Chapter 42 – DAMON
42
DAMON
I 'm juggling grocery bags as I push through the front door, already planning the meal I want to make for the pack tonight since it's my turn. But the tense energy in the living room stops me in my tracks. Everyone is gathered around Jordan, who's clutching her phone with white knuckles while Asher rubs soothing circles on her back.
"What's going on?" I ask, setting the bags on the counter.
"The police think they found Trakiss," Silas says, his voice carefully neutral. "They want someone to come in and identify him."
My grip tightens on the counter as I process this. After weeks of searching, of watching Jordan jump at shadows, they might finally have him. "Are we sure it's him?"
"Only one way to find out," Knox growls, already reaching for his jacket.
I look at Jordan, who's gone pale but determined. The marks on her throat— our marks—stand out starkly against her skin. She's ours now, pack and mate, and the thought of her having to face one of the people who hurt her makes my alpha instincts roar.
"You don't have to go," I tell her gently.
She shakes her head, squaring her shoulders. "Yes, I do. I need to see him caught. Need to know he can't hurt anyone else."
She's right, of course. I know she is. She needs this, and so does Asher. We all do. But that doesn't make me want to shield them any less.
The drive to the police station is tense, all of us hyper-aware of Jordan's anxiety despite her attempts to hide it. Asher holds her hand the whole way, murmuring reassurances.
The detective who meets us is a beta woman with kind eyes and an air of quiet competence. "Thank you for coming so quickly," she says, leading us through the station. "We have him in a lineup, but we need positive identification."
"What about the Sons of Epsilon?" Dante asks, his voice tight with anger I know all too well. It's the same that's running through my veins at the thought of that those fuckers did to our omegas. And what they want to do.
The detective's expression grows grim. "He's not talking. He hasn't outright admitted to anything so far. But if we can nail him on the illegal weapons development, it might give us leverage."
We're led to a room with a large one-way mirror. On the other side, six men stand in a line against a wall. My eyes immediately lock onto Trakiss, his cold eyes and sharp features unmistakable even among similar-looking men.
"That's him," Jordan says quietly. "Third from the left."
"You're sure?" the detective asks, though I can tell from her expression that she already knows the answer.
"Positive." Jordan's voice doesn't waver, but I can smell her distress. The urge to gather her close, to shield her from having to look at him, is almost overwhelming.
"He's been... difficult during questioning," the detective says carefully. "Very smug. Like he knows something we don't."
Jordan's scent shifts, determination cutting through the fear. "Let me talk to him."
"I'm not sure that's—" the detective starts, but Jordan cuts her off.
"Please. I know how these people think. How they operate. If he's from my cult, my mere presence as an omega doing anything other than sitting home and making sandwiches for an alpha will trigger him. Maybe I can get him to slip up."
The detective studies her for a long moment, then glances at the rest of us. "It's not exactly conventional," she says slowly. "But given the circumstances... I might be able to arrange something. Two people maximum, though."
"I'll go with her," I say immediately. The others start to protest, but I hold up a hand. "I'm the calmest," I remind them. "Less likely to try to break his neck with my bare hands.”
Knox snorts but doesn't argue. He knows it's true. Out of all the alphas, I have the best control over my protective instincts. Right now, that's what Jordan needs more than raw aggression.
"You don't have to do this," Asher tells Jordan, cupping her face in his hands. "No one will think less of you if you're not ready."
She leans into his touch but shakes her head. "I need to face him. Need him to see they didn't break me."
Pride swells in my chest at her strength, even as my alpha instincts scream to protect her from this. But I understand. This isn't just about catching Trakiss anymore. It's about Jordan reclaiming her power.
The detective leads us to an interview room, explaining the protocol. Two guards will be stationed outside. We're not to touch the prisoner. Keep the table between us at all times.
When we enter, Trakiss is already seated, his hands cuffed to a metal loop in the center of the table. His cold eyes light up with interest as they land on Jordan, and I have to fight back a growl.
"Well, well," he says, his thin lips curving into a smile that makes my skin crawl. "You look much more like yourself than you did at the party. More like the picture in your father's study."
Jordan goes rigid beside me, her scent tinged with shock. And suddenly I understand. That's how he recognized her that night. He's been in her family's home, seen what she looked like before she had to remake herself.
"How long have you been working with them?" she asks, her voice steady despite her racing pulse.
Trakiss's smile widens. "A little less time than you've been running from them. Your father was quite devastated when you disappeared, you know. Such a shame, you were to be the crowning achievement of his work. The perfect little omega bride for his most loyal subject."
The implication behind his words hits me like a Mack truck. Jordan wasn't just some random member of the cult. She was the leader's daughter.
I'm not surprised she didn't tell us before. There's still a part of her that believes she's somehow responsible for what they did. That it's in her blood. And I'm sure those assholes were the ones who filled her mind with that bullshit. It's a lifetime of indoctrination, and it'll take more than a few comforting words to convince her otherwise.
But the casual way this son of a bitch talks about what they planned to do to her makes me want to reach across the table and snap his neck.
"His work?" Jordan's voice has gone cold, clinical. "You mean forcing omega girls into bonds they don't want? Treating us like breeding stock?"
I watch Trakiss's smug face as he leans back in his chair, looking far too comfortable for someone in handcuffs. My hands itch to wipe that smile off his face, but I force myself to stay still. This isn't about me. It's about Jordan. About putting an end to all this.
"You think you're so clever," Trakiss sneers. "Playing at being independent, pretending you're more than what nature made you. But we both know the truth. You're just a lost little girl who needs to be put back in her place."
Jordan doesn't flinch. If anything, she seems to grow taller, more composed. The vulnerable omega I hold at night is nowhere to be seen. In her place sits someone made of steel and ice.
"Are you really willing to spend the rest of your life in prison for him?" she asks, her voice steady. "For my father? A man who sees you as nothing but a tool?"
Trakiss laughs, the sound sharp and unpleasant. "You may be clever, for an omega," he says, emphasizing the words like an insult. "But it won't matter. Your little pet project, that male omega and his band? They won't be performing again. The moment they try, we'll make an example of them. Show all omegas what happens when they step out of line."
My growl slips out before I can stop it, but Jordan's hand on my arm keeps me in check.
"You really think being in here will stop us?" Trakiss continues, gesturing to his cuffs with obvious disdain. "My work is already complete. The Sons of Epsilon have everything they need. You can't stop what's coming."
Jordan stands abruptly, and for a moment I think she's lost her composure. But her scent is steady, almost... triumphant?
"Thank you for your time," she says coolly, then turns on her heel and walks out. "That's all I needed."
Trakiss blinks at her in confusion. I can tell he wants to say something, but he just stares in bewilderment as she leaves him in the dust.
I follow quickly, equally confused and catching up to her in the hallway. "Are you okay?" I ask, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. Maybe it was just too much for her to be in there with him. Maybe Asher was right.
To my surprise, she actually smiles. Not the careful, measured expression she showed Trakiss, but a real smile that lights up her whole face.
"I'm fine," she says, practically bouncing on her toes. "Better than fine. Now I know my plan will work."
"What plan?" I ask, struggling to keep up with her sudden shift in mood.
"Well, he's right about one thing," she says as we walk toward where the others are waiting. "The Sons of Epsilon will attack eventually. That's completely this anonymous group's MO, and now we know for sure they're one and the same as the cult. He said as much himself, and I'm sure the police listening behind that tone-way mirror head it, too. I just wanted to confirm it. So why not use that to our advantage? Draw them out on our terms."
Understanding dawns. She's right. Trakiss did confess. He couldn't help being a smug asshole and gloating to our brilliant omega. "A honeypot operation."
Her grin widens. "Exactly."
I can't help but chuckle, shaking my head in amazement. Even after everything she's been through, she's still willing to fight. Still brilliant and fierce and unstoppable.
"I'm impressed," I tell her honestly. "But how are we going to stage a concert when they have a compound that can turn any alpha in the crowd into a weapon?"
"Simple," she says, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "We make sure there are no alphas in the room. Other than you guys, of course, but that won't be an issue because of the marks."
I blink at her. "How? If we announce it's omega and beta only, they'll know something's up."
"We don't announce anything other than your next concert," she says with a sly smile. "We just make sure the tickets 'sell out' instantly and get betas to fill the stadium. The rest will be undercover police."
"And how exactly are we going to manage that without tipping our hand?" I ask, though I'm already starting to see where she's going with this.
Her smile turns secretive. "I'm going to call in a favor from a couple of friends who've been waiting to meet me for a while."
I stare at her for a few moments, struggling to fully process her genius. I shake my head with a low chuckle and pull her in for a kiss. "Those fuckers didn't know what they were doing when they decided to go up against you."
Jordan smiles against my lips, but there's no mistaking the determination in her gaze. "It's been a long time coming," she murmurs. "It's time to fight back."
"You've been fighting back," I remind her, stroking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Now, it's just time you finally got some justice of your own."
Her smaller hand slips into mine, and I squeeze it gently, cherishing it for the symbol of trust it is as we head back to the others. None of us can change what happened to Jordan in the past, but we can make damn sure it never happens again. To her, or any other omega.
It's the last thing we have to do before we can fully step into our future as a pack.