Page 42 of Generation Omega: Claimed (Originverse #3)

KAZIMIR

It’s crushing, like being trapped in a car as it goes through a smasher, something I’ve observed with amusement from the other side of the agony.

Now, I’m in the car as it collapses around me—that’s what leaving Ethan does to me.

All this space, the expanse of sea and sky, and all I feel is crunching metal, my shape unrecognizable as my questionable good intentions become the weapons that tear me apart.

I’m not whining—that’s what I tell myself, while cursing aloud at the endless ocean and the asshole who sent me wandering through it. But I had to go, didn’t I? Ethan needs time, as much as I can provide, to make the decision that will affect this pack and the omegaverse in unpredictable ways.

Can I set him free while still serving the omega?

That’s a question I never thought I would be asking.

And if the omega legacy doesn’t promptly respond, I will stop this boat and hold my breath until it does.

So, yeah, I’m definitely one pouty son of a bitch over here, but I’ll never confess to that crime or any others I commit on the high seas.

It’s likely possible through complicated and repeated mind manipulation.

I refuse to even consider what that means, but denial has never been a friend of mine.

Of course, I know what it’s saying. I can’t unbond Ethan, but I can make him forget what that bite means.

I can free him to live his life in whatever way he wants, but the heaviness that weighs on my soul, as powerfully as a few dozen bricks, is my unasked question.

Can I free Ethan? Yes.

Can I free myself? Not a fucking chance.

Ethan can be made to forget me, our bond and connection, even his closeness to Tillie. I could do that for him so that he can live free of the omegaverse.

But there’s no such option for me, is there?

No, and before you embrace your favorite melodrama about sacrificing your life for Ethan’s freedom, understand that your death won’t free him. It will torture him without end. Only through your survival can he be freed.

I don’t know how to think about this, what to even wish for, other than for Ethan to have the life he wants.

I know what’s coming for us, and there’s no promise of safety in our future.

He might be better off forgetting all of it, but that concept unravels instantly.

Even if he doesn’t remember any of this, our enemies can’t be made to forget the existence of a bonded beta. He will always be a target for them.

The dinghy swerves wildly, hitting a wave too quickly and almost ejecting me—like it’s my first damn time at sea.

Focus, Kazimir, you have a job to do.

I’d snap back at the scolding legacy, except it’s right.

I’m alive because of my focus, and the horror of losing Ethan is destroying my greatest asset.

I’m no good to anyone if I’m dead, or stupidly swimming to shore for the next few days.

So, I’m going to release all doubts about Ethan’s place in my life, and live like he’s mine until he informs me that he’s not. Done.

My relief at returning my attention to the sublime task of soundly beating the snot out of the professor is palpable. I’m almost giddy when I catch sight of his boat that’s stalled for some reason. It’s not until I get closer that the reason becomes delightfully clear.

Remind me never to get on your bad side. Oof , the omegaverse knows a thing or two about torture.

The professor is moaning gutturally, his agony so acute he can’t stand, move, drive an escape craft, or play a harmonica.

Then, like the most deliciously dark kismet, he sees me with only a pond’s worth of water between us.

Rallying his remaining strength, he attempts to roar his displeasure, but the pathetic fool sounds more like a wounded bunny.

This isn’t going to be a respectable battle, which is another letdown courtesy of my would-be archnemesis.

As my dinghy stalks closer to its prey, with presumptions of grandeur, it’s time to finally ask the relevant questions.

Do I finally get to kill this prick? Do I want to end him? It’s not like I didn’t have the opportunity before now. I didn’t accidentally miss all his significant organs when I pierced his puffed-up chest with a bullet or three.

Why didn’t I kill him? My thoughts return to that day, and I distinctly remember wanting him to suffer under the weight of his own failures forever. Who says I’m not a giver? And it was the most appropriate punishment for his hubris in thinking one man could stand against Beta Dominion.

From the vantage point of time and experience, I can now acknowledge his courage in rebelling against an impossibly superior force.

He never surrendered after all those defeats, and he stood on that auditorium stage and spoke the truth, while knowing a bullet—likely mine—would penetrate him again .

I find myself conflicted about what’s likely to happen at our reunion, and that’s another surprise on a day full of them.

I drive right up to his twice-stolen boat and launch out of mine, tackling him.

I land numerous blows, mussing him up in a lovely and not even remotely gentlemanly way—except I do manage to protect his glasses.

My benevolence is getting out of hand. Next, I’ll be working as a crossing guard for a family of ducklings.

Only after he’s bleeding from his mouth, brow, cheek, and chin do I pause, realizing I’m bored already.

I used to love a good, unfair fight, but now it’s leaving me with icky feelings.

It’s like I don’t even know myself anymore.

Kill him.

Wow. Just like that? Kill him? No murder foreplay? Cat and mouse? Bear trap? Nothing?

Kill him.

At the risk of vexing the impatient omega legacy, I reach, snatch up the groaning professor, and plant him on the seat. Then, smugly, I glide his glasses back onto his face. One eye is completely useless, considering the blood draining from his brow, but it’s good enough.

“Move, and I’ll kill you,” I state, while Thatcher mumbles his attempt at a rebuttal that’s barely understandable with his lips swelling comically.

The omegaverse is still yammering for me to kill him, but I have questions, and I know for a fact that corpses aren’t forthcoming at all.

“Why did you leave?” That’s the billion-dollar question right there, and even if I’m seeking the answer to give Tillie some peace—something Ethan would approve of—or so Gideon knows he wasn’t to blame, then it’s worth the delay. Isn’t it?

The grumbling legacy has now joined the pouty team, so that’s nice and disconcerting.

“Well?”

Thatcher wipes at his bloody mouth with his filthy, ripped sleeve. “Fuck you.” Professor Cerebral is sassy, isn’t he? The dude still has all his teeth—I don’t get why he’s so disgruntled.

Well, if we can’t have a civilized conversation, then we’ll have to try something else. I spool up my superior alpha powers and demand, “Tell me why you left my excellent yacht.”

“Sage… she’s in danger. She’s been captured by Beta Dominion… if I…”

I wave off the rest. “If that’s even true—which I doubt—and you surrender to them, they’ll use you to harm Tillie. That’s the only play, and your sacrifice won’t save Sage. You’ll get your omega killed or caged—you know that. What’s this really about?”

“Sage is…”

“I know,” I gush. “She’s your bestiest, little friend ever , but Sage is committed to the omegaverse and would never want you to sacrifice our omega to save her life.

In fact, I bet she’d off you herself, rather than have you betray the omega legacy.

So, what else have you got to explain what you did to Tillie? ”

“Oh, look at you, finally using her name.” He’s so cranky, but he’s also bleeding from a dozen fresh holes in his flesh, so that probably means I should give him a little grace. Right? That’s what a man of the people would do, for sure.

“ Thatcher —see, I can use your name too—stop fucking around, and tell me why you really left.”

“Sage is in danger. Look at my phone.”

“I don’t need to, because they could string her up and beat her with sticks, and it still wouldn’t justify abandoning the only cause you’ve ever been willing to fight for in your entire life.

” I lower my voice, leaving out the bark.

“I know you, Thatcher. I know where your demons roost. This isn’t about Sage McGee—it’s you and your demons dancing your way into oblivion, racing to commit the crime of the millennia.

You’re so desperate to earn your spot in hell, because you certainly know you’re not worthy of heaven. ”

“Fuck you.” Ugh, there’s no venom behind it now—this is starting to depress me.

“You abandoned Tillie, left her screaming. Use your words, Thatcher, or I’m going to cut out your tongue and feed it to the sharks as an appetizer before we get to the main course.”

The omega legacy is simmering with a strain of malice that’s familiar and yet more extreme than anything I’ve ever felt for any of my targets. It’s enjoying this show, possibly a bit too much.

“I…” He falters, this confrontation delayed for so long that he might have deluded himself into believing he could actually escape it. But we can only run until we collapse, and then the reckoning begins.

I wait, knowing he’s staring into his personal hell and not delaying to annoy me.

His colorful, lumpy face contorts in an expression so torn it’s unfamiliar. “It wasn’t what it was supposed to be,” he grits out.

Same crap, different day. “Yeah, I know. But we talked about this before the heat, your problematic expectations. Gideon gave you the chance to stay, to work through your issues, to be part of the pack. You tasted our omega, spent days fucking her, and then you bolted.” I’m awakening some feisty vibes that might prove counterproductive to his trachea and also my interest in the answers only he can provide.