Page 32 of Omega’s Fever (Prime Match #2)

Milo

The marshals are giving us five minutes before transport to the safehouse, and I need to make this count. I pull my phone out of my pocket, the screen seeming too bright in the dim corridor as I navigate to the secure link Kao set up.

“What are you doing?” Kellen’s voice is low, watchful.

“Sending Sutter the evidence.” I copy the link, paste it into an encrypted email. “She needs to see what we have.”

The folder structure appears on my screen—dozens of files, each one meticulously labeled. Financial records. Scanned documents. Digital photos of ledgers. Hours of security footage compressed and uploaded. “That’s everything?” Sutter appears at my elbow, making me jump. She moves like a predator.

“Everything.” I hit send, watch the email disappear into the ether.

“Bank records, the real books, security footage from the six months before the raid. It’s all there.

That’s the digital data. The physical is in my office at Schmitt and Peterson.

” Anne is going to have a heart attack when she finds out but I don’t care. I’m not going back.

Her phone buzzes immediately. She checks it, fingers flying across the screen as she accesses the drive. Her eyes widen slightly—the first real emotion I’ve seen from her.

“This is...” She scrolls through file names, opening random documents. “How did you—”

“Does it matter?” I slip my phone back into my pocket. “You have what you need to bury Cobb Sewell. That’s what counts.”

She nods, looking pleased. She should. I just handed her the case of a lifetime. “The marshals are ready for transport. All four of you in one vehicle. The safehouse is secure, but—”

“We’ll be careful.” I glance at Kellen, at the tension coiled in his shoulders. “We know what’s at stake.”

The ride to the safehouse happens in a blur. Penelope sits pressed against Damon, her hands protective over her belly. Kellen’s thigh presses against mine, solid and warm and reassuring. No one speaks. What’s left to say? We’ve rolled the dice. Now we wait to see if the gamble pays off.

The safehouse turns out to be an apartment building in a neighborhood that’s seen better days. Not quite rough, but far from the polished world of my downtown high-rise. The marshal—a beta woman with shrewd eyes—leads us up three flights of stairs to a corner unit.

“Home sweet home,” she says, unlocking three different deadbolts. “Kitchen’s stocked. Burner phones are on the counter. Don’t answer the door for anyone except me. We’ll check in every six hours.”

The apartment is... adequate. Beige walls, brown carpet, furniture that looks like it came from a discount warehouse. But the windows have bars, the door is reinforced steel, and that’s what matters.

“Locks are good,” Damon says immediately, testing each one. “But the fire escape access...”

And they’re off, the two alphas moving through the space like they’re clearing a combat zone. Checking sightlines from windows, testing alternate exits, checking every potential weakness. It’s fascinating and terrifying to watch them work in tandem.

“They’re going to be at this for a while,” Penelope says, sinking onto the couch with a soft groan. “Damon won’t settle until he’s mapped every possible entry point.”

I sit beside her, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that’s been carrying me crashes all at once.

“Bathroom’s clean,” Kellen announces, emerging from his security check. His eyes find mine immediately. “Kitchen too. No bugs that I can find.”

And just like that, he relaxes and settles next to me, and I’m immediately wrapped in his scent. Cedar and alpha and home. Even here, in this strange place, he smells like safety.

“Are you going to tell me how you got the evidence? I hope you didn’t ask your uncle. There’s no way he’d have handed it over.

“I called Kao. Told him everything—about Kenneth, about the vacation house, about what we needed. He didn’t even hesitate.”

Kellen’s jaw tightens. “You sent a civilian—”

“I sent my best friend. Someone I trust completely.” I touch his arm, feel the muscle coiled beneath.

“He used his key to get into the office after hours. Spent all night with the industrial copier and scanner. Every document, every photo, every digital file—he copied it all. Uploaded everything to a secure cloud drive he set up.”

“That’s—” Kellen stops, runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t think your boss is going to like that.”

“She won’t know.” I hope. “He was careful, made it look like he was pulling an all-nighter on the merger. Just another overworked associate burning midnight oil.”

“Milo.” His voice drops, that dangerous rumble that makes my omega instincts sing. “You put him at risk. Kenneth—”

“Kenneth is done.” The words come out harder than I intend. “The moment Sutter verifies those documents, he’s finished. Cobb too. They can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

Damon appears from the back bedroom, a frown creasing his forehead. “Fire escape is a problem. Window locks are a joke, and there’s roof access from—”

A sound from outside cuts him off. Car doors slamming. Multiple vehicles.

Everything happens fast after that.

Kellen’s on his feet before I can blink, pulling me behind him. Damon’s already at the window, peering through the blinds.

“Three cars,” he reports, voice deadly calm. “Eight, maybe nine men. They’re not trying to hide.”

“Marshals?” Penelope asks, but we all know the answer.

“Call 911,” Kellen orders, his voice all alpha command. “Now.”

I fumble for the burner phone, fingers suddenly clumsy. Nine men. Cobb’s crew. How did they find us so fast?

“Fire escape,” Damon says. “Two coming up that way.”

“Get the omegas in the bathroom,” Kellen says. “Lock the door.”

“I’m not leaving—”

“Milo.” He turns to me, and his eyes are wild. Desperate. “Please. Get in the bathroom with Penelope. Please.”

The please breaks me. He never begs. I grab Penelope’s hand, pull her toward the hallway. Behind us, I hear furniture scraping—they’re barricading the door.

The bathroom is tiny, barely room for both of us. Penelope’s breathing hard, one hand pressed to her stomach.

“It’s okay,” I lie, locking the flimsy door. “They’ll handle it.”

Glass shatters in the living room. Someone’s broken the window.

“Fire escape,” Penelope whispers.

I dial 911 with shaking fingers, press the phone to my ear. It rings once. Twice.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“We need help. Armed men are—”

I hear the front door explode inward with a sound like thunder. Not kicked—blown. They used something to destroy the reinforced steel.

“Sir, sir, are you there?”

“Armed men,” I manage. “Multiple attackers. We’re at—”

I rattle off the address, hear the dispatcher typing. “Units are en route. Stay on the line.”

Through the door, I hear the fight begin.

It’s nothing like movie fights. No choreographed dance, no witty banter. Just the brutal sound of bodies colliding, furniture breaking, men grunting with effort and pain. Something heavy hits the bathroom door, making us both jump.

“That better be fucking locked,” Damon’s voice, breathless.

More crashes. The sharp crack of wood splintering. A sound that might be bone breaking.

Then a gunshot. Loud enough to make my ears ring even through the door.

Another crash, this one closer. Someone slams into the bathroom door hard enough to crack the wood. Penelope makes a small, terrified sound.

“Units responding,” the dispatcher says in my ear. “Can you tell me—”

“They’re fighting,” I whisper. “My mate, he’s—”

The door splinters. Not completely broken, but damaged. Another hit like that and it’s gone.

I can smell them now. Too many alpha scents, aggressive and predatory. Under it all, Kellen’s familiar cedar, but tinged with blood and fury.

“Back of the tub,” I tell Penelope, pushing her behind me. Like my body could shield hers. Like either of us stands a chance if they get through.

Another hit. The door cracks down the middle.

Through the gap, I see chaos. The living room destroyed. Damon on the ground, two men holding him down while he struggles. Kellen still standing, blood running down his face, three men circling him like wolves.

And there, standing in the ruined doorway like he owns the place—Cobb Sewell.

He’s small. Ordinary looking, really. Just a man in an expensive suit watching his thugs work. But his eyes... cold. Dead. Like looking into an abyss.

His gaze meets mine and he smirks.

“Mr. Warren,” he says conversationally, like we’re meeting at a dinner party. “You have been a right pain in my ass.”

Kellen roars, lunges for him. Two men intercept, drive him back. He fights like something wild, all rage and desperation, but there are too many.

“The evidence is gone,” I call through the cracked door. “Uploaded. Backed up. The prosecutor has everything.”

Cobb sighs, steps carefully through the wreckage. “Yes, I gathered as much. You’ve given me quite the mess to clean up and I’m starting with you.” Cobb nods to his men. “Finish it.”

They converge on Kellen. He fights—God, how he fights. Every dirty trick, every brutal technique learned in a lifetime of violence. One man goes down clutching his throat. Another screams as fingers find his eyes.

But there are too many.

Vaughn gets behind him, loops an arm around Kellen’s throat. A sleeper hold. Kellen thrashes, tries to break free, but two more men grab his arms.

“No!” I slam against the broken door, splinters digging into my palms. “Stop! Please!”

Cobb turns to me, head tilted like a bird. “You know, I was going to make this clean. Professional. But you had to make things difficult.”

He pulls out a gun. Small, silver, almost delicate.

“I think we’ll start with the omega.”

Everything slows down.

Cobb raises the gun, aims through the gap in the door. At me.

Kellen makes a sound I’ve never heard before. Pure anguish. Pure rage. He breaks free, throws Vaughn off like he weighs nothing.

He moves faster than should be possible.

The gun fires.

But Kellen’s there. Between me and the bullet. The impact spins him half around. Blood blooms across his chest, spreading like spilled wine.

“No!” The word tears from my throat.

Kellen hits the floor hard, but somehow it doesn’t keep him down.

I catch sight of his face. I’ve never seen such pure fury.

He twists on his heel and lunges forward.

His huge body blocks my view of what comes next, but I see the spray of blood and the scream that is suddenly cut off, and then another.

It’s only then that he falls and doesn’t get up.

For a brief moment, there is nothing but silence. Kellen is on the floor, Penelope is sobbing behind me. Damon is on the floor, rising to his hands and knees, the bodies of two of Cobb’s men beside him.

Then there are sirens. Finally, sirens.

I shove through the ruined door, splinters tearing my hands and drop to my knees beside Kellen.

There is so much blood, spreading in a dark pool beneath him.

“No, no, no.” I press my hands to the wound, try to stem the flow. The blood is hot, soaking through my fingers. “Kellen, look at me. Look at me!”

His eyes flutter open. Unfocused. Glazed with pain.

“Milo.” Just my name, barely a whisper.

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Tears blur my vision. “You’re going to be okay. Help’s coming. You’re going to be okay.”

He tries to lift his hand. I catch it, press it to my cheek.

“Love you,” he manages.

Penelope’s there suddenly, phone pressed to her ear. “We need an ambulance! Gunshot wound to the chest. He’s losing blood fast.”

Damon crawls over, one eye swollen shut, nose clearly broken. But alive. He presses his hands over mine, adding pressure to the wound.

“Here!” I scream. “We’re in here! Hurry!”

Kellen’s eyes drift closed.