Page 52 of Generation Omega: Claimed (Originverse #3)

ETHAN

Watching Gideon turn Tillie off like she’s a malfunctioning robot grates on me. I get it, but I fucking hate it. “She’s not going to want to wake up with you, so could I have my girlfriend, alpha ?” Yeah, I have a tone, and I’m not sorry.

Without a word, Gideon hands Tillie to me. I cradle her in my arms, my already roiling insides given a new source of fuel. What’s another log on the fire of all that changed the moment we docked and returned to the real world.

I feel so stupid for not realizing just how deeply I fell under the spell we created on that yacht.

But I see it now, the almost impenetrable bubble of safety, connection, and amazement that ship built for us.

I definitely allowed myself to be drawn into Jameson’s sex spectacle—I can’t even think of it now without getting aroused.

And when I wasn’t his willing toy, fucking Tillie at his direction, I got lost in all my baggage, completely removing myself from the realities of our situation.

I certainly didn’t expect the whiplash when that bubble burst five seconds after we left the ship.

It’s like I walked through a doubt explosion that singed every inch of me and destroyed my ability to lie to myself.

What’s worse, it revealed all the ways I’ve been deceiving myself, and they are many.

I genuinely thought I was ready for what comes next in this epic battle to thrive in an omega-run world, but everywhere I look, I see proof that we aren’t ready.

The fact that Gideon just silenced Tillie against her wishes…

I’m fucking raw about that. I’m holding her right now, breathing her in, my chin resting on her soft hair, to keep myself from tackling the fucker.

I thought I understood, but I clearly don’t.

I can’t even look at any member of the alpha brigade, because if a single one of them declares for House Gideon , I’m going to start throwing punches and discover whether a bonded beta has any chance against an alpha.

I’ll start with Jameson over Ory—I’m not stupid.

But when I glance at Ory, his posture informs me that he’s not sure which team he’s on right now.

The predatory, possessive way he’s gazing at Tillie—not his randy omega—is new and teeming with fury that’s not aiming at me.

“Why did you do that?” Ory’s voice rumbles out of his body like an approaching thunderstorm. Somebody better start battening down the hatches, because this shit is about to get real.

“For the reasons I just said, reasons you already know. We have a long journey ahead of us, and there is nothing she needs to do except rest.” I feel Gideon’s presence behind me, squaring off with Ory.

Fuck, if I weren’t holding Tillie and therefore safe from all harm, I’d be getting the fuck out of the middle of this alpha business.

Jameson’s attention moves from Gideon to Ory and back, dissatisfaction oozing from him.

“Before you two climb in a cage to duke it out or rip each other’s heads off and eat what passes for your brains, could I just mention that Tillie is fine ?

” He waves his hand at her and at me. “She’s sleeping in the arms of the man she chose, on a private jet, heading to a meeting she needs to attend.

This is not abuse. This is tending our omega like alphas should.

Don’t lose sight of the big picture, fellas, or we’re doomed. ”

When we all likely wear matching expressions of shock at how naturally Jameson sees that big picture, his cagey smile appears.

“Hey, being an entitled prick has its benefits.” With expressive fingers, he points briefly at all of us in a sweeping motion.

“Does anyone want to bark at me and cradle me while I nap? Because I’m totally good with that. Punish me with naptime, please .”

I’m surprised when Ory and Gideon wait for me to relax before loosening their prepped-for-slaughter stances.

“She’s fine. She’ll be pissed, but she’s fine.

And, just FYI, if anyone considers barking to compel me to cuddle with Jameson, please remember that Kaz will be slicing off any body parts that touch me, so… ”

“No, I’m good,” Jameson says breezily, but then winks at Ory. “What about you, big guy?”

Ory just grunts and moves toward me, brushing his hand over Tillie’s cheek, murmuring, “She’s safe and cherished, as she should be.”

My eyes get misty, dammit. I’m not ready for Ory to start getting mushy about my girl. “Yeah, she is. Thanks,” I mumble, hoping I concealed my unexpectedly volatile emotions.

“You never need to thank me for caring about her.”

Ory stomps to the table and drops down on the unluckiest chair, his stormy gaze directed at the window and the clouds beyond the glass.

In all the fuss, I completely ignored our takeoff.

Gideon approaches the table like it’s a necessary evil, and Jameson gleefully joins them, not wanting to miss any fireworks.

From my vantage point, I observe them in a new way, which makes sense given I’m no longer within the yacht’s fluffy delusion zone.

On paper, they are everything we could hope for in our alphas—strong, resourceful, caring, loyal, fierce, dedicated.

But there is more to this picture, more to them, and fuck do I wish I didn’t know that.

Unfortunately, I can’t unsee reality and reclaim my blissful illusions.

Gideon Blake, Jameson Farraway, and Mackenz-Ory McAllister are, in fact, three enormous liabilities masquerading as our pack’s only hope.

Damn, why didn’t I see it at the beginning?

It’s so obvious. Two world-known celebrities attempting to blend in and a burly Scot, with a mane of red hair and green eyes lit from within, who had to hide his kilt.

He’s a walking mountain with or without the fucking kilt.

When he’s Mackenzie, he’s stunning bait for every woman’s appreciation and every man’s jealousy.

When he’s Ory, he strides like a marauder about to pillage an unsuspecting village.

They don’t blend , and they never will, and I’m almost as bad, famous enough to be recognized by law enforcement at an omega convention.

To think we could ever stay under the radar—it’s the delusion of all delusions. Normally, people need to consume a shit-ton of hallucinogens to be this fucking clueless. I’m going to be shocked if we didn’t already pick up a tail, just from getting to the plane.

Even our absentee alphas aren’t any better.

Thatcher is absolutely known in the world of the omegaverse, if he’s even still her alpha.

And King Kazimir, the Beta Dominion Killer —his old comrades are going to be gunning for him like no one else.

After all, he assassinated a bunch of his old buddies, including his brother, the night he claimed me. I don’t want to know this, but I do.

It’s a movie playing in my head. They’re going to kill us or cage us.

They’re going to kill her or cage her. We don’t have a chance.

We never did. I’ve been lying to myself every minute since Kaz saved me in that alley—no, even before, when I carried Tillie out of that auditorium on my back, helped by Kypsie who facilitated our first escape route.

The trouble is these pursuers will never stop.

They will keep hunting us until they catch us.

There’s no way for this crew to stay hidden, especially while attempting to change the world.

Our enemies are too powerful for that, and technology is too advanced.

When we left that yacht, we basically climbed into our car and drove straight toward a fucking cliff.

What unsettles me most is that Kaz knows all of this.

He’s gone and not for a second did I doubt his intentions, but see above , doubt explosion and denial destruction.

Now, I’m suddenly wondering whether I’m a beta who’s been abandoned by his alpha.

Could I really blame him for bailing on such a hopeless cause?

A cause he spent his entire life working to defeat.

With distrust infecting my heart, I can’t ignore the ache building in my chest, the barbed wire digging in again, like when I was bound to the table in Kaz’s torture basement.

Why did I think he could change? Why did I believe in him, when he never showed me his thoughts, his feelings, his past?

When I first understood that he’d bonded me, I thought I didn’t have access to his inner world because I’m a beta, not a precious omega.

But during the heat, his walls fell for just the briefest second, proving he could let them fall.

He could have let me in, but he didn’t. Why? Is he still with us? Was he ever?

I can’t breathe. He chose the location to dock his yacht, the cars that were waiting for us, Ory’s clothes, this plane, the meeting place…

is Kaz leading us into a trap? But that’s not the right way to ask the question.

The right way is even more disturbing. Is Kazimir Volkov , Beta Dominion’s finest assassin, leading us into a trap that will secure his victory in the war he’s been waging all his life?

Kaz bonded me because I didn’t deserve to die—that’s what he said. It made no sense then, but he was inside me, convincing me of my worthiness, and I ate it up. He filled a hole in me that had always been there, and a suspicion forms in a horrifying idea I struggle to even grasp.

“Ethan,” Jameson lightly barks, “what’s going on?”

Should I say it? Can I? Then it’s not just Jameson studying my face that’s likely paler than it was. The three alphas look at me with a mix of curiosity and dread.

“How do you know Kazimir is really meeting us? Or that the place he’s chosen is truly safe?” My voice sounds detached, soulless, even to me and definitely to them.

Gideon’s bearing changes, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. “No, Ethan. We’re not doing that. We’re not indulging in unfounded fears. Your alpha doesn’t deserve that.”