Chapter 31 #2
One of the guards spots me, nudging his companion, as I hurry toward them. They stare, clearly confused by the sight of a lone woman in an evening gown approaching their checkpoint on foot in the middle of the night. I continue forward, my heart pounding so loudly I’m certain they must hear it.
“Halt!” the first guard calls when I’m about twenty paces away. “Identify yourself!”
I stop, keeping my posture perfect, my expression appropriately demure. “My name is Maya Tantamount,” I call back, my voice clear in the night air. “I wish to surrender myself to the king’s mercy.”
The guards exchange glances, their confusion evident even at this distance. The first one—older than the others, with sergeant’s stripes on his uniform—steps forward cautiously.
“Approach slowly,” he orders, his hand resting on his weapon. “Keep your hands visible.”
I obey, moving forward with small, careful steps, my hands held slightly away from my body to show I carry no weapons. As I draw closer, I can see recognition dawning in the sergeant’s eyes. My purple hair is distinctive, my face has been on wanted posters throughout the kingdom for weeks.
Yet he pretends not to know me.
“What business brings you to this checkpoint at this hour?” he asks, his tone deliberately casual despite the tension in his posture.
I glance at the display screen mounted on the checkpoint wall—where my own face stares back at me from a wanted poster, the words “DANGEROUS FUGITIVE” emblazoned across the top. The sergeant follows my gaze, then looks back at me, his expression unreadable.
“I believe you know exactly who I am,” I say quietly. “And I believe the king would be most displeased to learn you delayed my return to the palace.”
The sergeant’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t deny it. Instead, he gestures to one of the younger guards. “Search her.”
I remain perfectly still as the guard approaches, his hands trembling slightly as he pats me down. His touch lingers a moment too long on my waist, his fingers brushing against the side of my breast in a way that is definitely not part of standard procedure.
“She’s clean,” he reports, stepping back with a smirk that makes my skin crawl.
The sergeant studies me for a long moment, then nods. “Take her inside. I’ll call for transport.”
The young guard grabs my arm, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he drags me toward the checkpoint building.
I don’t resist, maintaining my demure Omega facade despite the anger bubbling beneath the surface.
This is just the beginning, I remind myself.
I need to conserve my energy for the challenges ahead.
Inside, the checkpoint is sparse and functional—a desk, several chairs, communication equipment, and a small detention cell in the corner. The guard shoves me into a chair, his hand lingering on my shoulder.
“Pretty thing, aren’t you?” he says, leaning close enough that I can smell the cheap alcohol on his breath. “All dressed up for us.”
I say nothing, keeping my eyes downcast as a proper Omega should.
Inside, I’m calculating distances, assessing threats, planning responses.
There are four guards total—the sergeant, this leering young one, and two others who’ve remained outside.
The sergeant is the only real threat; the others are too inexperienced, too undisciplined.
“Transport won’t be here for at least an hour,” the sergeant announces, hanging up a communications device. He looks at me, then at the young guard still hovering too close. “Secure the prisoner until then.”
“Yes, sir,” the guard replies, his tone suggesting he has his own ideas about what “securing” might entail.
The sergeant hesitates, glancing between us. For a moment, I think he might intervene, might insist on proper procedure. Then he shrugs, turning away. “I’ll check the perimeter. Make sure she didn’t bring friends.”
He exits, leaving me alone with the young guard, whose smile widens unpleasantly. “Well now,” he says, circling my chair slowly. “Looks like it’s just you and me for a while.”
I remain silent, watching him from beneath lowered lashes. He’s young—barely twenty—and clearly drunk on the small power his uniform grants him. Dangerous in his unpredictability, but not in his competence.
“Not very talkative, are you?” he continues, stopping behind my chair. His hands land heavily on my shoulders, fingers kneading painfully. “That’s alright. We don’t need to talk.”
His hands slide lower, tracing the neckline of my gown.
I sit perfectly still, my mind racing through options.
I could take him down easily—the self-defense training Cillian insisted on during our weeks at the summer palace has prepared me for this.
But violence now would jeopardize the entire mission.
I need to reach the palace, need to get close to the king.
The door opens, and another guard enters—one of the two who had been stationed outside. He pauses, taking in the scene before him, then grins. “Starting without me, Tanner?”
“Plenty to go around,” Tanner replies, his hands still wandering across my collarbone. “Royal fugitive, this one. Nobody’s going to miss her if she arrives a little disheveled.”
The second guard laughs, a harsh sound that echoes in the small room. “The sergeant’s doing a perimeter check. Says he’ll be at least twenty minutes.” He approaches, eyeing me with undisguised lust. “More than enough time.”
Tanner’s hands move to my hair, yanking my head back painfully. “What do you say, Omega? Ready to show us what that pretty mouth can do?”
Tanner's grip on my neck tightens as he yanks my head back, forcing my gaze to meet his leering smile.
His companion moves closer, the two of them creating a wall of uniformed bodies that blocks any chance of escape.
My heart hammers against my ribs so violently I can barely hear their words over the roaring in my ears.
"So pretty," Tanner murmurs, his thumb brushing roughly across my lower lip. "The king would pay extra for you in one piece, but he didn't say anything about you needing to be untouched."
I try to wrench away from his grip, but he only tightens his hold, fingers digging painfully into the back of my neck. The other guard laughs, the sound echoing in the small checkpoint building.
"Hold her still," he says, stepping closer. "I want to see what all the fuss is about with this one."
His hand reaches for the neckline of my dress, and something snaps inside me. Not fear – I'm beyond fear now – but pure, molten rage. The same fury that drove me to plunge a scalpel into Thane's neck surges through my veins.
I'm not going back. I won't be a victim again. I won't be an experiment.
My knee comes up hard and fast between Tanner's legs.
He doubles over with a strangled howl, his grip loosening just enough for me to twist away.
But the second guard is already on me, grabbing my arm and slamming me against the wall.
My head cracks against the hard surface, vision swimming as pain explodes behind my eyes.
"Bitch!" he snarls, pinning me with his body weight. His hand closes around my throat, cutting off my air. "You're going to regret that."
I claw at his face, nails catching skin and drawing blood. He curses, jerking back just enough for me to gasp a desperate breath. But Tanner has recovered now, face contorted with rage as he grabs my hair, yanking so hard tears spring to my eyes.
"Hold her down," he orders through gritted teeth. "Let's teach this Omega what happens when she forgets her place."
They force me toward the desk, bent over at the waist as I struggle wildly against their grip. My fingers scrabble across the surface, searching desperately for anything I could use as a weapon. Nothing. Just papers and a dirty coffee mug.
"Stop fighting," the second guard hisses in my ear, his weight crushing me against the desk. "You're just making it worse for yourself."
One of them flips up the back of my skirt, cold air shivering across the back of my thighs. Frustration and despair wash over me in equal measure. I didn’t even get within sight of the king and I’ve already failed.
The door explodes inward, torn from its hinges by a force that can only be Ares. He fills the doorframe, massive and terrifying, his green eyes burning with a rage I’ve never seen before. Behind him, Logan steps into view, his golden eyes cold as winter.
Tanner releases me, stumbling backward in shock. “What the—“
He doesn’t finish the sentence. Ares crosses the room in two strides, his fist connecting with Tanner’s jaw with a sickening crack. The guard crumples, unconscious before he hits the floor.
The second guard reaches for his weapon, but Logan is faster. His elbow drives into the guard’s solar plexus, doubling him over, followed by a knee to the face that sends him sprawling. Blood sprays from his broken nose, spattering across the floor in a crimson arc.
“Maya,” Logan says, his voice tight with controlled fury. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head, rising from the chair on legs that are steadier than I expected. “I’m fine. They didn’t have time to do anything.”
“They were going to,” Ares growls, his massive frame vibrating with barely contained violence. He looks down at Tanner’s unconscious form, his expression darkening. “I should kill them.”
“No,” Logan says sharply. “No deaths. Not yet.”
I blink in surprise. This restraint is unexpected—the old Logan would have executed these men without hesitation for daring to touch what he considers his. Another sign of the changes he’s trying to make, perhaps.
“The sergeant?” I ask, glancing toward the door.
“Unconscious,” Logan replies, his gaze sweeping the room with tactical precision. “The fourth guard as well. They’ll wake with headaches, nothing more.”
I nod, relieved despite everything. Unnecessary deaths would complicate our mission, draw more attention than we can afford. “So what now? The plan—“
“The plan has changed,” Logan interrupts, moving to Tanner’s unconscious form. He begins stripping the guard of his uniform with efficient movements. “Ares, take the other one’s clothes. Quickly.”
Ares complies without question, though his expression suggests he’d rather be doing something far more violent to the unconscious guard. I watch in confusion as both men efficiently remove the guards’ uniforms.
“What are you doing?” I ask, though the answer is becoming clear.
Logan looks up, his golden eyes meeting mine with an intensity that steals my breath. “I’m not sending you in there alone,” he says, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Not after what we just saw. Not when this is how the king’s men treat Omegas they’re supposed to protect.”
“But the plan—“ I begin.
“The plan was flawed,” he cuts me off, pulling on the guard’s shirt. It’s tight across his broader shoulders, but passable. “I was wrong to agree to it. We do this together, or not at all.”
I stare at him, caught between frustration at this last-minute change and a strange, unexpected relief. The thought of facing the palace alone has been terrifying, though I’ve refused to admit it even to myself.
“This isn’t going to work,” I say, but there’s no real heat in my words. “Your face is too well-known. Someone will recognize you.”
He holds up a set of face coverings. “We’ll wear these. It isn’t uncommon for guards to be masked.”
Ares finishes donning the second guard’s uniform, which strains across his massive chest but otherwise fits well enough to pass casual inspection.
“We have maybe ten minutes before someone comes looking for these idiots,” he says, nodding toward the unconscious guards. “Less if the sergeant wakes up.”
“The plan remains essentially the same,” Logan says, voice muffled behind the fabric covering the lower half of his face.
“Maya surrenders herself at the palace gates. We escort her, posing as the guards assigned to transport her from the checkpoint. Once inside, we separate—Maya to seek audience with the king, Ares and I to locate Poe and Dani.”
“And when they discover the real transport never arrived?” I ask, the practical concern cutting through my mixed emotions about this change in plans.
“By then, it won’t matter,” Logan says with grim certainty. “We’ll either have succeeded or failed. Either way, there will be no hiding what we’ve done.”
I absorb this, understanding the implications. This is it—the final gambit. No more hiding, no more playing the long game. After tonight, Logan will be openly declared a traitor, the rebellion forced into direct confrontation with the crown.
“We started this together,” Logan says, meeting my gaze steadily. “That’s how we’ll finish it.”
I nod, straightening my spine, lifting my chin. “Let’s end this. Together.”
Logan’s eyes meet mine, something like pride flickering in their depths. He nods once, sharp and decisive, then gestures toward the door. “Lead the way.”
And I do, stepping out into the night with my head held high, flanked by two men who are no longer my captors but my companions. My equals in this fight that has always been about more than just our personal freedom.
It’s about changing the world. One step, one choice, one act of defiance at a time.
Starting tonight.