Page 176 of Unhinged Omega

"Oh look, a volunteer." His grin is all teeth. "I do love an audience."

But before any of us can move, a familiar voice cuts through the chaos.

"Enough!"

The command cracks across the deck like a whip.

My brother stands at the rail of a sleek speedboat that's pulled alongside us, his expression thunderous. Whiskey stands beside him with a boot propped up on the bow, looking far too amused by the situation.

"Where the fuck is Thane?" Valek demands.

Whiskey's grin widens. "Oh, he's a little...tied upwith Ivy at the moment, if you know what I mean."

Valek's silver eyes narrow. "Are you telling me he's balls deep while we're out here dealing with Asshole Rail?"

"Azarel," I growl, my lip curling in irritation at his "creative" pronunciation.

"Yes, that's your name. Would you like a gold star?" Valek snaps at me, spitting blood into the water.

I don't have time for this. "Where is she?"

"Who?" Whiskey asks me innocently.

"Cosima." Her name comes out as a snarl. "Where. Is. She?"

Every muscle in my body screams with the effort of holding back. Of not tearing my brother and his pack of mongrels limb from limb.

But I must maintain control.

For her.

Always for her.

If only because I need information.

My brother just watches me with that insufferable calm that's always defined him. Even now, even after everything, he maintains that carefully constructed mask of control.

It makes my blood boil.

"Answer me!" I snarl, taking a threatening step toward him. Wraith's growl deepens to a dangerous pitch, but I ignore him. My focus is solely on my brother.

"We moved her somewhere safe," my brother says finally, his voice maddeningly even. "That's all."

"Safe?" I bark out a harsh laugh. "Since when do you care about anyone's safety but your own?"

Something unreadable flickers in his pale blue eyes, but his expression remains neutral. "Can you blame me? You haven't exactly been reliable,brother."

"She's my mate!" I roar.

The effect is immediate. They all go completely still, watching me. But it's my brother's reaction I focus on. The slight widening of his eyes. The almost imperceptible stiffness in his shoulders.

After our last encounter, I'm certain he already suspected as much, but hearing something aloud is always a different matter. And I've never been the type to discuss romance with family. We have that in common.

Whiskey breaks the heavy silence with a low whistle. "Well shit," he drawls casually from his position on my brother's boat. "He's got a good point there."

I watch as something unspoken passes between my brother and Whiskey. Some strange silent communication born of years fighting side by side. Or from whatever strange bond they share. My brother's jaw works, the muscle twitching beneath his skin as he visibly wrestles with himself.

Finally, he lets out a long breath. "She's at the airfield closest to the black market," he says, each word seeming to cost him. "With Nikolai Vlakov. You can't miss it."

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