Page 214 of Caged

“Want to explain why I walked in on you holding a weapon, Omega?” His voice is steady, but the underlying tension betrays his anger.

My throat is bone-dry.

It always is around Daxen. His hatred strips me bare. Until sometimes, not even I can tell which parts of me are good, and which parts should be cut off at the root.

I sigh, aware that my answer doesn’t matter either way, but refusing to lie.

“I was told to catalog and sort everything in here. Cage has been outside the open door the entire time.”

I swallow down a whine of pain. Fates, even talking hurts.

“I was going through an old bag when the lights went out. The dagger was in it.”

Hands on his hips, he surveys the room, cataloging each inch as if the walls themselves might start talking. Provide him with proof of my supposed deception.

“I see.” He nods once, then turns on his heel like he’s going to leave. I almost exhale the breath I’m holding, until he pivots back around so fast it makes me flinch back.

The movement pulls sharply at my injury. I bite down on my cheek. Sweat beads on my forehead from the effort it takes to swallow my sounds.

My Omega wants to submit to Daxen. At the same time, I know he hates that I’m an Omega, and the urge to hide that side of myself from him is overwhelming.

It’s a mental tug of war. One that keeps tearing the same wound open over and over. No matter which instinct wins, I lose.

Dax slides his hands into the pockets of his dark wash jeans and murmurs lazily, “So the funny thing about that is, Cage, seems to think you were poking around in things you shouldn’t have.”

He raises a brow, as if he might actually give me a chance to answer his question.

He doesn’t.

“You were told not to mess with anything in the crates. Only the boxes were to be sorted. I was there when Vae gave Cage the instructions.”

My mouth drops open in shock. What?

“That’s not at all⁠—”

My breath hitches. Hot tears gather behind my eyes. “That’s not what he told me.”

I know I need to stay calm. Lashing out will only make this worse. If I cry, they smirk. If I get frustrated, they look at me like I’m insane.

Fates, this is petty. And so godsdamned stupid. I suppose assuming hundreds of years on Earth would lead to emotional maturity is too much to ask. These males have had decades to grow up, but they still haven’t.

I take a deep breath, but that only makes the pain in my ribs throb harder. I keep my hands from moving to my stomach, curling them into fists at my sides instead. Dax watches, but doesn’t speak. Just stands there, full of brooding judgment.

“I was just⁠—”

Dax steps close. “Just what? Just holding a weapon? Just conveniently standing in the middle of a room where every electrical system just fried?”

“I didn’t do anything!” I shout.

Daxen laughs, cold and bitter and cruel. “You never do, do you? Things just happen around you. Caelan just happened to get shot. The compound just happened to shake. The power just happened to fail.”

I blink back tears, determined not to cry in front of him again. “I don’t know why any of that⁠—”

“You don’t know. Your favorite phrase.” He takes another step forward, glass crunching under his shoes.

“‘I don’t know, I didn’t do anything, Please believe me,’” his voice is high-pitched. Mocking. He leans closer.

“Here’s what I know, Omega. Every time something happens lately, you’re in the fucking middle of it. Every. Single. Time. And you want me to believe it’s all just a coincidence? You’re just some helpless victim?”