Page 77 of Omega on Fire

Somehow, she agrees. Beaux scoops her up like she weighs nothing, and I'm left alone with the unconscious Omega.

"You have to wake up," I tell him flatly. "She's planning for war. She needs you."

Twenty minutes later Charlotte returns in fresh clothes, her hair damp. She looks almost like a different person—soft sweatpants, oversized T-shirt,bare feet. The warrior washed away, leaving the woman beneath.

She climbs onto the bed without a word, careful not to jostle Brookes. Not fully lying down, just curled on her side with his arm tucked against her chest. Her eyes close, but I know she's not sleeping. Just breathing. Trying to find her center in the chaos.

All we can do now is wait for Brookes to wake. And when he does, I have a feeling he's going to have a lot to say.

Me? I've got work to do. This is just the beginning of bringing down the entire fucking house of cards.

CHAPTER 29

BROOKES

Idrift in a haze of darkness, floating through a fog of nothingness until pain—sharp, demanding, insistent—drags me back to consciousness. My head throbs like someone's taken a jackhammer to my skull, and the metallic taste of blood coats my tongue. I pry my swollen eyelids open, vision blurry as I struggle to place my surroundings.

Curtains. Sunlight shining through. Antiseptic smell. The steady beep of machines. Not a hospital, but a room. I'm in a bedroom.

For one blissful moment I can't remember why. Then everything slams back into my consciousness, along with the pain. So much pain.

Meghann. The makeup artist. The rushed photo shoot.

"We need you to fill in last minute, Brookes. The other model had a family emergency," my agency rep, Grace, told me.

How many times have I heard that line before? Enough that I didn't question it. Didn't question why my usual makeup artist wasn't there. Didn't question why this new girl—Meghann with two n's, I remember her spelling it out—insisted on taking me out the back entrance.

"There's a shortcut this way. The photographers want natural lighting from the alley for a few shots."

Stupid. So fucking stupid.

The alley. The hands grabbing me. The cloth over my mouth. The way my limbs went heavy as darkness claimed me. Then waking up in that warehouse, tied to a chair, my face already bloody from a beating I didn't remember receiving.

My fingers twitch involuntarily, and I realize someone is holding my hand. I flex my fingers slightly, feeling soft, warm skin against mine. A gentle squeeze.

The figure beside my bed jerks upright, her head snapping up from where it had been resting near my arm.

"Brookie?" Charlotte's voice cracks, exhaustion and relief battling for dominance in that single word.

I try to smile, but my face feels like it's been put through a meat grinder. "Hey, Char." The words come out slurred, barely comprehensible through my swollen lips.

Her face crumples, tears spilling down her cheeks in silent rivers. I've seen Charlotte cry exactly twice in all the years I've known her. The first time was when we successfully lobbied for the Omega Protection Act. The second was when her grandmother passed. Charlotte doesn't cry—she fights.

But now she's crying for me, and somehow that breaks something inside me that the beatings couldn't touch.

I survived. Against all odds, I fucking survived.

A laugh bubbles up from my chest, painful and slightly hysterical, and Charlotte joins me, tears still streaming down her face as we laugh together. This right here is why I love this woman. You’ve got to laugh to keep from crying, or so they say.

"You look like shit," she says finally, wiping her eyes.

"You should see the other guys," I manage to croak, then wince as pain slices through my ribs. "Wait, you did see the other guys, didn't you?"

The memories are fragmented. Hazy snapshots of Senator Blaine's polished shoes stepping into my line of vision. His perfectly tailored suit. The sound of his voice—smooth and cultured, a stark contrast to the ugliness of his words.

"The bitch thought she would embarrass me tonight. Well, I'll make you pay for the sins of your friend. Ruin his pretty face."

Then fists and boots. Pain beyond comprehension. Darkness crept in at the edges, a blessing I desperately sought. Gunshots. Charlotte's face hovering over mine, her mouth moved but the words were lost in the roaring of my ears.

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