Page 59 of Omega on Fire

"Two, confirmed." Moses replies, his voice steady as always.

"Two," Beaux echoes with that edge of anticipation I've come to recognize.

"Two," Teagan says as he adjusts the cuff of his tux, eyes already scanning the entrance like he's playing chess with a ghost. Always three moves ahead.

"Two," Charlotte confirms softly, but there's iron under her voice. She walks one step ahead of us, her burgundy dress clinging to every dip and curve like it was sewn in reverence. The fabric catches the light, making her look like she's wrapped in liquid garnet.

And everyone sees it. Hell, heads turn like it's choreographed. Whispers ripple through the gathered crowd like static. Eyes flick from Charlotte to each of us—Moses in a black-on-black suit that matches his intimidating calm, Beaux with his open collar and untamed grin that's just a little too sharp to be friendly, Teagan radiating Alpha dominance like he was born for black tie combat.

And me. I'm just a Beta, but tonight I feel like thedetonator in a room full of triggers. My brain catalogs every face, every movement, patterns forming in my mind like code on a screen.

She walks between us like a storm cloaked in velvet, and I feel a savage pride that borders on possessive. No Omega has ever looked more untouchable while being so clearly claimed. The rain-and-linen scent of my Beta nature mingles with the heavier Alpha notes surrounding her—a chemical warning to anyone who might approach.

And yet, this is exactly what they want, whoever sent that invitation, whoever orchestrated this event. Charlotte was invited to be seen, paraded. Like a warning. Or bait. I don't know which, and it pisses me off that I haven't figured it out yet. My algorithms should have predicted this. Something's off.

Teagan subtly brushes against my side. "Clock the pattern?"

I nod once, switching to scan mode. "Security's tight, but it's not standard private. I've got three shifts rotating in fifteen-minute cycles. That's high turnover for a non-state gala." My eyes track the movement paths, calculating probabilities. "They're nervous about something."

Teagan's gaze sweeps the perimeter. "Three armed guards by the north entrance. Two near the stairs,earpieces. Military trained. Walk patterns are tight—ex-mil or security agency."

"Agreed." I tap my wrist screen, pulling up the internal floorplan. The blue glow illuminates my fingers for a split second. "Five exits on the floor. Three viable for extraction. I'll feed the map to your smart lenses." My fingers dance across the screen, executing the command with practiced precision.

Moses grunts in approval behind me. "Anything on the comms chatter?"

"Encrypted, but sloppy. I'm already inside their system." My fingers twitch as I walk, interfacing with the tech hidden in my watch. "If they make a move, I'll know it five seconds before they do."

"Make it three," Teagan mutters. "Let's not get cocky."

He's not wrong. But I'm too wired to be humble. My brain doesn't do humble when it's processing at this speed.

Charlotte slows beside me as we enter the main hall. Her eyes sweep the space, columns wrapped in garlands of gold, soft orchestral music wafting from the raised stage in the corner, waiters in white gloves carrying champagne flutes. A masquerade ball of polished elites and predators in silk masks.

She leans toward me, her honey-cinnamon scentmomentarily overpowering the stench of Alpha posturing that fills the room. "Yep, you were right, this is a trap."

"It is," I say, eyes still moving, cataloging faces, exits, threats. "But we're the ones who brought the bigger teeth."

She smiles, lips glossed and eyes smoldering behind her delicate gold mask. "You good down here with us tonight, Joker?"

I nod once. "For you? Always." The truth is, I hate being in the field. Give me a command center and six screens any day. But for Charlotte? I'd walk through hell with a gasoline suit.

I'm not behind a screen tonight, I'm on the floor. With them. With her. And that makes every second feel like it matters more. Every calculation carries weight. Every probability means something.

I still don't know what this show is for, but I'm damn sure it's not going to end the way they planned. Not while my systems are running, not while my pack is here. Not tonight.

Motley

Some people wear masks to hide. Others wear them to lie. But tonight? Tonight, everyone here iswearing a mask because they’re afraid to show what they really are: monsters in designer suits, circling the room like it’s one big game of predator and prey.

And Charlotte?

She’s the goddamn flame every moth wants to burn in.

I clock the moment she stepped out of the town car in that burgundy dress, fitted to her curves like it was stitched by sin itself. The woman doesn’t just enter a room. She claims it. And when the paparazzi’s camera flashes start going off, I feel that old instinct kick in. Not the soldier in me. Not the Alpha. The killer.

Deacon is at her right, smiling that sharp, predatory grin that says he’s just as ready to rip throats as he is to charm donors. Teagan walks ahead, scanning the security team like he’s playing chess and everyone else is still learning checkers. I catch his signal, two taps on the mic. Protocol confirmed. Exits clocked. Weapons checked.

Josiah’s eyes flick across every camera angle through the AR lenses wired to his phone. “Someone so much as breathes wrong, I’ll know,” he’d muttered before we left the penthouse.

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