Page 34 of Generation Omega: Revealed
Pain.Love.
Loss.Gratitude.
Without words, he’s answering me, like we have our own open phone line. It’s barely begun and we’re already inside each other. What will this be like when he bites me? Will he bite me? Need surges and my question is answered. Yes, bondmarks are definitely a thing.
Gideon pauses at the door, listening, and then eases it open without allowing his body to be visible to anyone who might be watching. Then he gently kicks a box like it’s a soccer ball and uses it as a doorstop. There’s no light beyond the door, no streetlights in the alley. Using sexy, stealth moves he probably learned on a set, he peeks through the opening, to the left and then the right.
He leans back inside and turns to me, gruffly whispering, “There’s not much cover, but we’ll stay in the darkest space near the wall. Move as quickly as you can toward the dumpster.” He exhales a ragged breath. “This could be over before we make it a couple steps, but it feels like the right thing to do.” He soothes his hand over my cheek and our hearts sing. “Do you agree?”
I glance at Ethan, his eyes burning like his entire soul is aflame. He thinks I’ve never seen him fight, never seen the look that’s in his eyes right now—the bloodlusty gaze of a gladiator. I had no peace with him fighting, while thinking he was my tender-hearted bestie. After I snuck in and caught the show, I only wanted him more and didn’t worry at all about him after that. “Ethan believes the omega legacy picked us for a reason and is trying to help us survive. He thinks we should trust the wisdom of it until it gives us a reason to doubt.” I hold Gideon’s gaze, seeing how he unintentionally leans closer to me. “Let’s have faith that what we feel is right.”
Gideon’s obvious pride makes me a little dizzy, which isn’t all that helpful just now. “Then let’s do this.” He lifts the phone—and my hand—to his ear. “Are you close?”
I don’t hear the answer, but I think I catch some swearing.
“Just get here. We’re on the move.”
Gideon tilts my hand and kisses the back, inhaling me as though he smells something incredible. Oh, crap… do I have a scent? I smell nothing but mold and the not-so-delightful aroma of dumpster.
After an obvious struggle, Gideon manages to release my hand and then turns to Ethan. “Are you ready?”
“Sure am.”
Gideon observes Ethan’s posture and overall fierceness and clearly concludes that my soulmate is fully prepared for whatever comes next.
Ethan squints. “She’syour priority and you both are mine. Just saying.”
I grab Ethan’s mitted hand. “Let’s all get through this, okay?”
“Deal.”
Gideon leans and checks the alley again, before giving us a nod and leading the way out of the building. Away from the flickering light of the lanterns, my eyes are slow to adjust to the sudden darkness. And it isdark, darker than any street or alley should be in such a massive city.
I don’t realize how ragged my breathing is until I feel Ethan’s trusty oven mitt reaching again for my hand. He’s walking just behind me, a little to my left, with the building at my right. Gideon leads us toward the shadow that must be the dumpster.
Five steps.
Ten.
Fifteen.
We reach it and everything goes to hell.
CHAPTER18
TILLIE
The first sound that registers is Ethan’s sharp intake of breath, but it’s the thud against the dumpster that rattles me. Ethan flinches and jerks his hand away from me.
“Protect her.”
Gideon grabs me and places me behind him, the dumpster at my back. I don’t know what’s happening. Even without the darkness, the expanse of Gideon’s back prevents me from seeing anything. I peek around his side and catch sight of Ethan’s silhouette. He’s strangely hunched and I don’t know why he’s just standing there in the middle of the alley.
I almost ask, but then I see them—the red dots on his chest. He’s slowly backing away from us and I can’t breathe, can’t scream, can’t exist in this moment. My mind won’t give me an explanation for anything and, even if it did, my body is trapped between Gideon and a giant hunk of metal.
Gideon’s hand is low, his gun not even aimed. I don’t understand until I hear a gravelly voice from beside the dumpster and glance up to see the barrel of a gun aimed at Gideon’s head. I can’t see the man who holds it.
“Drop it or he dies,” the man says, his Russian accent strong.
