Chapter Forty-Seven

Faith

"They what ?"

My ears perk up, peering around the bedroom door.

Maverick's body appears in glimpses as he paces the kitchen. "Well … fuck. I'm glad she's okay, but this is not good . Faith is gonna be pissed."

I snatch my crutches, hobbling down the corridor. If he's talking to Caleb, like I suspect, and this is about the mission—like I also suspect—then I need to know what exactly is going on.

Reaching Maverick, I thrust my hand out to take the phone. He looks down at me incredulously.

"Yeah," he says, "I'm still here. It's Faith, she—" he cuts off. "Yeah. Yeah, I got it."

I hear a distinctive click as the line goes dead. Rage shoots up inside of me.

He couldn't even muster the courage to talk to me himself ?

"Don't look at me like that, kitten," Maverick sighs. "I don't know the last time you talked on the phone, but I'm pretty sure that would've been a one-sided conversation."

What happened ? I sign.

"First of all—" he hands me his phone, "use this. Second of all, I'm afraid I've got some bad news."

Scowling, I type, DID SOMEONE GET HURT ?

"A beat cop. Couple ring guards got the drop on her. Luckily, she was smart—" he grins, "—like me. Had her Kevlar on, so she'll pull through."

THE GUARDS? I demand.

"That's … where the bad news comes in."

They got away, I realize instantly. God fucking dammit—those idiots let them get away!

I shake my head, glaring up at him furiously.

"I know," he huffs. "Trust me, I know. But we've got our best scouts hunting them down."

IT'S TOO LATE, I type. THE R'LEADERS KNOW THEY'RE COMPROMISED.

"You really think they'll change locations that quickly?" he asks. My glare tightens, and he puts his hands up. "Don't shoot the messenger, princess. I'm as pissed as you are."

YOU SHOULD BE OUT THERE, I accuse, SCOUTING.

"Think that might defeat the purpose of my looking after you ."

I hope he can tell I'm growling. Typing bitterly, I thrust the phone into his chest.

GO FUCK YOURSELF.

Maverick whistles between his teeth. Then he notices me leaving—storming toward the front door.

"Hey, wait up!"

He blocks the hallway. I start to imagine all the ways I could use my crutches as a weapon when he offers me his phone once more.

"Talk to me, kitten. I can't help you if you don't tell me what you need."

Snarling, I snatch it out of his hands. NEED TO PUNCH SOMETHING. I look around at his old, shambled house. BETTER TO DO THAT OUTSIDE.

He relaxes. "Why didn't you just say so?"

Because you'd stop me ? Or, more realistically, because anyone else in their right mind would stop me?

"You need to blow off some steam? I'm down." He considers, stroking his jaw. "That ankle is gonna be an issue …" Then his eyes light up. "I've got it."

He tells me to get my things. I don't move—both because, apart from the crutches and the clothes on my back, I have no things—and because I still have no idea what he's on about.

He meets me where he left me in the hallway and crouches down, helping me into my boots. "You know, civilized omegas don't leave the house without shoes." He gets to my hard cast and stops. "Or, shoe ."

I rear back, typing quickly. WHERE ARE WE GOING ?

Maverick shrugs. "Somewhere fun."

I'M NOT MEANT TO GO OUT, I tell him before I can help it. CALEB SAID.

"Oh, Caleb said?" He smirks. "Well, Caleb also said it's my job to look after you. So that's what I'm gonna do."

I don't resist as Maverick guides me out the front door, or as he helps me into his car. My heart is pounding, my inner omega growling at me for ignoring Caleb's orders, before I completely shut her down. She's done nothing but get me into trouble.

Besides—since when have I been one for taking orders?

I let myself relax into the passenger seat, sneaking a glance at Maverick. I guess he's not one for orders, either.

Maybe the two of us are going to get along okay, after all.

***

We pull up outside a low grey building. My earlier excitement wanes, not sure I like where this is going—the place looks more like a prison than the gym, or park, I expected.

"Here we are." Maverick kills the engine. "Trust me, you're gonna love this."

There are only a couple other cars in the lot as he guides me across. Inside, the building is dark—tiny windows dotted across the walls. The overhead fluorescents make my hairs stand on end.

So far, not loving this.

Maverick chats with the alpha behind the desk. I try to pay attention to what's being said, but I'm too busy mapping out the space—identifying every exit.

"Thirty minutes," the alpha grumbles at last.

"You're a saint," Maverick returns. He looks at me. "You ready to go in?"

Go in ? Aren't we already … in?

Sensing my reservation, Maverick returns to me. He starts to put his hand on my arm, then hesitates, thinking better of it.

"Sorry," he says. "I guess I didn't think this would …" he looks around, then sighs. "Well, I didn't think. Let's leave it at that." His gaze deepens. "We can go if you want."

Even now, almost a month out of the ring, and it's still a novelty to be given that option. What I want.

Slowly, I shake my head.

He smiles. "That's my girl."

He leads me through an adjoining door, the hefty metal groaning against its own weight. We emerge into a dark changing room, complete with eye goggles and bulletproof vests. Not far away, I can hear the muffled gunshots.

I blink, pulling out Maverick's phone. SHOOTING RANGE ??

"Bingo."

No wonder the guy at reception was so pissed off. Omegas aren't allowed to carry firearms—let alone fire them.

"Let's get you suited up," Maverick says, picking out a vest. He finds the smallest one there and drapes it over my shoulders.

"You're such a badass at hand-to-hand," he explains, passing me a pair of earmuffs, "which got me thinking. Ever held a gun before?"

NEVER, I type.

He grins. "Let's change that."