Page 75 of Into the Fire: Before

“They’re missing, presumed dead, yeah? Which means no one’s ever found a body?” She took a shaky breath. Fuck me, she was trembling. “If they’re doing research…what if the omegas are still…wherever they were taken?”

Brea shook her head. “That’s not your responsibility.”

“Maybe not,” Taryn replied, “but if I were stuck in some prison being treated like a lab rat, I’d sure hope that if someone had the chance to get me out, that they’d at least try.”

“Teacup,” Brea said gently, “this isn’t shopping local, or…or calling our legislator. This isn’t a social justice rally you can go to in the morning then come home for lunch.”

“You think I’m not aware?” Taryn cut back. “I’m the one who was tied up and almost fucking raped in my own house. I am acutely fucking aware.”

Brea’s face twisted into a pained expression. “Taryn, love—”

“Out.” Caine’s voice lifted above all the others. We stopped, staring at him. He glared over at Vikki, pointing to the door. “Get the fuck out. Right now.”

Vikki stood taller, like she was going to resist. Caine let his alpha take up a little more space in the room. “You’ve told us all you have to share. Which means we’re done with you. Get out right now, or I call the cops and let them sort out how to deal with all this intel here.”

Vikki froze, hesitated for just a moment, then gave a single nod. She packed up her papers, taking out a business card from her bag and leaving it on the coffee table. She looked around atall of us but ended with Taryn. “We could make a difference,” she said before straightening and bolting from the room.

Before any of us had a chance to speak, Taryn did the same. “Don’t follow me,” she said as she charged down the hall and slammed the door to the room she and Brea shared with a crack that broke each of us just a little bit.

Atworkthenextday, I struggled to focus on my patients. All I could think about were Taryn and Brea back at home. How small Taryn had looked, curled up in the bed when I’d gone in and softly kissed her forehead before leaving. The stony look of devastation on Brea’s face.

How’d everything gotten so absolutely fucked?

I took advantage of the midday lull to grab a sandwich from the cafeteria, sitting in moody silence and eating it in tiny, non-appetite-having bites.

“Ah, Dr. Arceneaux,” a friendly voice called from behind me.

The hospital's amiable mail clerk, Stu Kline, approached. With concerted effort, I gave the sweet older man a smile. “Hey, Stu. You see they got Aggie’s brownies today?”

“Oh, don’t you worry ‘bout that. Aggie’s got me on speed dial. Knows to call me the second they come out the oven.” With a chuckle, he tossed a package onto my table. “Was just headin’ to your mailbox, but since you’re here.”

The brown envelope was plain, no return address, no stamps. JustDr. Brooks Arceneauxscrawled over it. I held it up to him. “Someone dropped this off?”

Stu was already strolling away, cart ahead of him. He half turned back with a shrug. “I just pass ‘em out, doc.”

“Thanks, Stu,” I murmured far too quietly for him to hear as I examined the envelope some more. Opening it was probably a foolish choice, given everything going on at the moment. Then again, I’d been known to make a fool of myself on occasion.

I ripped open the envelope, and immediately another envelope—smaller, white—slid out.

Just in case. -V

Eight

Lin

Theapartmentsmelledlikedespondent omega. Like toffee left to burn on the stove and cream left to spoil on the counter.

Three days since Detective Banerjee had dropped the bomb on us. None of us had left the apartment in those days, Brooks and Brea both taking personal leave and me assigning the meetings I couldn’t push or cancel to my assistant.

We were scared, and we hid it poorly.

Hardly a moment since the big reveal had passed without one or the other of us catastrophizing, asking the same questions and giving the same answers.

Why would they want to control omega genetics?Why wouldn’t they, honestly? There was money in omegas from healthcare to luxury perfumes. Brooks told us about the trials using synthetic omega hormones, but so far they weren’t even close to the genuine article. There were even rumors thatpart of what made AlphX so addicting for alphas was some manipulation of omega pheromones.

Besides that, if omegas disappeared, the entire multimillion-dollar supplement industry disappeared with it. Heat control, rut suppressants, scent neutralizers, slick camouflage, instinct dampeners—they all depended on omegas’ continued existence.

Not to mention that in many circles, designations still carried social clout. And enough of those circles would be willing to pay through the nose for the guarantee.

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