Page 89 of Omega's Fever

“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.