“She’s not my sister. She’s an engineered killer, Lincoln. Genetics don’t make a person family.”
“Did you hear that, Atticus?” I say, looking over to the tall golden boy who sometimes rooms with me. He’s standing in front of the window, just watching. Noncommittal. He’s always been the favorite. He rarely spends time here at school. The Old Man keeps him at home as much as possible. “Thomas says Omega Three is expendable and she’s not his kin.”
Atticus rubs the slight yellow stubble on his chin. I know he doesn’t want to be here. I know he’d rather pretend none of this is happening. But I also know he won’t leave Omega Three behind. He’s been her brother since she was born. He loves her like a sister. He is as committed as Thomas is indifferent.
Two brothers. Two sides to every story.
“Kill her, Lincoln,” Thomas says.
“No,” Atticus says. “Get her out of here. I’ll do your part, Lincoln. I’ll help Thomas and Case and then I’ll go home and no one will ever know I was here.”
“I’ll go with her,” Will says from behind Case. He’s the smallest of us Alphas. A couple years younger than me. “I don’t want to kill anyone, you guys. I’ll take care of the Omega. I know a place.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Thomas snarls at Will. “I should kill you myself, you sniveling piece of shit. You’re gonna do your part, just like—”
“No,” I say, cutting Thomas off. “I like this idea. I’m not shoving her out a window and telling her to run without help. That’s a death sentence. She’ll die tonight. She has no bond to Will, he can help her better than anyone.” I walk over to Will and grab him by the shirt. “You better take care of her, Will. Because if I find out you fucked up and she got hurt, I’ll chop your goddamned head off.”
“I will,” he says, swallowing down his fear. “I promise.”
I look at my brothers one by one and then say, “I’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes.”
Thump—thump.
Thump—thump.
“Lincoln,” Thomas says. “Don’t die on me, brother. I really do need you.”
“Change him,” Case says. I try to open my eyes, but it’s hopeless. “Change him, Sheila.”
“Do it,” Thomas says.
“I can’t,” Sheila says. “It’s irreversible. He’s been ready for the change for more than a year and he never initiated it. It’s not my decision.”
“He has no say now, Sheila.” Thomas sounds angry, but Sheila won’t respond to that. “He is going to die. I’ve got my fucking hand on his heart, pumping it myself. He’s going to die. So get that jellyfish shit out, put it in the vector, and shoot him up right fucking now!”
“Do it,” I whisper.
“Shhh,” Case says. “Lincoln?”
“Do it,” I croak again.
I want to say more. I want to tell Thomas to stop squeezing my heart because he’s creepy as hell and I don’t want him touching me. I want to tell Case to calm down, I’m fine. I’m gonna be fine. He’s gonna be fine. I’m gonna make sure he’s not left standing empty-handed when all this is over. I want to tell Sheila—
I’m here, Lincoln, she says inside my head.
Sheila.
Are you sure about this? You can’t go back once I start phase two.
I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure. Make me mean, Sheila. Make me the meanest motherfucker that Old Man never imagined. I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna end him in a way this town will never forget.
I have a lot more to say, but a warm infusion rushes into my veins and the only thing left on my mind is Molly.
I will get her back. I will make that old man pay.
I will be Alpha in every way.
Just not the way he imagined.
Chapter Forty-Seven - Molly
His guards grab me by my bound wrists and throw me face first into the glass-walled cell. I’m in the top of the spire, possibly very close to where I first met the Old Man at breakfast. And I have an expansive view of the stars above and the city beyond.
Well, Atticus, I’m pretty sure this was not what you meant when you said I really need to see the top of the spire at night.
I have no frame of reference for this. I have no experience. I mean, yeah, I was that Omega kid and they did terrible things to me that I dealt with, recovered from, and stood back up to live another day. But that was fifteen years ago.
My life since then has been relatively tame. No one has been trying to kill me. Not even in the military. I was recruited with a specific career path in mind, I was never trained for a war zone. And yes, I’m good at protecting myself. I’ve got moves thanks to my brother and my training. But what good are they when I’m not allowed to fight back?
Just the anger I have when I think about killing Alastair Montgomery makes me sick. I swallow down the bile that churns in my stomach.
The glass wall opens and the Old Man walks in. “Are you ready, Molly?”
I’m not. Whatever it is, I’m not. But I have to ask. “Ready for what?”