Chapter Four
Jaxon
Twenty-five arrests, including four of the arena's ringleaders. Nearly thirty rescues. Not a bad job, by all accounts.
Except that I'm still pissed.
"They got away," I snarl, pacing the bullpen. "Two ringleaders, and god knows how many more rogues. How the fuck does that happen?"
Caleb sighs. "Their scout must've tipped them off. Given them just enough time."
"Time to what? Relocate? Set up shop all over again?"
He gives me a hard look, those dark green eyes penetrating. A part of me hates when he gets like this, pulling the head alpha card while we're at work, but another part of me knows I need it.
"They're not setting up shop anytime soon," he says at last. "They don't have the resources, or the clientele. We made damn sure of that." The words bring me some comfort—at least this long-awaited raid wasn't completely in vain—when Caleb angles his head. "You're on edge."
I gesture around the bullpen, indicating the scattered RDF personnel at their desks. "Yeah. We all are."
"This is different."
"Different how?"
He quirks his brow. "The rogue omega."
Maybe it would be easiest to brush him off, ask which ‘rogue omega' he's talking about. But I see him looking down at my forearms, all scratched up, and I know better than to deny it.
"I had to use my bark on her," I explain.
"That must have been difficult."
"Yeah, well. She was difficult."
"You've handled plenty of feral rogues before."
And none of them hold a candle to her, I almost snap back. Her speed. Her viciousness. Her eyes . Even after the paramedics gave her the all-clear, I haven't been able to shut my inner alpha up.
"Rehab isn't gonna be easy for that one," I say. "I get the feeling she doesn't play well with others."
"Does the omega she put in the hospital have anything to do with your ‘feeling'?"
I go quiet.
"You know, she was only doing what she had to do."
"I'm not blaming her. Honestly, I was thinking what she needs is a major psych assessment." I risk a meaningful glance. "Reckon Micah's up to the job?"
Caleb bristles ever-so-slightly.
I sigh. "Poor guy keeps texting. Wants to know when we're headed back to the den."
His jaw clenches. "He's probably been worried about the raid."
"Wouldn't have to worry if he was here."
"Jaxon."
I stop myself. Never mind that Micah is the best damn psychiatrist in the RDF—if Caleb thinks he's not ready to come back to work, then he's not coming back to work.
Thankfully, commotion from the other room keeps me from having to salvage the conversation.
Maverick bursts into the bullpen, big-chested and steely-eyed as ever. "Caleb. Need your help in here."
We follow him through to the holding cells, where rogue alphas and omegas have been sectioned off. I half-expect to see someone trying to break through the glass divide—maybe we've separated a mated pair by mistake—until I realize where the action is centered.
The omegas' cell.
One black-haired omega with flashing blue eyes seems to be attacking whoever she can get her hands on. Most of the others are smart enough to stay the fuck out of her way, but those who aren't—
"Open the door!" Caleb snaps.
Maverick punches in the passcode. The smudged glass door slides open.
We burst inside. Caleb hooks our black-haired menace under her shoulders while I grab her opponent, tearing them apart. Rage fills the air like burnt copper.
"Take him to first aid," Caleb orders, nodding at the omega who is now baring his teeth at me. "I'll deal with this one."
The menace snarls, doing everything she can to escape Caleb's grip. Unlucky for her, Caleb is stronger than I am. Even without barking, he's not letting her go.
"C'mon, big guy," I mutter, dragging the other omega away.
I do my best not to look over my shoulder. Wishing I could see our wild-eyed menace one last time. Wishing I could scent her. Wishing I knew what she smells like, when she's not so feral.
And a feral part of myself wishing I could take her home.