Page 53 of Run Omega Run
Chapter 22
Bennett
The scream that tore through the house hit my nervous system like a lightning strike, every instinct I possessed snapping to attention with military precision. Becky's voice carried a note of pure terror. My body responded before my mind processed the sound, muscles coiling as I rolled away from Heather's sleeping form and reached for the clothes I'd discarded hours earlier.
"Stay here," I commanded quietly. Heather stirred against the pillows, her heat-exhausted body still radiating warmth that called to every protective fiber in my being, but the danger downstairs demanded immediate attention.
It was past midnight, Becky had stayed to put the children to bed and look after Heather’s mother. A thousand and one thoughts passed through my mind. Why did she scream? Had one of the children been hurt? Had Heather’s mother passed away?
I pulled on jeans and a shirt, the peppermint of my scent sharpened with adrenaline, mixing with the lingering traces of our pack's combined essence that still perfumed the air. But underneath those familiar markers, I caught something else drifting up from the ground floor—gasoline and engine exhaust,gunpowder, and frayed burning wires. Scents that didn't belong in our home, scents that spoke of violence and predation.
My bare feet hit the hallway floor with silent precision. Through the thin walls, I could hear children murmuring in their sleep. Thank God it wasn’t one of them that was hurt!
Voices below raised in warning, furniture scraping against floors, and underneath it all, a man's laughter that made my jaw clench with protective rage.
The staircase stretched below me like a descent into battle, and I took the steps two at a time while my mind cataloged threats and tactical options. The front entrance was compromised. Multiple intruders, based on the variety of boot steps against the floors.
When I reached the main floor, the scene that greeted me confirmed my worst suspicions. Our solid new front door hung askew on twisted hinges, the frame cracked where it had been forced open by men who understood that violence was often the most efficient key.
Four figures filled the entryway like storm clouds gathering before a hurricane. I recognized them instantly as one of the local gangs that hung out in this district. They were from one of Shaker City's criminal enterprises: Jude Serphent's inner circle, the enforcers who collected debts that couldn't be paid in money.
Jude himself stood at the center, his lean frame dressed in an expensive suit that couldn't disguise the predator underneath. His icy blue eyes swept across our recently repaired interior with the calculating assessment of someone pricing merchandise. Behind him, his lieutenants spread out with practiced efficiency. Zaff Crane's muscular bulk blocking the doorway, Karver Keeling's slim form melting into shadows, and Mazus Hunt's wild green eyes scanning for threats with the hypervigilance of someone who'd survived by anticipating violence.
Children now huddled at the top of the stairs in their pyjamas. I could see Loubie Lou's stuffed rabbit poking out from under her arm. Dylan and Denson had pressed themselves against the far wall, while Susie tried to pull the little ones away, her face pale with terror that made something murderous unfurl in my chest.
"Well, well," Jude said, his voice carrying the cultured precision of someone who'd learned to make threats sound like poetry. "The renovations are even more impressive than my sources indicated." He gestured around at the solid walls, the refinished floors, the windows that no longer leaked. "Someone's invested considerable time and money into this property."
Becky stood frozen near the kitchen doorway, her vanilla scent spiked with fear so sharp it made my teeth ache. Her glasses had slipped down her nose, and her hands were trembling.
I moved forward with deliberate control, positioning myself between the intruders and the staircase that led to Heather. Every step was calculated, designed to project confidence while keeping my body centered for quick movement in any direction.
"Gentlemen," I said, my voice carrying a calm authority. "I believe you've made a mistake. This is a private residence, and you're trespassing."
Jude's smile widened, revealing teeth that were too perfect to be anything but expensive dental work. "No mistake, Bennett," he replied, with a casual familiarity that suggested research, preparation, intelligence gathering that made this more than a random crime. "Though I do appreciate the improvements you've made to our property."
"Your property?" I kept my voice level, professional, but inside, rage built with the slow heat of molten steel.
"Debts, my dear Colonel," Jude said, pulling a folded document from his inside jacket pocket with theatricalprecision. "Medical bills, utility payments, mortgage arrears. All adding up to a sum that exceeds the property value, giving us certain... collection rights." His eyes glittered with satisfaction as he surveyed the room. "Though I must say, the recent improvements have made the asset considerably more attractive."
I studied the paper he held, recognizing the format of legal documents even from a distance. Whether legitimate or forged, it represented leverage he believed gave him power over this household. But leverage was meaningless against someone who refused to be moved.
"I'll cover any legitimate debts," I said simply, my tone carrying the absolute certainty of someone who'd never made promises he couldn't keep. "Name your price."
Jude's laughter was like ice cracking, sharp and dangerous. "Oh, Bennett, you misunderstand the situation entirely." He folded the document and returned it to his pocket with deliberate slowness. "This isn't about money anymore. This is about opportunity."
He gestured around at our carefully restored interior, at the children who cowered at the top of the stairs, at the home we'd rebuilt with our own hands and hearts. "A profitable property in a recovering neighborhood. And most interesting of all..." His nostrils flared slightly, testing the air with predatory focus. "An Omega in heat upstairs, unprotected and valuable."
My vision went red around the edges, every muscle in my body coiling with violence that demanded immediate release. The mention of Heather, the casual way he discussed her as if she were merchandise to be acquired, triggered responses that bypassed rational thought entirely.
"You seem to misunderstand something fundamental," I said, my voice dropping to a final warning. "This house andeveryone in it are under my protection. That's not a negotiation or a business proposition. That's a statement of fact."
Jude's smile never wavered, but something shifted in his posture, a subtle recognition that he was facing someone who wouldn't be intimidated by reputation or implied threats. Around him, his men adjusted their positions slightly, hands moving closer to weapons I couldn't see but knew they carried.
"Protection," Jude mused, tasting the word like expensive wine. "An admirable sentiment. But protection requires power, and power in this city flows through very specific channels." His icy gaze fixed on mine with laser intensity. "Channels that I control."
I felt my scent sharpen further, peppermint mixing with something darker, more primal. Every instinct told me this moment balanced on a knife's edge, that whatever happened next would determine whether this house remained a sanctuary or became another casualty of predators who fed on the vulnerable.
