Page 53 of Generation Omega: Claimed
Can I set him free while still serving the omega? That’s a question I never thought I would be asking. And if the omega legacy doesn’t promptly respond, I will stop this boat and hold my breath until it does. So, yeah, I’m definitely one pouty son of a bitch over here, but I’ll never confess to that crime or any others I commit on the high seas.
It’s likely possible through complicated and repeated mind manipulation.
I refuse to even consider what that means, but denial has never been a friend of mine. Of course, I know what it’s saying. I can’tunbondEthan, but I can make him forget what that bite means. I can free him to live his life in whatever way he wants, but the heaviness that weighs on my soul, as powerfully as a few dozen bricks, is my unasked question.
Can I free Ethan? Yes.
Can I free myself? Not a fucking chance.
Ethan can be made to forget me, our bond and connection, even his closeness to Tillie. I could do that for him so that he can live free of the omegaverse.
But there’s no such option for me, is there?
No, and before you embrace your favorite melodrama about sacrificing your life for Ethan’s freedom, understand that your death won’t free him. It will torture him without end. Only through your survival can he be freed.
I don’t know how to think about this, what to even wish for, other than for Ethan to have the life he wants. I know what’s coming for us, and there’s no promise of safety in our future. He might be better off forgetting all of it, but that concept unravels instantly. Even if he doesn’t remember any of this, our enemies can’t be made to forget the existence of a bonded beta. He will always be a target for them.
The dinghy swerves wildly, hitting a wave too quickly and almost ejecting me—like it’s my first damn time at sea.
Focus, Kazimir, you have a job to do.
I’d snap back at the scolding legacy, except it’s right. I’m alive because of my focus, and the horror of losing Ethan is destroying my greatest asset. I’m no good to anyone if I’m dead, or stupidly swimming to shore for the next few days. So, I’m going to release all doubts about Ethan’s place in my life, and live like he’s mine until he informs me that he’s not. Done.
My relief at returning my attention to the sublime task of soundly beating the snot out of the professor is palpable. I’m almost giddy when I catch sight of his boat that’s stalled for some reason. It’s not until I get closer that the reason becomes delightfully clear.
Remind me never to get on your bad side.Oof, the omegaverse knows a thing or two about torture.
The professor is moaning gutturally, his agony so acute he can’t stand, move, drive an escape craft, or play a harmonica. Then, like the most deliciously dark kismet, he sees me with only a pond’s worth of water between us. Rallying his remaining strength, he attempts to roar his displeasure, but the pathetic fool sounds more like a wounded bunny. This isn’t going to be a respectable battle, which is another letdown courtesy of my would-be archnemesis.
As my dinghy stalks closer to its prey, with presumptions of grandeur, it’s time to finally ask the relevant questions.
Do I finally get to kill this prick? Do Iwantto end him? It’s not like I didn’t have the opportunity before now. I didn’t accidentally miss all his significant organs when I pierced his puffed-up chest with a bullet or three.
Why didn’t I kill him? My thoughts return to that day, and I distinctly remember wanting him to suffer under the weight of his own failures forever. Who says I’m not a giver? And it was the most appropriate punishment for his hubris in thinking one man could stand against Beta Dominion.
From the vantage point of time and experience, I can now acknowledge his courage in rebelling against an impossibly superior force. He never surrendered after all those defeats, and he stood on that auditorium stage and spoke the truth, while knowing a bullet—likely mine—would penetrate himagain. I find myself conflicted about what’s likely to happen at our reunion, and that’s another surprise on a day full of them.
I drive right up to his twice-stolen boat and launch out of mine, tackling him. I land numerous blows, mussing him up in a lovely and not even remotely gentlemanly way—except I do manage to protect his glasses. My benevolence is getting out of hand. Next, I’ll be working as a crossing guard for a family of ducklings. Only after he’s bleeding from his mouth, brow, cheek, and chin do I pause, realizing I’m bored already. I used to love a good, unfair fight, but now it’s leaving me with icky feelings. It’s like I don’t even know myself anymore.
Kill him.
Wow. Just like that? Kill him? No murder foreplay? Cat and mouse? Bear trap? Nothing?
Kill him.
At the risk of vexing the impatient omega legacy, I reach, snatch up the groaning professor, and plant him on the seat. Then, smugly, I glide his glasses back onto his face. One eye is completely useless, considering the blood draining from his brow, but it’s good enough.
“Move, and I’ll kill you,” I state, while Thatcher mumbles his attempt at a rebuttal that’s barely understandable with his lips swelling comically.
The omegaverse is still yammering for me to kill him, but I have questions, and I know for a fact that corpses aren’t forthcoming at all. “Why did you leave?” That’s the billion-dollar question right there, and even if I’m seeking the answer to give Tillie some peace—something Ethan would approve of—or so Gideon knows he wasn’t to blame, then it’s worth the delay. Isn’t it?
The grumbling legacy has now joined the pouty team, so that’s nice and disconcerting.
“Well?”
Thatcher wipes at his bloody mouth with his filthy, ripped sleeve. “Fuck you.” Professor Cerebral is sassy, isn’t he? The dude still hasallhis teeth—I don’t get why he’s so disgruntled.
Well, if we can’t have a civilized conversation, then we’ll have to try something else. I spool up my superior alpha powers and demand, “Tell me why you left my excellent yacht.”
