His icy blue eyes held the particular gleam that came from someone who'd never faced consequences for actions that would have destroyed most people's capacity for sleep. But tonight, his usual predatory confidence was underlaid with something that might have been desperation, and the recognition that his carefully constructed criminal empire was being dismantled.
Pulse hammering, eyes narrowed, I allowed the scalpel to appear in my hand without thought. Twelve feet. Precise. Every calculation was accounted for.
The blade flew through the air, catching the overhead lighting in ways that sent reflected illumination dancing across the concrete walls. It found its target. No flourish, no hesitation, surgical certainty. Jude’s hands shot to his throat as understanding dawned behind those wide, icy eyes, and his mouth opened in a silent scream. Blood painted the floor, its copper tang heavy in the air and spraying across the room like a bloody rainstorm. My stomach churned, jaw aching from clenching.
His gasoline scent mixed with copper as consciousness faded according to the predictable timeline that governed blood loss and cerebral hypoxia.
He tried to speak, probably to issue threats or bargain for medical intervention, but severed arteries didn't respond to negotiation, and he collapsed on the concrete floor with the heavy finality of meat surrendering to gravity, his eyes lost focus, and his brain processed its final oxygen reserves.
I watched with clinical interest, noting the rate at which consciousness faded and motor functions ceased. Death was always educational when observed with proper scientific detachment, even when personally satisfying.
Behind Susie's chair, Angus had already moved with Highland fury that transformed him into something dark and primal. His massive hands closed around Zaff's wrist, forcing the knife away from her throat with strength that made bones crack. The drugs in Zaff's system provided artificial confidence but couldn't compensate for the reality of facing someone whose physical power operated on an entirely different scale.
Bennett shielded Susie from arterial spray, and I crouched beside Susie's chair while Angus ensured Zaff would threaten no one again. I checked for injuries while freeing her from the ropes that had burned and cut into her for hours.
Her lemon scent was returning to something closer to normal as the immediate threat receded, though it would take time for the chemical markers of terror to clear her system. The scalp laceration above her left ear was superficial, bleeding heavily as head wounds typically did, but requiring only basic wound care rather than surgical intervention. Her pupils were equal and reactive, indicating no significant head trauma despite the visible blood.
"You came for me," she whispered, disbelief coloring her voice as she tried to process the reality of rescue after hours of expecting death. Her hands trembled as she reached toward me, seeking physical contact that could confirm this wasn't another nightmare designed to torture her with false hope.
"You're family now," I said simply, allowing my clinical mask to crack enough that she could see the genuine care beneath professional competence. "We protect family."
Her lips curved faintly. The words seemed to help her in ways that physical rescue couldn't achieve. Family meant belonging somewhere, being valued for more than utility or entertainment, and having people who would face deadly consequences to ensure your safety.
Dante appeared beside us with blankets retrieved from somewhere in the warehouse, wrapping one around her shoulders.
While I completed my medical assessment of Susie's condition, Angus produced keys he'd taken from Jude's corpse and began unlocking the cages that held the other Omega captives. Six young women in various states of physical and psychological trauma.
They pressed themselves against the backs of their cages as he approached, conditioned by experience to expect violence from any adult male who possessed keys to their confinement. But Angus's chocolate scent had gentled to something warm and paternal, his massive frame somehow conveying protection rather than threat as he worked to free them from their metal prisons.
The cages were now open, but none of the girls dared to crawl out. I hung my head, saddened that they couldn’t even recognize help when it was given.
Susie stood up, shrugging off her blanket. She walked to each cage, giving them a blanket as a peace offering.
The first girl, barely seventeen, flinched at Susie’s hand. I swallowed hard as she helped her out, giving her a blanket and wrapping it around her.
The second shivered as Angus opened her cage. Her dark features and black frizzy hair coiled around her body. Mystomach twisted violently, and I felt guilt flare sharply. How long had they been here? How did we not know?
The third Omega’s eyes were hollow; she was only a child, thirteen, fourteen, possibly. Rage and protective instinct coiled inside me.
The fourth stiffened when Angus held out his hand to help her out. But slowly, he coaxed her forward, wrapping her bony figure in a blanket. At this point, my pulse had spiked, imagining the pain of what she had endured.
Susie made her way to the fifth Omega. She had long, dirty blond hair and the widest blue eyes I’d ever seen. Rope marks were stark against her pale skin, and she avoided eye contact as she crawled out. My stomach flipped again, chest tight.
The sixth, and smallest, trembled as Dante pulled her out. She burst into tears, and he held her in his arms. She was only a child, a cold, bruised, battered child that needed all the love he could give.
How long had they been here? The question rose in my mind again. No one had reported missing Omegas. No one had searched for them. They were lost children, forgotten and abused. I felt sick, and this time I couldn’t stop it. Bile rose, and I turned away just in time, as I vomited all over the piss-ridden floor. What made me feel sicker was the fact that there were eight cages in total, and the other two had dirty blankets in them and two dead children. Had they died from starvation, or from the endless beatings that now decorated their bodies? Upon first impression, I’d say they’d been there for at least two weeks. I’d know more when I autopsied them. But those poor girls. What kind of a life was this?
Susie moved among them, voice firm: “These are my family. They came to save us. They’re safe, I promise.” My chest warmed, pride mixing with residual horror, adrenaline still humming beneath my skin.
The authority in her voice was remarkable considering what she'd endured, but it spoke to the fundamental resilience that had helped her survive abandonment, institutional care, and now kidnapping by professional criminals.
"Family," she repeated, the word carrying pride that made something unexpected stir in my chest. "I'm part of their pack now."
Her smile as she said it transformed her blood-streaked features into something radiant, revealing the young teenager she'd been before violence had temporarily stolen her light. Despite everything she'd suffered, she was claiming her place among us with the kind of fierce certainty that spoke to bonds deeper than mere circumstance.
All the Omegas finally emerged from their cages. They moved with the careful steps of people whose bodies had been consistently abused, but their eyes were losing the hollow stare that spoke of hope permanently extinguished.
Dante found additional blankets to wrap around shivering forms while I conducted quick assessments for injuries requiring immediate medical attention. None of them appeared to be in immediate danger, though all would need extensive care once we'd transported them to safety.
