Chapter Fifty-Seven

Faith

My throat is on fire. I realize I'm screaming, over and over.

I don't know how long they've been fighting. I don't even know long we've been down here. All I remember is the bunker filling with gas, Fang throwing himself over me, and then waking up here.

Wherever here is.

I-9 lifts Fang over his shoulders and tosses him into the wall. Chalky plaster flakes off with the impact, scattering around Fang's body.

Get up ! I try to sign, my hands bound in front of me. Please, get up !

The building reminds me a little of the shooting range—low ceilings, no windows, long and narrow. Fang and I-9 are separated from the rest of us by tattered fencing. Honestly, the whole place looks like it was meant to be torn down years ago. It's not just abandoned—it's decrepit.

The old alpha stands with four ringleaders in the corner, protected by armed guards. Vaguely I wonder if I could take them. Probably, if all the rogues banded together, we'd have no trouble … but not all of us would make it.

After all, it's not only electric batons the guards are carrying.

Fang knocks I-9 a couple paces back. He lands a couple extra blows in vicious succession. Quick and clean , I remind myself. That's the game plan.

I-9 doesn't know what hit him. He stumbles, dazed, and I start to relax—trusting my mate—when it happens.

Fang misses a step. And I-9 lunges.

They crash to the ground. Fang is pinned. I-9 is holding nothing back.

Throat still burning, I grab the fence, rattling anxiously.

"Omega!" one of the guards snaps. "Back off!"

Fuck you, I snarl silently. One of my fellow rogues tries to pull me away, for my own safety. I shrug them off.

"Omega!" the guard shouts again. When still I don't budge, he crosses the room, baton at the ready. I can sense the old alpha's eyes on me, watching curiously, and it only enrages me further.

As the guard rears back to strike, I accidentally shift weight to my bad ankle—hissing in agony.

That catches Fang's attention.

With a roar, he shoves I-9 off and leaps toward the fencing. For a fleeting moment, our fingers touch between the metal.

And then the guard strikes.

Not at me—but my mate.

He thrusts the baton just far enough through the grate to clip Fang's wrist. Fang stills, seizing, and collapses in a heap.

And just like that …

Everything.

Turns.

Red .

In that moment, it doesn't matter that I'm the one who's injured and bound.

This guard is so far outmatched, it's not even funny.

I throw myself at him like an omega possessed. He reaches for his baton, but it's no use—the stupid thing is trapped in the fencing.

No matter how hard I hit him, the binding around my wrists won't snap free. Infuriated, I try to bite it off, but the guard grabs me by my hair, stopping me.

It doesn't, however, stop me from biting him.

The guard cries out, cradling his wrist to his chest. Before I can give the binds another try, two more guards come at me—these two still armed. The zap of electricity charging up should be more than enough to make me hesitate.

Instead, I remember the way Fang's body spasmed. The thunk as he hit the ground.

I weave between the guards, then slam my elbows into one of their lower backs. He crumples. Someone else waves their baton, and I dodge. My ankle screams, strained inside the cast, but I push the pain away. It means nothing.

"Someone get her under control!" the old alpha snaps.

My glare shoots up.

You die first.

Turns out the guards have other plans. Someone wraps their arms around me from behind. Unlucky for them, I've tasted blood now, and I want more.

I bite down, evoking a sharp shout. Something clatters to the ground—not another baton, like I expect.

A gun.

The guards are freaking out now, and the rogues are getting antsy. They shuffle on their feet, eyes sharp, like they're weighing up their options. Join me—tear these fuckers apart—or stand down.

A flash of movement. Roaring a battle cry, one of the rogue alphas barrels into the guards, knocking two down in a single hit.

That's my opening.

Heart racing, blood roaring, I gnaw through my binds. They finally slip apart, freeing me. I reach for the gun, but someone kicks it away. Before I can look up, they kick me away, too.

Pain blasts into my chin. I stumble backwards, then stumble again on my fractured ankle.

"You out of your mind, F-7?" a familiar voice—Hamish—snarls. "You're ours !"

That image of Fang springs to my mind. He must still be unconscious. And then, through my delusional, feral fog, I see something else.

Pack Wilder.

Jaxon sitting with me in front of the TV. Caleb giving me his jacket. Drinking coffee with Micah. A hundred perfect, tiny images, covering me like a blanket.

Or like a shield.

I push forward, ramming into Hamish. We fall into the ground, my body pressed to his. He's surprisingly … soft beneath me. Like this is the first time he's ever been in a fight.

You can dish it out, huh? I reach into his pants, knowing full well what I'll find. But you can't take it.

My hand closes around steel. I yank it out, relishing the cool, familiar weight. It's almost a shame that I can't get into stance like Maverick taught me.

Instead, I put the gun directly to Hamish's head.

His eyes widen in terror. "Hey! Little help here!"

If anyone's coming to his rescue, they're not fast enough.

BANG !

The shot sounds like it's coming from another world. Maybe I've ruptured my eardrum again , I wonder faintly. It would explain why everything feels a hundred miles away, and why the room—rogues launching themselves at the guards, at the ringleaders—suddenly feels so … small.

I look up, dazed. The old alpha is shouting wildly, grabbing one of the guards for cover.

There's another gunshot, and one of the rogues drops.

I blink, suddenly aware of the cold, dead weight that is Hamish. Nausea floods me, convinced I must be covered in blood, but my hands are—impossibly—clean.

Did I just … shoot someone ?

Suddenly, over the chaos of motion, I notice a familiar face behind the tattered fence. Fang . All the noise … it must've woken him up. He and I-9 search for gaps in the metal, trying to wrench it open.

I try to stand. Can't. Hamish stares up at me, unseeing.

Oh god. What have I done ?

My inner omega takes the wheel, channeling her feral energy into my bones. This time, when I stand, I make it several paces back before slamming into something, or someone, and falling once more.

" Faith!" Fang's voice tries to reach me, muffled and tinny. " Faith !"

That's right. I'm here to save him. Like … I promised.

I navigate through the crowd. Some of the rogues are still fighting, whereas others—seeing their fallen compatriots—take cover in the corner. No-one's touching me though, which makes me realize—I'm still holding a gun.

Right before I make it to the fence, the entire room seems to vibrate. I hear voices, then a strong, commanding tone—telling everyone to get down.

I grip the fence with one hand, the gun in the other.

"Faith," I see Fang's lips move. "Put it down. Please, baby, put it down ."

Frowning, I follow his nervous gaze, looking over my shoulder.

Alphas in black armor have flooded the room, pointing guns at the guards and ringleaders. And at the old alpha, who's gone red in the face from shouting. The rogues are pale and wide-eyed, though I can't tell if they're relieved or just in shock.

That's when I see Caleb.

He's lowering his gun, walking through the carnage. "Faith …" he says, lowly, "it's alright. It's all alright now."

Unable to help myself, I glance down at Hamish's lifeless body. The pool of blood around his head. I grip the gun tighter.

" Faith ."

My head snaps up. Jaxon.

He inches in next to Caleb, those amethyst eyes so familiar. I remember the way he looked at me when we first met in the ring. So earnest. So instantly trusting … until he realized what I'd done to K-4.

Now look at what I've done.

My eyes fill with tears. I don't want them to see me like this.

"I had nothing to do with this!" the old alpha's voice grates out, shaking his fists at the guys in black. "These intruders were on my property, and I—"

My body, fueled by feral power, moves on its own. I aim the gun at his head.

Instantly, there are several more guns pointed back at me . Fang freezes. "Faith," he pleads, sternly, "the fight's over."

They hurt you, I want to sign. They were going to hurt me.

I don't want to kill anyone else. I know that—I know myself —but I can't stop this train I'm on. It's the only thing that's kept me alive so far. It might be the only thing that will protect my mate.

"She's feral," the old alpha splutters, "take her down!"

He's not wrong. But somehow that only makes me want to shoot him more.

"Faith!" Fang snaps. " Look at me ."

I force myself to shift my gaze, taking him in. My alpha. My mate. The person I swore I'd come back for. Well, now I'm here. I have to … see this through. I owe him that.

I aim again, braced to fire. Half a dozen guns cock in my direction.

"Stand down," Caleb growls. "Anyone lays a hand on her, they answer to me."

My heart clenches. He's … protecting me. Like he's been protecting me since the first time we met. Even when it hurt, even when I didn't want him to, he's been here.

"Hey, pretty girl." Jaxon stretches his arm out. "How about we take a breath? No-one's gonna hurt you now." His eyes flick behind me, his jaw clenching. "Or your mate."

Instinctively, my inner omega loosens her vicious clutches, trusting him—or wanting to. Jaxon wouldn't hurt me. And, more importantly … he wouldn't hurt Fang.

I look at Jaxon, then Caleb, letting myself fall into those stormy ocean eyes.

Slowly, I lower the gun.

The room starts moving again. A female alpha from the RDF I faintly recognize radios for medics. SWAT drags the old alpha away. The rogues who are still standing flutter about, uncertain, until a couple more RDF talk them down.

Gently, Caleb pries the gun from my hand, his eyes never leaving mine. He purrs with praise, telling me I did good. I'm safe now.

Jaxon takes a pair of bolt-cutters to the fence's padlock. It snaps open, and both Fang and I-9 burst free. Despite their recent fight, I-9 props Fang up around his shoulder, helping him out.

"We need to get you to a hospital," Caleb says, cupping my jaw.

Fang hobbles over. "I got her," he growls.

"Easy, bud," Jaxon says. "You're not looking so hot yourself."

I take Fang's hand, but I don't move away from Caleb. I need him. Need Jaxon, too. I frown, my inner omega spinning with panic.

Where's Micah ? I sign.

"He's safe," Jaxon tells me. "Waiting for you at headquarters."

Fang recoils. "You read sign?"

Jaxon smiles proudly. "A little."

Something about the sight of them—Caleb, Jaxon, and Fang together—makes my inner omega sing. The Wilder alphas found us, just like I knew they would. I saved Fang … and then they saved me.

"Faith. Hey." Caleb stiffens. "Don't close your eyes just yet."

Fang squeezes my hand. "She's fading."

"Where are the medics?" Jaxon demands.

I could almost laugh. My big strong alphas, fussing over me .

Caleb must see the smile on my face, because he softens ever-so-slightly, drawing me into his chest. "We've got you, omega. You're gonna be okay."

I know, I sign, or try to sign.

Either way … I'm sure my alphas understand.