Faith & the Dead End Devils (Sweet Omegaverse, #8)(126)

The door banged open, and I winced at the sudden brightness crashing into my eyes, not sunlight but electric blue-white.

"Fuck." Adam stumbled to a stop at the glare of harsh headlights pointed in our direction.

I was blinded, panicked, my throat vibrating with a nervous snarl.

"Hand over the omega," a strong voice ordered from within the glare of the headlights.

"DID protocol," Adam whispered to me.

Mikey pushed me and Adam behind him, marching forward, gun raised in both hands. "Turn off the fucking highbeams, and—"

Bang!

Adam pulled me into his chest as I screamed, my body rattling.

Threat. Fight. Claw. Protect.

"Hand over the omega," the voice repeated, and this time Adam and I both shuddered. An alpha's bark.

"DID protocol," Adam reminded me. "It's okay, kiddo. Together. We can do it."

"Hand over—"

"We heard you!" Adam shouted back, raising his arms. "We're coming!" He nudged me and tapped his head against mine, adding in a whisper, "Together."

Together. I swallowed hard and nodded, stamping down my warning whine, my urge to run and bite and scream. Together. Adam had the tracker. We would go together. My pack was hammering into the bond, screaming for me in my chest. They would come.

I turned with Adam, keeping my head down, my eyes on my own feet shuffling, my fists raised even though I couldn't unclench my fingers.

Eighty-seven fucking percent my ass, Eve, I thought.

"Not you," the voice snarled. "Just the girl."

"What?" Adam asked, his steps stuttering.

"No!" I gasped as a pair of huge hands grabbed my shoulders. "No. No! No! Adam!"

I kicked and wailed as the figure in black lifted me from the ground, trapping my arms to my sides.

"Faith! No! Let her go! No!"

"Don't hurt him!" I screamed as another dark-clad figure stepped forward, shoving Adam to the ground. I kicked and the man holding me grunted but didn't release me.

The door banged open, and it was Grim and not Skid who came out, face bloodied and eyes wild.

"Faith!" Adam screamed, just in time for Grim to catch him by the chest, hold him back and pull him out of the way of a sharp gunshot firing.

"Adam! No! Noo!" I snarled and twisted, thrashing in the hold like iron around me. I was spun to face the headlights and blinded again, panic replacing clear thoughts, anger and terror uncaging the force inside of me.

Adam's voice was foggy in my head as my mind narrowed down to the arms around me. The thick, harsh scent of the alpha. The impact of my knee against some bone. The tear of cloth under my fingernails.

Not again. Not again, please.

Alphas! Come for me.

The glare of light broke away as I was shoved into darkness, into metal. Into another cage.





43. CHANCE





I breathed through my teeth, counted the pound of my own heartbeat in my ears, and listened to the drumbeat of the music from inside the Wasted's compound. My back was to the hard wall of the building, gaze bouncing between searching the open area around me and checking my phone.

Ghost was watching me from a safe distance, his nerves making mine worse, but he kept pushing Faith through to me, distant and fairly calm. The bond was a revelation, not just to be able to reach Faith—she'd always offered her feelings to me clearly—but to finally know the startling range of emotions Ghost possessed. It was overwhelming most of the time, picking through a simmering self-loathing buffeting against his pride and arousal for me, but it made sense of the man who'd been a facade to me for so long.

My phone brightened in my palm, a text from Bear.

Compound is clear.

Garrett had put together a dossier of the Wasted, a thick folder of their crimes within the club and prior to joining. We'd found more than enough evidence against the prez and his loyalists, and Jamie and Rory had organized a plan to get the rest out of the building. No prospects, no club ass, just the men who'd pooled together to buy my bondmate.

There would be an investigation, of course, but even if our club hadn't had the local officials in their pockets, no one would question the circumstances.

I placed the vent cover back on the wall, screwing it shut again, and crawled slowly along the base of the wall toward the back of the building where I'd be able to make a run for it. I paused at the corner, listening for boots on earth or voices speaking, and peeked carefully through the gap between the gutter and the wall.

Empty.

I frowned, searching the hazy, hot horizon for any sign of Skid. I knew that bastard couldn't run that fast, and he was supposed to place his accelerant at the same signal as me.

Fucker. I grit my teeth as I crawled forward. I would've heard Skid hollering if he'd gotten caught by the Wasted. None of our team could see us from this vantage. He'd either done his work early and decided to fuck off, or he hadn't gotten into position at all. There were no windows on this back wall, and I rose and jogged lightly to the small attached shed. Even from the outside, I could smell the chemicals, but I unjammed the door and opened it, arm over my nose and mouth.

The Wasted's little meth hut was cooking, burners boiling and gas thick in the air. A perfect set-up. And one that was probably going to blow early, since Skid hadn't waited for the signal. I shut the door, refastened the simple paper jam that would disintegrate in the explosion, and then ran across the short yard and down the scruffy hill, out of sight.