Page 58 of Generation Omega: Claimed
I’m such a malfunctioning assassin—that’s the only explanation—because I’m not even glorying in Thatcher’s epic fall from grace. I sound almost kind or, at least, not entirely psychotic. So embarrassing. “It means we need you, and it means you can’t hurt Tillie ever again. You can only serve her and our pack. It won’t be easy—for either of us—but I won’t allow you to fail.”
Thatcher’s wide eyes prove his brain isn’t firing properly. “I don’t understand why you didn’t just kill me.”
“You and me both, pal.”
“Kazimir, truly, you’re a killer.”
I scoff. “Aren’t we all on a long enough timeline? Look, Thatcher, I’m going to put you in time-out for a bit. My less-evolved side is starting to consider making you dance for my amusement, so…”
“Wait…please.” I can feel his desperation…ick. “I really can’t hurt her?”
“You can’t. I control you now. You basically can’t move a muscle without my permission, and I’ll know every thought that runs through your head. And, just know, Ethan is now the boss of you too. You’re a rogue alpha, beholden to the pack for everything in your life. It’s going to take some time for us to determine what this looks like, but we’ll figure it out.”
“Will you tell me?” I hear his question before he asks it.
I scrub my hands over my face, already regretting not drowning the fucker. “I honestly don’t know whether Sarah McGee is alive or not. I was charged with capturing and delivering, killing when necessary. I don’t know what happened to any of them after I finished my job.”
He appreciates my honesty, while wallowing in disappointment. “Could I ask something else?” Dear god, if he’s as inquisitive as a toddler, we’re in trouble.
“Yes, but this is your last question,” I snap.
“Are we returning to the pack?”
“I don’t know yet. Sleep, Thatcher. I need a break.” I push the direction at him, and he would have fallen off the chair if I didn’t catch him and set him on the deck. Fuck, this is going to be tedious, with a strong possibility of monumentally dreadful.
You could still kill him.
Hush up, or I’ll wake him and get him singing show tunes in Latin just to annoy you.
After enjoying the silence for a few minutes, I remove my phone from my pocket and make the call that needs to be made, because I have no fucking idea what to do next.
“Kazimir, you okay?” Gideon answers, sounding genuinely concerned about me. How sweet.
“Yeah—how’s Tillie?” Did I just ask about Tillie before Ethan? But she was the one in pain when I left, so it makes sense. Doesn’t it?
“She’s good.” Oh,first alphapride is showing. “She’s adapting. I’m a little concerned Jameson is going to screw her to death, but it’s his bondmark, so what can I do?” He groans ruefully. “He’s got Ethan and Tillie in the nest right now, having a ball with both of them.”
A surge of jealousy starts throwing matches in my gut. “He’s not touching…”
“Easy there, killer.” Gideon chuckles. “Jameson is not touching your guy. He has no interest in meeting his internal organs or having you make a hat out of them. Don’t worry, you made quite an impression on him.”
“Then what’s he doing withmybeta?” I demand through severely clenched jaws.
“Jameson is commanding Ethan to pleasure Tillie in all sorts of creative ways—not so unlike what you did, but definitely less intense.” He’s quiet for a few seconds, and reality returns to me. “We talked, and I understand the decision before him. I commend you for caring about Ethan enough to force him to find his right answer.” Gideon sighs, like he can imagine what the future might bring. “Anyway, we’ll talk more, but Jameson’s seemingly irresponsible whimsy is a good distraction for everyone. Mackenzie’s about to take some dessert down there—all is good here. Now, spill.”
I lean over Thatcher’s corpse-looking body and study it, ensuring he’s breathing. No sense making myself the benevolent hero if I accidentally killed him already. But no, he lives. “I had a choice, and I made it. He’s alive and won’t be able to hurt Tillie—or Ethan—ever again.”
Gideon says absolutely nothing, and the silence expands between us.
“Dude, are youdisappointedin me?!” I always imagined that makinggoodchoices led to gold stars, shiny ribbons, or some damn milk and cookies. I got more support than this when I eviscerated people.
“No, Kazimir, you…” The damn actor’s words fail him.
“You are! You’redisappointedthat I didn’t kill him!” I’m shaking my fist again as the boat soothingly and offensively rocks like I’m in a bassinet for a weepy baby. “I’m just saying, I’m gettingveryconflicting signals right now. Like,be a better manand a better alpha, and oh, by the way, show no mercy toProfessor Douchey McAwful.” I eye the snoring rogue alpha. “I mean, if you want me to… he’s right here, and it wouldn’t take any work to usher him through death’s doorway. I could make it painless or painful, but, fuck, I thought you’d be…”
“I am.” Gideon can’t evenactlike he’s not disappointed. When I find all those trophies he’s won foracting, I’m going to use them to start a nice bonfire over which I will cook something ridiculously messy and unsatisfying. “It’s just… I’m listing our resources, and it’s hard to add Thatcher to theassetscolumn. But Tillie will be relieved—she’llbe happy.”
Why does that cause my heart to flutter like butterflies are landing all around me? I need a bug zapper or a flame thrower—stat. “She will?” I find myself timidly inquiring.
