He palmed the gun in his pocket—Sinclair’s—and some tranquilizer antidotes they’d managed to borrow from the station. Would those be enough? Dom didn’t know.
He held his breath, thinking up the words to apologize to Sinclair. He tried to convince himself that this lead might be a bust. That maybe they wouldn’t find Sinclair today or tomorrow, or the whole of next week.
His stomach tightened.
“There’s a small abandoned town coming up.” Nate’s voice rang through the headset. “I see some vehicles. We’ll find a secluded spot to land and proceed from there.”
“I’m sending the police our coordinates,” Taylor said. He was an omega Nate had brought along, and he was at the back of the helicopter, typing into a laptop. “No movement on the radar.”
“Thanks.”
Dom’s pulse ramped up as Nate found a clearing in the forest, parking them neatly out of sight.
“I’ll stay.” Taylor moved into the pilot’s seat after Dom and Nate stepped out. “Radio if you need help.”
Nate waved. Dom jogged with him through the forest, toward the town they’d glimpsed from the air. It was a dusty place, with deserted buildings and graffitied walls.
They found a helicopter halfway into town, in front of a dentist’s office. Two other cars were parked next to it—both new, one from out of state. Dom forced his breathing to even out.
“Found them,” Nate said into his radio. “I’m estimating at least five people in there. We may need backup.”
“I’m on my way,” Taylor said.
Even with his help, Dom wasn’t sure how they’d manage, outnumbered as they were. Hell, Nate and Taylor were the ones experienced in infiltrations. Dom was just an ordinary firefighter. He hated that he wasn’t good with this.
“We’ll need you to stay out here,” Nate told Dom. “Gonna be a mess.”
Dom was about to agree, when a snarl ripped through the air. Sinclair. Relief seeped through Dom’s veins. He’s here.
Through an open window somewhere, Dom heard people shouting. Things crashed. And a bad feeling crushed his relief—Sinclair was only this way when he had an episode. “He might not be present right now,” Dom muttered. “Doubt he’ll recognize you.”
Nate’s lips thinned; he was familiar with Sinclair’s flashbacks. He radioed Taylor and repeated Dom’s words. Then he added, “Looks like we’re heading in now.”
Sinclair had bought them a distraction—Dom would hate to let the opportunity go to waste.
His heart pounding, he followed Nate through a side entrance, pressing himself against the wall. Someone stepped out of a doorway; Nate slipped behind the man and took him out, leaving him slumped on the floor.
Nate was efficient. Ruthless. Not for the first time, Dom was glad he’d hired this alpha.
Nate scoped out the room the man had vacated, before signaling Dom to follow him down the hallway, where the fight was still going on.
“Restrain him,” someone snapped. “Hand me the antidote!”
Down the corridor, in the very last room, Dom glimpsed Sinclair lunging at someone, punching people aside—all tan skin, scars, and blood. Chains rattled.
Then a scalpel flashed, and Sinclair froze. He bolted through the doorway, chains rattling, heading straight for Nate and Dom.
The moment he glimpsed them, Sinclair raised his fists, baring his teeth. He would crash into them, fight them tooth and nail like he thought they were enemies—and he would only hurt himself.
Dom stepped in front of Nate. “I’ll handle him.”
Nate nodded. Dom lunged at Sinclair; Sinclair snarled and slammed him into the wall, knocking Dom’s breath out of his lungs.
Further away, Sinclair’s captors shouted. Dom glimpsed Nate slipping away to deal with them. Then Sinclair rammed him against the wall, hard enough that the impact jolted through Dom’s skull. He hissed in pain. “Damn it, Sinclair!”
Dom shoved him off, hauling him through an open door. Then he slammed the door shut and locked it, a split second before Sinclair pummeled him into the wall, wrapping his hands around Dom’s neck.
“Sinclair,” Dom hissed. Sinclair wasn’t fucking around, his grip almost crushing Dom’s throat. No recognition in his eyes. “Jesse.”
Dom wrenched Sinclair’s hands off his neck, filling his lungs with air. Sinclair tried to punch him next. Dom dodged, heaving Sinclair backward. While Sinclair was off-balance, Dom slammed him against the wall. Then he pinned Sinclair with his own weight, and Sinclair thrashed, his expression going desperate.
“Jesse. Look at me.” Dom pressed their foreheads together, his heart pounding. Still no recognition. “Jesse!”
Sinclair punched the side of his head, sending an explosion of pain through Dom’s skull. Dom caught his hands. Then he brought their faces back together, so close that Sinclair’s eyes blurred into a mess of blue.
“Jesse,” Dom growled. “Breathe.”
Sinclair panted, glancing down. He shoved his hand into Dom’s pocket—where the gun was. Faster than Dom could stop him, he snatched the gun out and clicked off the safety.
He shoved the steel muzzle against Dom’s chest.
Dom stopped breathing. If Sinclair shot him now... Dom wouldn’t even be mad. “Don’t shoot,” Dom murmured. “At least, wait until you’re back. Then you can do anything you want.”
Sinclair panted, tightening his finger on the trigger. Dom waited for pain. He didn’t know what had happened to Sinclair, to send him into this state. But he didn’t break their stare. Violence wouldn’t solve this.
“Jesse,” Dom said gently. “I’m here to help. Let’s get you out of here. Breathe first.”
Sinclair looked into his eyes, hesitated, and breathed. Then he breathed again, like maybe Dom’s scent had an effect on him.
“I love you,” Dom said. “It’s not the best time to be saying it. But I thought you should know.”
Sinclair sucked in another breath, then another. His eyes focused. He leaned back and frowned, as though he recognized Dom.
Then he saw the gun he was pointing at Dom, and he dropped it, shock darting through his face. The gun fired, loud and jarring, pointed away. “I didn’t—I, I...”
“Sinclair,” Dom murmured.
Sinclair wheezed, staring at the gun like he might go into another episode.
“It’s okay. You’re safe.” Dom took Sinclair’s hand, giving
