Page 119 of Claimed By the Psychos

Then, I hear it. Footsteps coming down he upstairs hallway. Unhurried, confident. I follow the familiar black-and-white oxfords up to a face that's covered in a gas mask, but the wearer is no less obvious for that obscurity.

Evan.

Fucking bastard.

Chapter

Forty-Four

ELIAS

The helicopter blades cut through the Nevada night with a rhythmic thwack that matches my fucking pulse. Three hours of preparation, and my hands are still shaking as I double-check the medical supplies for the dozenth time. Everything I might need to patch up whatever damage Evan's done to our people. To Juniper. To Archer.

Detachment has always been my shield. The ability to compartmentalize, to treat bodies as puzzles rather than people I care about. But tonight that shield feels paper-thin, cracking under the weight of what we're walking into.

"You're doing that thing again," Carlisle observes from across the cabin, his voice carrying over the engine noise. He's checking his knives with the kind of care most people reserve for family members. "Counting supplies like they're prayer beads."

"Preparation prevents poor performance," I mutter, but even I can hear how hollow the words sound.

"You should get that on a t-shirt," Carlisle counters flatly.

Bane shifts in his seat, tactical gear making him look even more massive than usual. "It's not an accident Evan tookArcher. Our pilot. He knew exactly how to cripple our extraction capability."

"Cocky bastard," Felix says from his corner, silver eyes reflecting the cabin lights like a predator's. His rage is almost visible, contained only by the promise of violence. "He always did like to show off how clever he thinks he is."

"Good thing I've got contacts," Bane continues, nodding toward the cockpit where our substitute pilot handles the controls with ease. "Reaper's the best there is. Saved my ass more times than I can count back when I was still pretending the badge meant something."

I lean forward to get a better look at our pilot. She's an alpha built like she could bench press the helicopter if needed, with close-cropped hair and the kind of scarred hands that speak to a life lived in combat zones. The nameReaperis stitched on her jacket, and something about her screams military mixed with a healthy disregard for rules.

"You trust her?" I ask Bane, though the question's mostly rhetorical. He wouldn't have brought her if he didn't.

"With my life," he confirms. "She's done more black ops extractions than anyone else I know except for Archer. And she doesn't ask questions about the bodies we leave behind."

"A woman after my own heart," Carlisle chuckles, but I can see underneath the bravado he's every bit as shaken as the rest of us, in his own way. I used to think he wasn't capable of love, but our omegas have proven his version just looks a bit different than most. It looks like obsession. So does mine, for that matter. The way his fingers caress his knife speaks of his true intentions.

"Two minutes to drop zone," Reaper's voice crackles through the comm. Professional, no-nonsense, with just a hint of Southern drawl. "Lowering to minimum safe altitude. You boys better be ready to hit the ground running."

"Always are," Bane responds, already moving to the door.

The helicopter descends, and my stomach drops with it. Not from the altitude change, but from what's coming. The Serpents' Den squats in the distance, looking like any other abandoned casino from the outside. But Felix's briefing painted a different picture. A fortress of depravity hidden behind crumbling facades.

"Remember," Felix says, his voice cutting through the engine noise, "Evan will have the main entrances covered. We go in through the service tunnels on the east side. They connect to the old kitchen, then branch into the main building."

The helicopter hovers just long enough for us to rappel down, then Reaper's pulling up and away. "I'll be on standby five clicks out," her voice comes through our earpieces. "Signal when you need extraction. And boys? Give 'em hell."

The Nevada desert stretches around us, a landscape of shadows and scrub brush under a moon that's trying to hide behind clouds. We move in formation, years of training making us silent despite the gear we're carrying. And this is the most important mission of all. Felix takes point, leading us through terrain he must have memorized during his escape planning years ago.

I try to stay focused on the plan. The mission. But the personal angle has me shaken, and shaken means mistakes.

They have Juniper. Our omega.

The fact that she's in that building, that Evan's had his hands on her, is enough to drive a man to the brink.

"Perimeter guards," Carlisle whispers, dropping to a crouch behind a cluster of rocks. "Two at three o'clock, one at nine."

"I've got the pair," Bane says, already moving.

"Nine is mine," Felix says, and there's something in his voice that makes my skin prickle. Not his usual flat affect, but something darker. Hungrier.