ripping at her face, then to feel his hands, remember for an instant the man she’d thought he was. How she wished things were different.

He dropped his hands and wavered on his feet, then pivoted and walked out of the salon, out of the foyer, letting the big front door slam behind him.

All the air she hadn’t dared breathe left her in a rush. She stood there, frozen… Too soon, he came back in.

“Your brother’s leaving,” Owen said.

“Wendell comes and goes as he pleases.” Apparently, Owen was staying.

She stepped away, dragging two fingers across the back of the sofa, grounding herself as she strolled around the outer rim of the room toward a credenza with a tray of glasses and a couple of cut crystal decanters. The sofa wasn’t much protection, but it was something between her and him, something more than a few feet of air.

She’d kept Balcones on hand ever since her brother had begun staying here off and on. Not because he liked it, but because he’d said Owen did. She was, as always, torn between yearning for the boy she’d worshiped and the thing he’d become.

“Care for a glass of whiskey?” she asked.

Owen stood in the middle of the room, watching her. “You have Balcones?”

“I do. Wendell prefers it.”

Addy kept her back to Owen, using it as a shield to hide the fact that her hands shook as she poured out two fingers into a small whiskey glass. She took a couple of fortifying breaths, to steady herself before delivering his glass. He didn’t know that she knew all about him. Sometimes words were the only shield a person had. Not space or time or the bliss of a forgetful memory; no, words were all that could keep a person sane.

She gestured toward a slipcovered white armchair, offering him a seat. She took its mate, thankful for the cherry table separating the two chairs.

Owen did not sit down. He threw back his whiskey, then glared at her as he slammed the glass on the table. He straightened and shook his head. She held her composure together through sheer will and long years of practice.

“Why are you here, Owen?”

The question made his eyes widen. The violence in his gaze hit her like a physical blow. Perhaps she should bow and show him the deference he surely felt he deserved. Her husband had made her do that often enough that it held little meaning for her.

A harsh laugh broke from him. He grabbed his glass and walked over to the credenza to pour himself another. He didn’t drink it, though. He just stared into the middle of it.

Why was he angry with her? Hadn’t she done everything they’d ever asked of her, ever forced on her? She’d given her husband two sons. Maybe Owen was angry because she drew the line at the Omnis taking her boys. Maybe he was angry because she’d reached out to her father. Interacting with the outside world was strictly forbidden once you were inside the Omnis. Maybe he refused to recognize the settlement Wendell had brokered for her. Maybe he wanted this property back.

He could have it all. But not her sons. Never her sons.



Owen stared into the amber liquid. He’d lost his balance. The woman in this room with him now was no one he knew. She was cold and composed and distant. He’d given up his whole life for her, and she felt nothing for him. Jax had said the Omnis had fucked her over. What she was now was Owen’s fault. He should have known the extent of the games the Omnis played, even a decade ago. He’d been raised in their shadow.

He looked at Addy. How the hell did one communicate with someone under these circumstances? He didn’t know her, though they shared their childhoods. Part of them, anyway.

Maybe he should just accept that she was a stranger. A dying stranger. Maybe she was like someone who’d suffered a traumatic brain injury and had lost access to her memories. Maybe the brainwashing they’d done on her was the same level as a brain injury.

He went back over to her, tamping his anger down. No matter how this played out, anger—and a general loss of self-control—would not assist him now. He sat on the sofa and faced her. Her features were carefully arranged in a serene mask. Her composure made him feel like a deranged asshole. How many of those had she seen in the last decade that facing one now was routine for her?