Chapter Thirty-Two

Faith

"I said stay where you are !"

He could've barked the words for all my omega cared. She was on the hunt—that stench of bleach and nicotine leading me exactly where I needed to go.

My ankle howls with every dragging step as I force my way deeper into the tunnels. If I stop, I don't know if I'll be able to start again. The pain. The panic. The walls tightening around me like a black, clammy fist.

So I don't stop.

Wherever that scent leads, Fang can't be far behind.

Limping furiously, I round a bend in the tunnel system, my eyes finally adjusting to the darkness. Caleb's voice fades further and further away.

"Woah!"

I collide headfirst with a familiar chest. Maverick grabs my arms, steadying me.

"Thank fuck," he exhales. I struggle against him, trying to break free. Can't stop . Can't stop.

"It's alright," he says, holding tighter. "Hey, it's just me!"

I know. That's the whole problem.

Running out of patience, I flash my teeth—making sure he knows damn well I will bite if that's what this comes to. No-one is going to make me lose this scent.

He starts to purr, or growl. I can't tell. Some feeble attempt to calm me down. Clearly this alpha isn't getting the hint.

I sink my canines right into his forearm. He tastes of copper and cinnamon—his blood thick with adrenaline.

Hissing, he loosens his grip just enough for me to break away. I only make it a couple steps when I smell it again—so strong it makes my eyes water.

A dark figure appears at the end of the passage.

"Shit," Maverick snaps. He grabs my wrist, pulling me behind him, before whipping out his gun. "Freeze! Hands in the air!"

The figure stills. I narrow my gaze, trying to make out any distinguishing features. White alpha. Male. Broad, inked shoulders. Maybe six foot. Bald.

Oh shit.

I grab the back of Maverick's shirt in warning. I was right—this guy is no ringleader. But he is probably the meanest fuck they've got on the payroll, and the main reason all the rookies stay in line. Before we understand the value of laying low and winning fights, we had this asshole to thank for ‘keeping the peace'.

Axe.

The figure tilts his head, and something changes in the air. If I had to guess …

I'd say Axe has figured out who I am, too.

Maverick stuffs his phone into his pocket, using both hands to steady the gun. "Stay behind me," he mutters.

Axe takes a step forward, testing Maverick's trigger finger.

"Back the fuck up," Maverick snarls. "Hands. In. The. Air."

He has no idea who he's dealing with. Axe has been with the arena since before Fang got there. Word is, he's a rogue himself —an ex-contender. When the ringleaders couldn't sell him off, they stuck him in the ranks.

In other words, someone you don't want to fuck with .

Caleb's voice, faint and muffled, crackles over Maverick's phone. My inner omega leaps to the sound.

Find me, she pleads, despite everything else in my body telling me I can do this alone. Alpha .

I see it before Maverick does. A glint of metal. A twitch of fingers. Suddenly I can see it all about to play out.

Axe is going to reach for his gun. He'll shoot. Maverick will be too busy shielding me to shoot back.

I can fix that.

I throw myself in front of Maverick right as Axe draws. He's not going to shoot me—he needs me in one piece. Which means it's up to me to protect Maverick.

BANG !

My ears burst, pain like a spear from temple to temple.

Well, should've seen that coming.

Maverick was the first to fire. Goddamn idiot. There's no way am alpha like Axe ignores that kind of challenge, no matter the stakes.

He aims.

BANG! BANG!

Maverick throws his body over mine, turning his back to the bullets. He grunts, stiffening like he's been struck.

My blood stops.

I sign at him—uselessly, desperately. Maverick. Maverick !

He grins, but it's a poor attempt to hide the grimace. "Told you to stay behind me, kitten."

No. No. Fuck ! I told them—tried to make them understand—I could do this alone. Axe never would've fired if it were just me. I could've used that to my advantage. Tortured the ever-loving fuck out of him until he gave me the answers I wanted.

You idiot! I sign, my vision burning, as Maverick slumps over me. He smells the same way he tasted when I bit him—copper and cinnamon.

"That you, F-7?" Axe's voice, just like I remember it, goads me from down the tunnel. He traipses closer. "And here I thought I was gonna have to hunt you down."

Maverick growls. He tries to turn around, but his strength give out, and I have to steady him as he sinks to his knees. I catch Axe's eye over his head—those beady, muddy pits.

Fucking psychopath .

Axe takes another step. Maverick tries to aim his gun, but he can barely lift his arms. I force myself to breathe through my mouth, not sure I'll be able to scent his blood without turning feral.

"Look at you," Axe drawls, pointing his gun at Maverick, "trading one guard dog for another. D-1 says hi, by the way."

D-1. Fang's number. I hiss furiously.

Axe laughs. "There's my girl."

BANG !

Another shot fires from behind me. I spin around, wondering how the hell Maverick managed to get a clear shot, when I see him.

Caleb .

Breathing hard, more beast than alpha, he sprints through the tunnel—barely giving Axe a chance to react.

There's my opening.

I dash forward, biting back the agony in my ankle, to close the distance between me and Axe. He shoots aimlessly, hitting nothing but tunnel. The gun is still clutched firmly in his hands when I attack.

Maybe he forgot rogues don't get weapons in the ring. We have to be better than that. Stronger. Faster. Smarter.

I feign left and tackle his right. He's tense in all the wrong ways, making him way too easy to throw off-kilter. Then it's just a matter of stomping his heels, sending him straight to his knees.

He fights me exactly as I always expected—clinging to his weapon like a lifeline before he finally remembers his training. The second his focus shifts to regular combat, it's all-too easy to tear the gun straight out of his grip.

Maybe I could point it at his head. Make him talk. Make him beg.

But I have a better idea.

I throw the gun aside.

Whack ! His head snaps to the side. Whack ! Blood flings out of his mouth. My hands are on fire. My knuckles are like gaping sores. If punishing this asshole means punishing myself, I can live with that.

For Fang. For Maverick.

"Enough! Omega, stand down—now!"

Caleb's voice rattles me from my delirium. I look up, vaguely wondering how I ended up on the ground—nothing between me and the cold wet concrete except for Axe's mauled body.

Breathing heavily, I force myself to meet Caleb's eye. He has his hands outstretched like he expects me to run at him. Maybe do to him what I did to Axe.

Slowly, I stand. Caleb doesn't step back … but he doesn't get any closer, either.

It's only when I put weight on my bad ankle that the rest of the world comes swarming back in. Ears ringing. Blood swirling. My very bones sharp with pain.

Caleb's eyes widen. He catches me before I can fall, pulling me into his chest.

"Omega," he says, softer now. "Where are you hurt? Show me."

My own injuries are the least of my concern. I search over Caleb's shoulder. Maverick , I sign. He just frowns at me. I snarl, pointing. Maverick !

"He's gonna be fine," Caleb assures me, finally catching on. He holds the side of my face, stroking my jaw with his thumb. "Paramedics are on their way, but we need to get you both topside."

Fine ? There's no way Maverick is—

I look again, my eyes just about falling out of their sockets when I see Maverick grunting to his feet.

I push away from Caleb, limping frantically to stop him. Don't move! I sign. That shot—that wound—he's lucky he hasn't bled out!

"Easy, kitten," Maverick laughs, steadying me as I reach him. I scan him up and down, searching for the wound. Maybe the bullet passed clean through.

I put my hands on his chest. He's … solid. Even more than I expected.

"Goddamn." His breath shudders, eyes flickering down at me. "At least let me take your dinner first."

My mind reels, flabbergasted, before it finally sinks in.

I pound my fist against Maverick's front—the thick vest beneath his shirt thudding securely. He hisses.

"Watch the Kevlar, sweetness. Still tender."

He's okay. He's really okay. I was so certain I'd killed him, already wondering how I'd explain myself to his family. Would I have written it down? Stood next to an interpreter? Or maybe I'd have cut and run.

At last, I'm out of adrenaline. My body sags into his arms. I don't fight him as he catches me, or as he sweeps me up. The pain in my ankle—in my head—swarms into focus.

A loud growl echoes through the tunnel.

Weakly, I look over Maverick's shoulder to find Jaxon racing toward us, a handful of RDF alphas on his tail.

"Faith!" he roars.

The last thing I'm aware of before my vision slips away is his scent. Finding me—finding himself—imprinted on my body.

My inner omega preening as I descend into blackness.