Page 59 of Daisy (Omega Chosen #3)

Cassian

O ne year later

The warehouse reeks of sweat and blood and desperation.

Exactly like I remember.

Underground fights haven't changed much in the year since I've been gone.

Same abandoned building. Concrete floors still stained with years of violence.

Ring still marked out with rope and posts.

Illegal betting in dark corners. Same broken men looking for a way to feel powerful, even if it's just for a few minutes.

Different now, though. Not here to bleed for money.

I'm here to recruit.

"Cassian."

The voice comes from behind me. Rough with cigarettes and cheap whiskey. I know that voice.

Fuck.

I turn slowly. Mack. The promoter from when I used to fight. Greasy hair, whiskey breath, always trying to short-change fighters. We've got history. Most of it involving me threatening him when he tried to stiff me on payments.

"Mack."

I don't shake his hand. Never did.

"Still running this dump?"

He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Still making money off desperate men." His eyes narrow, studying me. "Though I heard you found something better. That librarian beta, wasn't it?"

My jaw tightens. Can't afford to lose control here. Too much depends on this.

"Need to talk to your fighters," I say instead. "The ones with nothing left."

"What kind of talk?"

"The kind that matters."

Around us, the crowd roars. Two beta-born alphas tear into each other in the ring. Blood flies onto the dirt floor. Money changes hands. These men fight because the system threw them away like garbage.

Tonight, I'm hoping to give them a reason to fight back.

"Room upstairs," Mack says after a long moment. "But if you're selling dreams, Cass, you can fuck right off. These men bleed real blood."

"No dreams," I promise. "Just truth."

The room upstairs is cramped and smoky. Maybe twenty fighters in various states of damage. Split lips. Bruised knuckles. Dead eyes from too many hits.

They all look up when I walk in. They know who I am.

Good.

"Boys," I say, settling into a chair facing them. "Got a job."

I lay it out. Simple. Direct.

The corruption. The rigged system. The way elite families control everything while beta-born alphas die in warehouses for their entertainment.

"You're talking about war," says Knox Mason. An alpha whose left eye never quite healed right. "War against unlimited money."

"Talking about fighting back," I correct. "Might get us killed."

At least we'd die for something that matters instead of beating each other bloody for scraps.

The room goes quiet. Just the sounds of fighting from below. I watch them process it. These are men who've never had real choices. Never had anyone offer them something bigger than survival.

What's bigger than survival?

Purpose, I guess.

"Bullshit," someone mutters from the back. "You think we haven't heard this before? Revolution talk from guys who disappear when it gets real."

A few others nod. Yeah. They've been burned before.

"Fair enough," I say. "But I'm not asking you to trust me. I'm asking you to trust yourselves. You know what this system does to us."

The room stays tense. Suspicious.

"What do you need?" asks Jake Rolie. Former construction worker. Started fighting when the Governor redirected infrastructure funds and left him with nothing.

"Bodies. When we move, we'll need people willing to stand between the elites and their private armies."

"When?" Knox asks.

"Soon. Months, not years. Got people working on it."

That's when I feel it.

A pulse through the pack bond that hits me like a tidal wave Heat. The heat is starting.

Fuck.

My whole body responds. Every instinct I have screaming at me to get home. To get back to my pack.

I stand abruptly. Can't help it. The need overrides everything else.

"Need an answer. You with us?"

The men exchange looks. Survival instincts warring with something else.

Hope, maybe. Hard to tell.

"Cassian," Knox says slowly. "If we do this... what happens to us after? Assuming we live."

Shit.

They've never had anything resembling a future.

"Then you get to live in a world where your sons don't have to die in warehouses." My voice gets rougher. "Where being beta-born doesn't mean you're disposable."

The pulse hits me again. Stronger this time. My pack needs me.

"Week to decide," I say, already moving toward the door. "Mack has my contact."

I'm almost to the door when?—

"Wait."

Jake stands up. His hands clenched into fists.

"You really think we can change things? Really think it's worth risking everything?"

Something in his voice makes me pause. There's hope there. Fragile and desperate, but real.

"Yeah," I tell him. "Got people ready to fight. People who've had enough of the system crushing us."

Jake nods slowly. "Then I'm in. If you're willing to risk that quiet life with your beta, I can throw a few punches."

"Me too," says Knox. "Fuck it. Was gonna die in this warehouse anyway."

One by one, they start nodding. Agreeing. Committing to something bigger than themselves.

"Welcome to the revolution," I say.

And then I'm gone. Racing through the night to get back to my pack.

Back to the heat that's calling to every instinct I have.

Back to August, who's probably panicking about the timing.

Back to home, where bonds wait to be completed.

The revolution can wait a few days.

My pack needs me now.

And I've never been one to keep my family waiting.