11. Lark
LARK
A lone, unregistered omega, reeking of hormones, lying in wait, defenseless against any alpha who got a whiff of her—staking out my targets was almost as dangerous as taking them down.
I’d normally have hated the nights I spent laying here, hidden by trash, peering through the broken window of an abandoned storefront in hopes of glimpsing the mark as he exited the brothel where he trafficked in unregistered omegas.
But with Conor by my side, his peppermint and chocolate scent soothing my nerves and steadying my hands, I could take on the world.
“Where the fuck is he?” I grumbled, searching the street through my night vision scope.
“Patience,” Conor murmured beside me. “He’ll show.”
“I’m tired of being patient,” I whined. I’d been watching him since I escaped my alphas three months ago.
The pimp sold his omegas, still young and malleable—unregistered, pimped out to alpha after alpha, the bites one-way, trapping the omega, until the next alpha ripped through it.
And he liked to test the merchandise himself.
I fingered my neck, the memory of being sold to a pack slicing through me. Conor’s sharp eyes caught the movement. He bent over to kiss my scent gland, and I sighed softly as he soothed the brutal memory with the hot touch of his lips against my skin.
I’d been alone for so long, and it’d be so damn easy to lean into these alphas who’d decided I belonged to them. I wanted to, so damn bad.
Movement across the street drew my attention from the delicious alpha lying beside me. I shifted silently, ignoring the uneven flooring that dug into my pelvis, and the way Conor adjusted his position, so our arms pressed against each other as we peered through the darkness.
“False alarm,” I muttered as a beta emerged from a side entrance. “That’s his accountant.”
“How do you know?” Conor asked, his tone curious rather than snarky.
“I don’t go into jobs blind.” I lowered the scope. “Ever.”
Through my earpiece, Emile’s voice crackled from his position across the street. “How many omegas inside?”
“As of last week, before you fuckers kidnapped me, there were nine,” I said. “Three were in the basement—they’re the ones who need special attention, the ones who fight back.”
“You got inside,” Conor said flatly. It wasn’t a question.
“I pretended to be a buyer.” The memory made my skin crawl. “Got everything we need for after.”
To save the omegas. After we killed him.
“That was dangerous,” Conor said quietly.
I laughed softly. “So is this, but—”
“Necessary,” he finished for me.
Silence settled between us, broken only by the distant sounds of the city and Emile’s quiet movements through our comms.
“First kill?” Conor asked eventually. “Aside from your pack.”
In the darkness, I could just make out his profile, his attention fixed on the door to the brothel. “Are we really going to play get-to-know-you during a stakeout?”
“We have time,” he said. “And I want to know you better.”
“Nineteen,” I said finally. “It took me—” I swallowed. “It took me a while to get back on my feet after I killed my pack. How about you?”
“Same. I found an alpha forcing himself on an omega.” He paused. “Snapped his neck before I’d decided to do it. And discovered I liked it.”
“My first kill was with Conor,” Emile said through the earpiece. “I surprised him in his apartment and discovered him showering off blood.”
“Aren’t we lucky we found an omega who suits us so well?”
I choked back my laughter.
“You’re extraordinary,” Emile continued. “A fighter—a survivor.”
“A force of nature,” Conor added. “Fucking perfect.”
The growing warmth in my chest expanded dangerously.
“Movement,” I said abruptly, grateful for the distraction.
The door opened, and a young man emerged, moving like every step hurt. He had to be an omega, even if I couldn’t scent him from across the street.
“He’ll be safe soon,” Conor said.
“Sure as fuck will be,” I agreed.
The door opened again, and the pimp stepped out, hat pulled low. Even from this distance, I could see the dark stains on his hands. Blood.
My entire body coiled, ready to spring, every instinct screaming at me to move, to chase, to end him right fucking now.
“Lark,” Conor said quietly. “What’s the move?”
I blinked. My alpha was asking me—not telling me, not commanding me, but waiting for my call.
I swallowed down my rage at the alpha pimp. “Surveillance only tonight,” I said, even though it killed me that the omegas would have to suffer one more night. “We’ll move tomorrow, once I’ve confirmed the plan for the omegas. We can’t risk something going wrong and them getting hurt.”
Emile hummed his agreement. “It’s a smart move.”
“Yeah,” I said regretfully, tracking the pimp as he disappeared into the alley—same route from before my alphas kidnapped me, predictable as clockwork. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, we kill him,” Conor confirmed.
“And free the nine omegas. The Birds of Prey are standing by.”
“You’re so fucking incredible,” Conor murmured.
The warmth in my chest threatened to suffocate me. “We should head back, get some rest.”
“Agreed,” Emile said. “Tomorrow, we hunt.”
As Conor and I packed up, he touched my wrist. I met his bright blue eyes, practically glowing in the dark, a question in my own.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “For trusting us. I know it’s not easy.”
It wasn’t, but working with them tonight, as they waited for my lead and followed my plan and respected my judgement, cracked my heart wide open, and I fucking hated it.
“We’ll take him out together,” I said, then broke down my equipment without looking at Conor.
“After that?” he asked quietly.
“Don’t,” I snarled.
Through the earpiece, Emile was quiet, too quiet.
They’d kidnapped me, drugged me, and taken away the freedom I’d fought long and fucking hard for.
I swore I’d never been anyone’s prisoner ever again.
Tomorrow we’d kill together.
After that, I’d run.
Even if it broke my heart.