Page 97 of Claimed By the Psychos

"He'll be fine," Elias says gently, probably reading the worry on my face like it's written in neon.

"Yeah," I agree, stabbing at my pasta with unnecessary force. "Fine."

But he's not fine. We're not fine. For the first time in seven years, there's a wedge between us that I don't know how to remove. Something's pulling him away from me, from us, from this life we could have if he'd just let himself want it.

The shadows cluster around me, their whispers growing urgent.

He's already gone,they say.Just hasn't left yet.

I tell them to shut up, but my hands are shaking as I bring the fork to my mouth. The pasta tastes like ash.

For the first time since we escaped the Serpents' Den, I'm afraid of losing him.

And I don't know how to fix it.

Chapter

Thirty-Six

FELIX

The heavy bag takes another hit, and my knuckles sing with the familiar ache that means I've been at this too long. Two in the fucking morning, and here I am pretending this leather sack of sand is my brother's face. Or maybe the phantom client who's trying to kill us. Or maybe just my own stupid decisions that keep circling my brain like vultures waiting for something to die.

The gym in this ridiculous mansion is better equipped than most professional facilities. Of course it is. These alphas don't do anything half-assed, even their midnight crisis management comes with top-tier equipment. The mirror across from me shows exactly what I am—an omega pretending to be something else, sweating out frustrations that have nowhere else to go.

My laptop sits on the bench like an accusation. Three new leads on the shell companies, two dead ends, nothing to show for the hours I've thrown into this investigation. Other than the fact that it's keeping my mind off the fact that Juniper finally has everything I can't give her, I guess.

The bag swings back, and I nail it with a roundhouse that would break ribs if it had any. The impact reverberates up myleg, grounding me in the present instead of the spiraling what-ifs that have been eating at me since dinner.

Juniper's face when I left the table. That mix of hurt and confusion that makes me feel like the world's biggest asshole. But she doesn't understand—can't understand—that every moment I spend playing house with these alphas is another moment Evan breathes free air. Another moment he could be planning something worse.

And for the first time since we escaped, Juniper is safe. Cared for. With or without me.

But I can't leave. Not yet. Not with someone actively hunting us, hunting them.

First, I help them find whoever's behind this. Clear that debt. Then I deal with Evan. Then maybe, if I survive, if there's anything left of me worth salvaging...

"Can't sleep?"

I don't flinch—barely—but Bane's voice cuts through my spiral like a knife through tissue paper. He's leaning against the doorframe, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that makes him look almost normal. Almost human instead of the mountain of tactical danger he usually embodies.

"Sleep's overrated," I say, landing another combination that makes the bag groan on its chain.

"Funny, that's what Elias always says." He moves into the room with that deceptive grace monstrously huge men sometimes have. "Though he usually follows it up with a medical lecture about cortisol levels and immune function."

"Spare me the health seminar." Another hit. Another. The rhythm is meditative, even if the meditation is mostly about creative ways to murder people.

Bane watches me for a moment, those hazel eyes assessing everything—my form, my technique, the barely healed wounds that pull with each movement. "You're favoring your left side."

"It's fine."

He nods slowly, like he expected that answer and doesn't believe it, but he doesn't call me on it. "You know, I was planning to go out tonight. Small job, nothing major. Could use backup if you're interested."

I blink at him, certain I misheard. "You want me to come on a mission with you?"

"Why not? You're clearly not sleeping, you can obviously handle yourself, and..." He shrugs. "Sometimes hitting a bag isn't enough. Sometimes you need the real thing."

The offer is so unexpected I actually laugh. "You barely know me."