Beautifully Broken Omega: A Dark Reverse Harem Omegaverse Romance, page 24
He moves with the same controlled grace I remember, every gesture calculated for maximum impact. When he sits down in my single armchair—my chair, in my apartment—he looks completely at ease, like he owns the place.
Like he owns me.
“Did you really think you could hide from me forever?” His voice is conversational, almost amused. “Oh, sweetheart. You know me better than that.”
I find my voice, though it comes out as barely a whisper. “How did you find me?”
“How did I find you?” He smiles, the expression cold and predatory. “Your mother was very helpful once I explained how worried I was about you. She’s been hoping you’d come to your senses for years now. Sweet Eleanor gave me your address not thirty minutes ago.”
The words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest. My mother. The woman I’d called in my darkest moment, begging for help, trusting her to save me. She’d taken my desperate plea and handed my location directly to my abuser.
“She said you called her earlier, panicked and scared,” Roman continues, clearly enjoying my devastation. “She was so concerned about you getting involved with unsuitable alphas. We both agreed you needed to come home where you belong.”
“The text message,” I manage. “Mrs. Winters’ phone.”
“Clever girl.” His smile widens. “I knew you’d need the right motivation to leave your new... friends. A little research into missing omegas, a concerned message from a trusted figure—” He shrugs elegantly. “You always were easy to manipulate when you’re frightened.”
The words hit like slaps, each one designed to remind me how powerless I am, how easily he can control me even from a distance.
“They’re not—” I start to say, then stop. What’s the point in defending Griffin, Nolan, and Declan? I’d already destroyed whatever trust we’d built with my panicked flight.
“They’re not what, Katherine? Not dangerous?” Roman laughs, the sound sharp and cutting. “Oh, but they are. Just not in the way you think. They’re dangerous because they made you forget the most important thing: you belong to me.”
He leans forward in the chair, his blue eyes fixed on my face with laser intensity. “But that’s going to change now. I’m going to remind you exactly what you are, exactly where you belong.”
From his jacket pocket, he withdraws something small and silver—a medical injection pen that glints under the harsh fluorescent light of my apartment.
“What is that?” The question escapes before I can stop it.
His smile turns absolutely feral. “Your biology lesson, sweetheart. You’ve been broken for far too long, and it’s time to fix that.”
Understanding hits me like a lightning bolt, and suddenly I can’t get enough air. “No. Roman, please—”
“Please what?” He stands, moving toward me with predatory grace. “Please don’t give you what your body is crying out for? Please don’t help you become the omega you were always meant to be?”
I scramble backward on the couch, but there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to run. The wall presses against my back as Roman approaches, injection pen held like a weapon.
“This is going to hurt for just a moment,” he says, his voice taking on that soothing, patronizing tone I remember so well. “And then you’re going to thank me for helping you remember who you really are.”
The needle slides into my neck before I can move, before I can scream, before I can do anything but feel the sharp bite of metal piercing my skin.
“There we go,” Roman murmurs, smoothing my hair back from my face with fingers that feel like ice. “Such a good girl. In a few hours, you’ll be begging me to make the burning stop.”
He settles back into the chair, checking his expensive watch with casual satisfaction. “And then, my sweet Katherine, we’re going home. For good this time.”
As whatever he’s injected into me begins to burn through my veins like liquid fire, one thought echoes through my panicking mind: I should have trusted them.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
GRIFFIN
Iwake to the scent of jasmine and vanilla flooding my senses, so heady and potent it makes my cock harden before I’m fully conscious. Kit’s true scent, finally unleashed after years of suppression, wraps around me like silk. Even in sleep, my body responds to the promise of our omega, warm and pliant in our bed.
A smile tugs at my lips as the memories of last night wash over me. The way she’d looked at us with those storm-gray eyes dark with desire. The sounds she’d made when we touched her, claimed her, knotted her. The absolute trust she’d shown us, giving herself completely despite every instinct that told her alphas were dangerous.
Our omega.
The thought fills me with a satisfaction so deep it borders on primal. After years of meaningless encounters, of wondering if we’d ever find our match, Kit had fallen into our lives like a gift we never dared hope for. Beautiful, brilliant, brave—everything we never knew we needed.
I reach across the bed, seeking the warmth of her body, already imagining how she’ll wake in my arms. Sleepy and satisfied, maybe a little sore from being so thoroughly claimed. I’ll kiss her awake, worship every inch of skin I can reach, show her exactly how precious she is to us.
My hand finds only cold sheets.
I blink, confusion cutting through the haze of contentment. The indentation where she’d slept is still there, but the sheets are cool to the touch. She’s been gone for a while.
“Kit?” I call softly, not wanting to wake Nolan and Declan if she’s just in the bathroom.
Silence.
I sit up, running a hand through my hair as I scan the bedroom. Her clothes from yesterday are gone from the floor where we’d discarded them in our haste. The sight makes my chest tighten with something I don’t want to name.
“Nolan. Declan.” My voice comes out sharper than I intended. “Wake up.”
Nolan stirs first, those blue eyes opening immediately—a habit from years in intelligence work where waking slowly could get you killed. He takes in my expression and goes instantly alert.
“What’s wrong?”
“Kit’s gone.”
The words tear through both of them. Declan bolts upright, his hair disheveled, green eyes wide with alarm.
“Gone? What do you mean gone?”
“She’s not here.” I’m already climbing out of bed, pulling on the pants I’d discarded hours ago. “Her clothes are missing.”
We move through the house like a tactical unit, checking every room, every possible hiding place.
Nothing. No trace of her except that lingering scent that seems to mock us with its sweetness.
“Should we call her?” Declan asks, his voice uncertain. “Maybe she just needs some space to process everything that happened.”
I hesitate, my hand hovering over my phone. Part of me knows he’s right—Kit has been through a lot, and pushing too hard could make things worse. But the thought of her out there alone, possibly scared or hurt, especially with Roman still looking for her, overrides every rational consideration.
“She could be in trouble,” I say, pulling out my phone. “We need to know she’s safe.”
I dial her number, my heart hammering as it rings once, twice—then she declines the call. The rejection feels like a knife to the chest.
“She declined,” I say, staring at my phone in disbelief.
“Let me try,” Nolan says, already dialing. His call rings briefly before being declined as well. The muscle in his jaw ticks dangerously.
Declan tries next, his Irish accent thick with worry as he mutters under his breath. “Come on, Kit, pick up...” But she declines his call too.
“Now it’s going straight to voicemail,” I say, trying again. “She’s turned her phone off.”
Declan tries texting, his fingers flying across his phone screen. “The messages aren’t even being delivered now. She’s definitely turned her phone off.”
I lean against the kitchen counter, my mind racing through possibilities, through contingencies I never wanted to consider. “She left willingly. There’s no sign of a struggle, no indication she was taken. And there’s no way anyone could have gotten past our security without us knowing.”
The words taste like ash in my mouth.
“But why?” Declan’s voice cracks slightly. “Last night was... Christ, it was perfect. She was perfect. The way she responded to us, the way she looked at us—”
“Like she was home,” Nolan finishes quietly. “Like she finally belonged somewhere.”
I remember every detail. The way her eyes had gone soft when I called her beautiful. How she’d arched into Declan’s touch like she was starving for gentleness. The absolute trust in her expression when she begged us to knot her, to claim her, to make her ours.
None of it had been fake. I’ve spent years reading people, and Kit’s responses last night were completely genuine. The way her scent had deepened and sweetened, the sounds she’d made, the way her body had opened for us—you can’t fake that level of biological response.
“She felt it too,” I say, more to myself than to them. “The connection. The bond. It wasn’t just physical attraction—it was deeper than that.”
“Then why did she run?” Declan demands, his voice thick with emotion. “If she felt what we felt, if she wanted what we could give her, why the hell did she leave?”
The question hangs in the air like an accusation. I close my eyes, trying to think past the panic clawing at my throat. Kit doesn’t run without reason. Everything she’s told us about her past, about Roman, about the trauma that changed her very biology—she’s learned to be careful, to protect herself.
Something scared her. Something made her believe she wasn’t safe with us.
“Maybe she got overwhelmed,” Nolan suggests, but his voice lacks conviction. “The intensity of what happened between us, the way her omega biology awakened so suddenly—”
“No.” I shake my head. “Kit doesn’t run from things that are good for her. She runs from things that threaten her. Something made her believe we were a threat.”
“That’s insane,” Declan says, frustration bleeding into his voice. “We’ve done nothing but protect her, care for her, show her that not all alphas are monsters—”
“What if she doesn’t see it that way?” The words come out harder than I intend. “What if we moved too fast? What if she woke up this morning and realized she’d given herself to three alphas she barely knows?”
The possibility hits like a punch to the gut. Last night, in the heat of claiming our omega, it had felt so right, so inevitable. But in the cold light of morning, maybe Kit saw it differently. Maybe she saw three powerful alphas who’d isolated her, brought her to their home, overwhelmed her with sensation until she couldn’t think straight.
Maybe she saw Roman.
“Fuck.” Nolan’s voice is raw. “What if she thinks we’re like him? What if she thinks we manipulated her into bed?”
“She was willing,” I say firmly. “More than willing. She initiated half of what happened.”
“But her trauma response might not see it that way,” Declan points out quietly. “Trauma doesn’t always respond to logic. If something triggered her flight response...”
I think about the careful way Kit had built her life over the past two years. The isolation, the invisibility, the complete avoidance of alphas until we crashed into her world. She’d been safe in her small apartment, her cleaning jobs, her carefully constructed distance from anything that might remind her of Roman.
And we’d shattered all of that in a matter of weeks.
“We need to find her,” I say, pushing away from the counter. “We need to talk to her, explain—”
“Explain what?” Nolan’s voice is bitter. “That we’re not like her abuser? That we actually care about her? She’s heard all of that before, Griffin. From Roman. Sweet words and gentle touches right up until they weren’t.”
The truth of it hits like a blade between my ribs. She had mentioned that Roman had been charming at first. Abusers always are—they lure their victims in with kindness before revealing their true nature. From Kit’s perspective, our behavior might look exactly the same.
Three powerful alphas, showing her attention, making her feel special, isolating her from other people. The pattern would be horrifyingly familiar.
“She’s terrified,” I realize aloud. “She woke up this morning and saw the situation clearly for the first time. Three alphas, one omega, complete power imbalance. Everything Roman taught her to fear.”
“So what do we do?” Declan asks. “How do we prove we’re different if she won’t even talk to us?”
Before I can answer, my phone rings. Mrs. Winters’ name flashes on the screen, and I answer immediately, hoping against hope she has some information about Kit.
“Mrs. Winters.”
“Griffin, I’m so glad you answered.” Her voice carries an urgency I’ve never heard before. “I just had the strangest conversation with Kit, and I’m worried something’s very wrong.”
My blood turns to ice. “What kind of conversation?”
“She called a couple of minutes ago, very upset. She was asking about text messages I supposedly sent her, warning her about you and the boys being dangerous. She mentioned something about missing omegas.”
“What?” The word comes out as a growl.
“I never sent any text messages, Griffin. I lost my phone yesterday at the grocery store. But Kit seemed convinced I’d warned her about you three, told her to quit her job. She was terrified.”
The pieces click into place with devastating clarity. Someone used Mrs. Winters’ stolen phone to send Kit fake warnings. Someone who knew exactly what to say to trigger her deepest fears.
“Roman,” I breathe.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Mrs. Winters, we have to go. Thank you.”
I hang up immediately and look at my pack brothers, seeing my own desperation reflected in their faces.
We’re already moving toward our clothes, my mind calculating drive times, routes, contingencies.
“Roman has her,” Nolan says. It’s not a question.
“And we gave him the perfect opening,” I reply grimly. “He manipulated her into running from the only people who could protect her.”
We’re dressed and moving toward the door in under two minutes, but it feels like an eternity. Every second we waste is another second Roman has with Kit, another moment for him to hurt her, to undo all the healing we’ve helped her achieve.
On the way out, Declan’s hands are clenched into fists. “If he’s hurt her—”
“We’ll kill him,” Nolan finishes simply.
I don’t contradict him. Roman Slater has spent years hunting our omega, terrorizing her, breaking her down piece by piece. If he’s hurt her again, if he’s undone the progress she’s made, the trust she’s learned to give...
There won’t be enough left of him to bury.
The garage feels like a tomb as we climb into the car. I start the engine and pull out into Cleveland traffic, my hands steady on the wheel despite the chaos in my chest.
Please let us be in time, I think as we race through the city toward Kit’s apartment. Please let her be okay.
But deep down, I know we’re already too late. Roman didn’t spend two years hunting Kit just to have a conversation. He has plans for her, and none of them involve letting her go a second time.
The thought makes me press harder on the accelerator, weaving through traffic with a recklessness that would normally appall me. But nothing matters now except getting to Kit.
Nothing matters except bringing our omega home.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
KIT
Fire courses through my veins like molten lava, every cell in my body screaming with a need so intense I can barely form coherent thoughts through the haze of artificial heat. The injection Roman gave me is working exactly as he intended—my body is betraying me in the most fundamental way possible, flooding my system with hormones that make my skin feel too tight and my bones ache with desperate hunger.
I’m curled on my narrow bed like a wounded animal, my knees drawn up to my chest in a futile attempt to contain the burning. Sweat beads on my forehead in thick droplets, rolling down my temples and soaking through my navy cleaning uniform until the fabric clings to my overheated skin like a second, suffocating layer. The rough polyester scratches against my hypersensitive flesh, every fiber feeling like sandpaper against nerves that are raw and exposed.
My thighs are slick with arousal I can’t stop, can’t control—evidence of my body’s complete rebellion against my will. The wetness spreads across my inner thighs, warm and shameful, as my core clenches around nothing with a desperate need that makes me want to sob. The empty ache between my legs is so intense it’s almost painful, like hunger twisted into something cruel and demanding.
Roman lounges in my single armchair like a predator watching his prey slowly bleed out, his expensive suit pristine despite the chaos he’s brought into my tiny sanctuary. His cold blue eyes track every shiver, every whimper, every drop of sweat that rolls down my flushed skin. He’s loosened his silk tie just enough to reveal the hollow of his throat, rolled up his sleeves to expose his pale forearms—settling in to savor every moment of my suffering like it’s fine wine.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his cultured voice thick with anticipation that makes my stomach turn. “You smell exactly like you used to, Katherine. Pure jasmine and vanilla, just the way I remember. Just the way you were meant to smell before you broke yourself trying to run from me.”
His words slither through the air like smoke, coating everything they touch with poison. I squeeze my eyes shut so tightly that stars burst behind my eyelids, trying to block out his presence, his voice, the way his scent fills my tiny apartment like a toxic cloud. He smells exactly like he always did—that sharp antiseptic bite mixed with iron, like a hospital room where something has died. But now it’s worse, corrupted by his arousal and anticipation, creating a miasma that makes bile rise in my throat with each shallow breath.
