Page 19 of Omega on Fire
I scan the room, looking for exits, for anything I can use as a weapon. There has to be a way out.
The first Omega is pushed onto the runway, and the bidding begins. The numbers are obscene, the commentary worse. These people are talking about us like we're racehorses or breeding stock.
I'll die before I let them put me on that stage.
When my guard's grip loosens as he watches the bidding war, I make my decision. It's now or never.
I drive my elbow back hard into his solar plexus. He doubles over with a surprised wheeze, and I turn, ready to run, to fight, to do anything but accept this fate.
And then, like a miracle, the lights go out.
Complete darkness. Chaos erupts. I run.
MOTLEY
I laugh as I step over the body of a guard I just eliminated. This motherfucker really thought he was a soldier—wannabe military type with tacti-cool gear but couldn't even sense me coming up behind him. He couldn’t even use the excuse of complete darkness for me getting the jump on him either. He and the other guards are wearing night vision goggles like we are. Hell, the emergency lighting came on shortly after lights went out in the entire compound. No, these assholes are subpar, simple as that. Just took one swift slice across his neck, and down he went. No fun at all. Quincy's beside me, methodically taking out the remaining security personnel as we secure the control room.
"These rent-a-cops are fucking pathetic," I tell Quincy, wiping my blade on the dead man's shirt. "I've had more resistance from a goddamn mall cop. Where's the challenge?"
Blood splatter decorates my face like war paint, and I don't bother wiping it off. I like the way it feels—warm, wet, real. Nothing gets the blood pumping like a good kill. The metallic scent in the air is intoxicating, feeding the wild part of me that's always lurking just beneath the surface.
"Joker, we've got control of the security room," I say into my comm, stepping over another body to reach the main console. "Cameras are ours. Systems compromised."
"About fucking time," Joker's voice crackles in my ear. "I was beginning to think you stopped for a snack."
I grin, scanning the monitors. "What can I say? I like to savor the moment," I say, making Quincy chuckle behind me.
My eyes dart frantically from screen to screen. Dozens of feeds showing various areas of the compound—hallways filled with running figures, guards shooting blindly through the hazy amber emergency lights, rich assholes crawling over each other to escape. But I don't see her. I don't see Charlotte.
"Anyone got eyes on our girl?" I demand, feeling my chest tighten. The wild part of me growls, anxious and hungry. "Joker? You see her?"
"Negative," he responds, his usually playful tone now serious. "I'm cycling through all feeds. No visual on Charlotte yet."
"Trigger? Moses? Anyone?" I press, my fingers clenching around my weapon.
Teagan's voice comes through, steady but strained. "Main auction floor is chaos. These fuckers are turning on each other, trampling anyone who falls. It's like watching rats flee a sinking ship."
"Perfect cover," Moses adds. "They think it's a raid but don't know who's behind it. We're ghosts in the pandemonium."
I should be pleased. The plan is working, confusion and chaos, the perfect smokescreen for extraction. But my skin crawls with unease. My heart hammers against my ribs, not from the kills or the action, but from something deeper, something primal.
"Find her," I growl, my voice barely recognizable even to myself. "I need eyes on Charlotte. Now."
My Little Harlequin is somewhere in this shithole, scared and likely fighting for her life. Rubbing the center of my chest absently, I shake my head at these illogical feelings. I've only seen her in photographs,surveillance videos, intel reports—but something inside me knows, I just know. It defies logic. It defies everything I know about myself. But there it is, burning in my chest like a brand. Mine.
"I think I've got movement in corridor C," Quincy says, pointing to one of the screens. "Female, moving fast."
I lean in so close my nose nearly touches the screen. The grainy feed makes it harder to see without sufficient light, but there, skirting slowly around the outbuildings is a figure, but the face is unclear.
"Is that her?" I demand, squinting. "Joker, can you enhance this?"
"Working on it," he responds. "The system's ancient, but—yeah, facial recognition is giving me an 87% match. That's our girl."
Something inside me roars to life. She's alive. She's moving. She's fighting.
"She's heading straight for a security checkpoint," Quincy points out. "Three armed guards."
"Trigger, Moses, Charlotte's in corridor C heading north," I bark into the comm. "She's about to hit resistance. Who's closest?"
