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My chest swelled as I realized my pack had my back. They trusted me, and were willing to risk their careers over it. I hung up the phone without a word, setting another alarm for six fifty before stalking back inside to finish the High Alpha’s bidding one last time.
God, I was going to love putting a bullet in his skull.
Hang on, Hazel. We’re coming.
10
Rhett
I looked up from the tablet on my lap as Crew stalked back into the makeshift office we’d set up camp in months ago. He looked pissed, more so than usual.
Across from me, Kellan dropped his legs from where they’d been kicked up on the table. His long hair was pulled up into its usual messy bun. “What’d Oak say?”
“He agreed that we need to move tonight,” Crew replied, running a hand through his hair before scrubbing the same hand across his unshaven jaw.
My shoulders relaxed, a fraction of the tension I felt easing. As an alpha, it was in my DNA to protect any omega. As soon as Jude had called, I was ready to act. Usually I was the one who sat back and planned things out first, but an omega in distress wasn’t something I could rationalize.
That, and I was ready for this fucking cult operation to be shut down. I was sick to death of feeling like half of my heart was in limbo, and my hand was a shitty substitute for Jude. Falling in love with a beta hadn’t been something I’d considered, but with Jude…
Fuck. There was no denying our chemistry. And I fucking missed him.
It didn’t help that in the few glimpses I’d gotten of him—usually through the lens of a long distance surveillance camera—he’d looked more stressed and more tense than I’d ever seen. I hated how this case was twisting my fun, jokester beta into something dark and solemn.
“And Martin?” Kellan asked, a smirk playing on his lips.
Crew frowned at the mention of the Special Agent In Charge of the Billings, Montana office we worked out of. “Fuck no. He’s at some fucking dinner, and we know he’s aligned with the director and President Anders.”
I shook my head. “I can’t believe anyone would keep us from saving an omega.”
Crew’s navy eyes locked on mine. “We all know the director has made some questionable choices lately.”
I leaned back in my chair, considering his words. It was something we’d all discussed more and more. Director Stephens had stepped into the role barely a year earlier after the former director had an unexpected heart attack. He’d lived, but decided to retire and spend time with his pack. Stephens was supposed to be a temporary replacement until the President appointed a new person, but to everyone’s shock, he’d given Stephens the job permanently.
The changes we’d seen so far hadn’t been good.
Well, they weren’t good if you weren’t an alpha.
Stephens subscribed to the “alphas are superior” mentality. He believed betas were little more than necessary pieces on the chessboard to keep things running in society. Considering betas made up sixty-five percent of the global population, that was pretty demeaning to the vital roles they played.
Sure, alphas were typically more suited to leadership roles—political, judicial, law enforcement—but betas provided the foundation on which the world functioned. He’d even tried limiting the number of beta applicants the FBI received. That hadn’t gone over well and he’d retreated on the issue… for now.
And then there was the omegas.
While Stephens had never said they were anything less than the miracle they were, at least not in public, he’d made it pretty goddamn clear that he viewed them as nothing more than pretty gems to be traded and shown off. The few times his pack’s omega had been seen at events, she’d been silent and somber, standing behind her pack with downcast eyes.
A month ago, a tabloid had snapped a picture of her working in her backyard garden with her sleeves pushed up. Several questionable bruises raised speculation that all wasn’t well in the director’s pack. Sure, she’d made a statement that she, like most omegas, was prone to bruising easily and she’d tripped over her child’s toy before tumbling down the stairs. But I knew finger-shaped bruises when I saw them.
It seemed the more time went by, the greater the divide between alphas grew. Some alphas—everyone in the room included—believed betas were equally vital and important as alphas, and omegas were more important than us all. Studies had shown the decline in omegas had a direct, negative impact on the health of a pack. Omegas were the heart and souls of a pack. Without them, packs devolved and even dissolved, leading to more aggressive alphas and frustrated betas. That correlated with a rise in violent crimes and the number of incarcerated prisoners.
But there was a steadily growing number of alphas who believed omegas were a resource that needed to be controlled and utilized. Worse yet, the laws I’d vowed to uphold as a federal agent were slowly changing to reflect that. The election of President Anders, a man whose platform was dedicated to so-called packreforms, had been a turning point for the United States. Enough so that I was glad I still held dual citizenship in England.
Not that the Brits were much more enlightened than the Americans. The scarcity of omegas was making alphas, and even betas to a degree, act in ways that were disgusting. Hoarding omegas like a dragon did treasure.
It was utter bullshit.
Which was why I’d had a feeling Crew wouldn’t bother checking in with the director. It was why Crew was the leader of our pack. Why we’d all legally changed our last names to match his, signifying to the world that we were a family.
Crew wasn’t just the leader in our unit, but in our lives. We trusted him to make the hard decisions and ultimately, we went with what he decided.
