Chapter 2
ADAM
The alarms woke me from a dead sleep. My heart took off at a gallop, faster than my mind could even process. My knee-jerk reaction was to grab the Glock hidden away in my bedside drawer and face whoever had broken into my house head-on.
So I rolled out of bed, yanked the drawer open, and ran out of my room.
From the top of the stairs, I could see people fleeing out the front door, scrambling like rats from a sinking ship. One lone straggler didn’t quite make it, though. He hesitated, and I reacted.
“STOP!” I snarled, my gun aimed at the Omega.
The young man looked terrified, out of place in his raggedy clothing and worn-out shoes, clutching the antique jewelry that had been handed down to me by my grandfather to his chest. He whipped around to face me, then stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet and landing hard on his ass.
I crept closer, my gun still trained on him. I wasn’t sure if he was armed, but I wasn’t about to find out the hard way.
The alarm shrieked at the top of its lungs. It was set to trigger a call to 911 if set off, and the cops were there faster than I expected. I didn’t lower my gun until they arrested the Omega who’d robbed me.
I watched as they hauled him to his feet, yanking his arms behind his back and cuffing him. The red-headed young man didn’t even resist. He shrank into a shell of himself, and in a whisper, asked the officer if he was going to jail.
The cop laughed about it, but the man’s hushed words caught my ear: “At least I won’t have to sleep on the streets tonight…”
I shook my head and turned my attention back to the officers who approached me. One of them was tall and dark-skinned, and the other was short and a little pudgy around the waist, like he’d eaten one too many donuts. They were both young, probably under thirty, and both human.
“Adam Sinclair?” the taller cop began, gesturing to me—or rather, the gun still gripped in my hand. “Can you put the weapon down for me, please? We don’t want any altercations tonight.”
“Shit.” I grimaced and quickly nodded, flipping the safety back on before setting the pistol down on the wooden staircase. When I straightened to face the cops once more, I raised both hands in front of me. “Sorry. Just trying to protect my property, sir.”
They nodded. “I’m Officer Wineheart,” the first cop said, “And this is Officer Maynard. We have a few questions for you, if you’d be so kind. What exactly happened here tonight?”
They both looked at me expectantly, like I had any idea. I glanced around, my gaze lingering on the shattered front window.
It was busted in, as if somebody had grabbed a weapon and started swinging. This robbery had definitely been premeditated, but why me? Was I a target simply because of my wealth?
“I don’t know,” I told them. “One minute I was asleep, and the next, my alarms were going off. When I left my room, I saw them—an entire group of thieves—fleeing out the front door. Their arms were loaded with things they stole from me. It was sheer dumb luck I caught that one.”
I looked at the Omega. He surprised me by staring back at me, his eyes dark with sorrow and regret. “I’m sorry,” he murmured before dropping his gaze and turning away.
“Alright,” Officer Maynard said brusquely.
“It’s late. Normally, we’d have you come down to the precinct for questioning, but it’s three o’clock in the morning.
We know you’re a busy man, Mr. Sinclair.
You can come in in the morning for questioning, and to decide if you want to press charges. Get some rest, sir.”
I watched as the cop hustled the Omega out the door and down the front steps.
When they reached the police car, the young man was quickly sealed away in the back seat, like some dirty little secret.
I should’ve been relieved, but I felt strangely…
hollow. The lights on the cruiser flashed neon red and blue, a sharp reminder of what had happened tonight.
But rest? I didn’t rest.
My place was in shambles. I trudged out to the shed on the west side of the property, gathered some leftover plywood from an old project, and brought it inside. Then I began to board up my broken window. The hammer banged loudly into the night.
My stomach sank as I stared at my handiwork. I knew what I had to do, even though I didn’t want to do it, but I’d catch shit if I didn’t.
So I called my father.
The phone rang three times before his grizzled voice came onto the line, still half-asleep. “Adam? It’s the dead of night.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry to wake you. I just wanted you to know that there’s been an incident. I was robbed.”
“Robbed?” he asked, sounding a little more awake. “When? Now? What did they take? Anything of value? Anything that belongs to the family? Heirlooms?”
“I don’t know. Not exactly,” I told him, already feeling that tugging of irritation. “My home was vandalized. As far as I can tell, they took some electronics and a few other personal items. I don’t think it’s anything that can’t be replaced though. They’re just things.”
“And this is why you are the way that you are,” he said. “Just things! Things have value. Value is money. And money’s what makes the world go round. I’ve told you this time and time again, and you just don’t listen.”
I held my breath, counted to ten, and let it out slowly.
Anger lapped at me like acid. I knew better than to expect compassion from him. He’d always been more worried about the value of belongings than about my safety. It didn’t matter that I could’ve been hurt or kidnapped. All that would’ve mattered was how much it would cost to get me back.
“Look, Father. I just wanted to let you know I’m safe. I have to go down to the precinct for questioning tomorrow morning, so I need to get to bed. Sorry for waking you.”
My father huffed. “Next time, put a hole in that hoodlum. That’ll keep him from robbing anyone again. Can’t commit crimes when he’s dead.”
I gritted my teeth. He couldn’t commit crimes when he was behind bars, either, but I didn’t say that. I didn’t say anything.
I kept thinking about the Omega huddled on the floor, his green eyes staring at me in horror as I held the gun steady on him. I didn’t want to shoot him; violence was the last thing on my mind. I just didn’t want him to get away.
“Goodnight, Father,” I said, and hung up the phone.
I went upstairs, put the gun away, and laid down in bed. Flipping the bedside lamp off, I curled up and tried to go back to sleep.
But I couldn’t get the Omega’s wide, frightened eyes out of my mind.
The next morning, I went down to the police station. As it turned out, the Omega’s name was Fletcher Rose.
“He swore up and down that it wasn’t his idea,” the officer from last night—Maynard?—told me. “But he isn’t exactly spilling his guts either. We don’t know who the ringleader was behind the robbery, but we’re going to grill him until he tells us. Don’t worry, Mr. Sinclair. We’ll figure it out.”
I heaved a sigh and shook my head. Did it really matter? Sure, I didn’t want whoever it was to come back and finish the job. Would they try to break in a second time? Or would they sell off what they stole and avoid the area? That would be the wiser move.
“Mr. Sinclair, do you plan on pressing charges?” Maynard asked me, his brows furrowing. “I’m afraid the kid doesn’t have much to his name. Doesn’t even have a wallet or an ID on him. I’m pretty sure he’s homeless.”
For some reason, that made me ache.
Yeah, he’d robbed me—or attempted to—but maybe he had a reason. If he really was living on the streets? That was enough to make anybody try to rob someone, to steal things just to pawn them off so they’d have a little money. Not knowing where your next meal would come from?
I couldn’t even imagine that kind of life. Admittedly, I’d been born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I wanted for nothing. Sure, my family was a little messed up, but I never went hungry. Never slept on a street bench.
“Mr. Sinclair?” the cop pressed.
I shook my head. “No. But I would like to speak with him once you’re finished, assuming you’re going to release him on bail.”
Officer Maynard let out a small snort. “No one’ll pay his bail,” he said, but I held up my hand.
“I’ll pay it,” I told him, earning a confused look from the man. He blinked at me a couple of times, no doubt wondering why the Alpha who’d been burglarized last night was paying his robber’s bail, but he’d probably seen stranger things before in his line of work because he shrugged.
“Of course,” he said. “Come with me.”
He turned and walked down the long, white-tiled hall, leading me to a room with two hard plastic chairs and a single folding table. An interrogation room, maybe? I didn’t know. I wasn’t one for police shows. I preferred comedy and action films.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“That would be lovely,” I said. “Thank you. Two creams and a sugar, please.”
“Sure thing. Like I said, we’ll do our best to be quick.”
I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the coffee or the interrogation. I hoped he meant both, because I had an idea. Probably not the brightest idea, but the seed had been planted, and it was growing like a vine around my soul.
What if…