Failed to tell Gabriel I’m sorry.
Failed to fix what I broke.
As darkness swallows me whole, a final thought surfaces from the chaos of my mind.
I never got to tell him that I love him.
But maybe it’s better this way.
He deserves more than I could ever give him.
20
Icome back to myself in pieces.
First the pain, hot and electric, crawling up my spine and through my limbs as my nerves misfire long after the shock has ended. Then the cold floor under my cheek. Then the realization that I can’t move.
Confused, I look down at the ropes around my chest and register the ache in my shoulders caused by my hands being tightly bound behind my back. Lifting my head, I take in my position on the floor, braced beside a dining table in a modern, open-concept living room, dining room, and kitchen.
I’m still at the townhouse.
A soft groan draws my attention across the roomto where Gabriel slumps in a chair, his body bound in a similar configuration to mine. The only difference seems to be that I’m on the floor and he’s in a chair.
His head hangs forward, chin on his chest, but as I watch, it lifts. His eyes find mine through the semi-darkness, and a pulse of emotion hits me so hard my breath catches.
Panic. Anger. Protectiveness. All of it floods across the space between us, palpable with its intensity.
I try to speak, but my bitten tongue and split lip turn the words to mush. “G’briel. Y’okay?”
He blinks sluggishly as he struggles to focus. A bruise darkens his cheekbone, and blood cakes his temple where he hit the doorframe during our capture.
His mouth opens, closes, then opens again to form a single word. “Saint.”
“Oh, good, our guests are awake.”
Footsteps tap across the polished hardwood floor, and I crane my neck to track the sound as a man circles into view.
Darrow. The asshole who slipped my hold at Foundation.
He stops between Gabriel and me, hands clasped behind his back. “Welcome back to consciousness.”
I draw in a breath and push out a Command,“Untie us.”
It leaves me with the familiar pressure in my vocal cords, a subtle vibration that stills weaker Alphas or Omegas, blurring their thoughts until obedience becomes easier than resistance.
Darrow doesn’t even flinch.
Not a hitch of breath. Not a blink.
Because he’s a Beta, and Command doesn’t work on Betas. It’s why so many of them go into law enforcement.
The realization hits a half-second too late, and frustration twists in my gut.
His smile widens. “Ah. There it is.”
I swallow, and only then do I register that the bitter bloom on my tongue, the citric burn in my nose, and the tightness in my throat aren’t from being tasered.
Alpha suppressant.
