Page 30 of Omega’s Fever (Prime Match #2)

Kellen

This’ll be the last time that I see the courtroom. It’s the last time that I’m going to be able look out of a wire-covered window and see something other than a prison. I shift in my seat, moving my hip.

Roberts got in another lucky shot during yard time, but I put him down hard again. Seven years of this. Seven years of constantly watching my back, of sleeping with one eye open, of counting days that all blur together.

But it’s worth it if Milo stays safe. All I have to do is agree in court that I’m taking the deal.

Woods shifts in the driver’s seat, catching my eye in the rearview mirror. “Big day, Hayes. Ready to make it official?”

I don’t answer. What’s there to say?

“Least you’ll get to see your boy one more time,” Antonini adds from the passenger seat. He’s trying to be kind, in his way. “Without the glass between you.”

One more time. After today, it’s all visits through reinforced glass.

My chest tightens. I breathe through it, the way I learned to breathe through pain in the ring. Focus on what matters. Milo alive. The baby safe. That’s worth any price.

The courthouse comes into view. It’s the same steps that I’ve climbed a dozen times now, but today feels different.

Final. I know exactly how this will go. Melkham will ask if I understand the charges.

I’ll say yes. He’ll ask if I’m entering my plea voluntarily.

I’ll lie and say yes. He’ll accept the plea, bang his gavel, and that’s it.

Kellen Hayes, convicted felon. Despite my messy past, this is my first conviction.

I’ve fought, yes, but I’ve also kept my nose clean and my head down.

The match will be void within days. The Bureau’s probably already drawing up the paperwork.

The thought makes me want to put my fist through something, but the cuffs prevent even that small satisfaction.

We pull into the secure bay. The routine is automatic now—out of the van, through the metal detector, up the elevator.

My body knows these movements, could do them in my sleep which is good, because my mind is elsewhere.

On Milo. On the last time I’ll see him as a free man, even if that freedom is an illusion.

“Courtroom C,” the guard says, like I could forget.

The hallway outside the courtroom is busier than I expected. Usually plea hearings don’t draw crowds, just the lawyers, the defendant, maybe a bored reporter if it’s a slow news day. But there are people here, milling around with the kind of nervous energy that says something’s happening.

I scan faces automatically, looking for threats. A couple of courthouse regulars. Someone from the prosecutor’s office. And then—

My blood freezes.

Milo sits on a bench near the door, but he’s not alone. Penelope is beside him, hands twisted in her lap, wearing a dress that does nothing to hide her pregnancy. And next to her, Damon. All three of them, sitting together like they’re waiting for a funeral.

Which maybe they are.

Something’s wrong. Something’s gone catastrophically wrong. Penelope and Damon shouldn’t be here. They were supposed to stay hidden, stay safe. The whole point of taking this plea was to keep them out of it. To keep everyone out of it.

But here they are, and Milo’s wearing that stubborn expression I recognize from court. The one that says he’s about to do something that’ll either save the day or get us all killed.

Our eyes meet across the hallway. Even from here, I can see the determination burning in those blue eyes. I can smell the change in his scent—no more suppressants dulling it, just pure Milo mixed with pregnancy hormones and something else. Defiance.

No, no, no.

Whatever he’s planning, whatever stupid brave thing he thinks he’s doing, I have to stop it. The plea is signed. The deal is made. All I have to do is walk in there and say yes, and everyone stays safe.

The guard opens the courtroom door. “Time to go, Hayes.”

I let them lead me inside, but my mind is racing.

Milo follows, taking his seat in the gallery with Penelope and Damon.

He is close enough that I can feel his presence like a physical touch.

He is close enough that his scent wraps around me, making me want things I can’t have and won’t have for another seven to ten years.

Judge Melkham is already on the bench, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Sutter sits at the prosecution table, papers spread before her, that smug smile saying she’s already won.

“Mr. Hayes.” Melkham doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “You’re here to enter your plea to the amended charges. You’ve had time to review the agreement?”

I should say yes. One word and this is over. Milo stays safe. The baby stays safe. Seven years is nothing compared to their lives.

But I can feel Milo’s eyes on me. Can sense Penelope’s terror and Damon’s coiled readiness. Whatever they’re planning—

“I need to think about it.”

The words hang in the air like a bomb. Melkham’s face goes from bored to furious in seconds.

“Excuse me?”

“I want to confer with my attorney.” I turn to look at Milo. “I want to withdraw the plea.”

“Your attorney?” Melkham’s voice could strip paint. “The same attorney you dismissed two days ago? The same attorney you said you didn’t need because you were representing yourself?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“No.” The gavel comes down hard enough to echo. “You don’t get to jerk this court around, Mr. Hayes. You signed a plea agreement. You dismissed counsel. You—”

“Your Honor.” Milo stands, and hell, he looks good. Color in his cheeks, fire in his eyes. My omega ready for battle. “My client has the right to legal representation at any stage of the proceedings. If he’s asking for counsel—”

“Is he your client or isn’t he, Mr. Warren?” Melkham’s glare could melt steel. “Because two days ago, he very clearly fired you. In my chambers. Which you were present for.”

“Circumstances have changed, Your Honor.”

“Circumstances.” Melkham laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “The only circumstance that’s changed is Mr. Hayes apparently enjoys wasting this court’s time.”

“Your Honor—”

“Five minutes.” The gavel comes down again. “You have five minutes to confer with your client and figure out what’s happening here. Five minutes, and then I want a final decision. Plea or trial. No more games. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Five minutes. Starting now.”

Milo’s at the defense table before Melkham finishes speaking. Penelope and Damon follow, creating a huddle that probably looks suspicious as hell but I don’t care. All I care about is figuring out what insane plan they’ve concocted and stopping it before someone gets killed.

“What are you doing?” I keep my voice low, aware of how sound carries in the courtroom. “You’re supposed to be—”

“Shut up and listen.” Milo leans close, and his scent floods my senses. Vanilla and determination and mine. “We have it. All of it. The real books, the security footage, everything.”

My blood turns to ice. “How?”

“Doesn’t matter how.” But something flickers in his eyes that tells me it matters very much. “What matters is we can prove you’re innocent. Penelope and Damon are willing to testify about who really ran The Pit.”

“No.” I look at them, at Penelope’s swollen belly and Damon’s set jaw. “Absolutely not. Do you know what he’ll do to you? To all of you?”

“We know.” Penelope’s voice is steady despite the fear I can smell on her. “But we can’t let you go down for this. Not when we know the truth.”

“The truth doesn’t matter if you’re dead.”

“We have a plan,” Milo insists. “Sutter wants the real criminal, not you. You’re small-time compared to—” He stops, still not saying the name even here. “She’ll deal. We just need to offer it to her. We’ll get witness protection for all of us.”

“You can’t trust—”

“Three minutes,” the bailiff announces.

Milo grabs my face between his hands, forces me to look at him. “Trust me. Please. Just this once, trust me to save you instead of the other way around.”

I want to say no. I want to tell him to run, to take our baby and disappear somewhere safe.

But I’m looking into those fierce blue eyes and seeing something I should have recognized from the start.

Milo Warren doesn’t run. He fights. Maybe he fights in a different way that I do, but he’s a fighter, same as I am.

I also notice that he hasn’t apologised once for doing this. No “I’m sorry” as if he needs to apologize for living and I am loving that.

“What do you need me to do?”

Relief floods his face. “Take me back as your attorney. Let me handle this.”

“Milo—”

“Two minutes.”

“Trust me,” he says again, and God help me, I do.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He blinks, like he expected more argument.

“I trust you.” I catch his hand, squeeze it once. “But if this goes wrong…”

“It won’t.” He squeezes back, then straightens his tie with shaking fingers. “Get ready to look contrite.”

“One minute.”

We break apart, returning to our positions.

Milo stands beside me at the defense table, every inch the professional lawyer despite everything.

Penelope and Damon retreat to the gallery, but their presence is like a weight in the room.

Whatever evidence they found, they’re all in now. No backing out.

“Time,” the bailiff calls.

“Your Honor.” Milo’s voice rings clear and confident. “My client wishes to withdraw his guilty plea and proceed to trial with myself as counsel.”

Melkham looks like he’s swallowed something sour. “Is that correct, Mr. Hayes?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“You understand that by withdrawing the plea, you’re facing potential life sentences on multiple counts?”

“I understand.”

“And you’re requesting Mr. Warren as your attorney, despite having dismissed him previously?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Melkham sighs, the kind of deep, put-upon sigh of a man who’s seen too much bullshit in his career. “Mr. Warren, you’re willing to resume representation?”

“I am, Your Honor. However, there’s another matter that needs addressing.”