Book Two of the Omega Trilogy


I read Unbound and Clothed With the Sun in about 4 days...They are some of the best books I have read...” Roy Jageman

“J.B. Simmons succeeds in this genre where others struggle.” Thomas Rhoton

“Fast-paced and action-packed, it is a great follow up to Unbound.” Michael Anderson, author, Provoke Not The Children

“Another Winner! Like the first book could not put this book down. Captivating and well written. Bravo to the author. Can't wait for the final book in the trilogy!!” Amazon reviewer


Here is a preview of the beginning. Enjoy!


I stood in a narrow valley, facing a small stone cottage. Its roof was thatched, and smoke drifted from its lonely chimney. No other buildings were in sight. No other sign of man. Steep hills rose around me, spotted with dark rock and covered with grasses blowing in the wind. The breeze carried ocean salt. There were a hundred shades of green. This place felt lush and wet and thin—close to the heavens.

“She’s in there.” The voice behind me was powerful. It almost knocked me to my knees.

“Who?” I asked, my voice quivering like a bowstring.

“Your promised one.” It was the voice of a man I knew, but I could not look at him.


“You have more than one?” The man sounded amused. “I underestimated you.”

“Why are you here?”

“She has my child.”

The answer sent a shiver down my spine. “Your child?”

“Come, see for yourself.” The man walked past me, toward the cottage. His body was tall and regal. The grasses swept around him at the knees.

I rushed after him. I felt the dense meadow grabbing my legs, holding me back. I struggled to keep up. Just as I reached the cottage, he opened the plain wooden door and stepped inside.

No!” he shouted.

I stepped through the door, breathing heavily. The cottage had a small, simple room with stone walls. A fire was burning bright in the hearth, and another man sat facing the fire. I couldn’t see his face.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

The man in the chair didn’t budge, but the tall man spun to me and grabbed my throat. It was Don Cristo. I should have known. His face twisted in rage as he lifted me off the ground.

I fought for breath, but none came.

“You,” Don growled. “You know where she is.”

But I didn’t know. I tried to shake my head.

He squeezed harder. “Why did you lead me here?”

I tried to think, but I felt consciousness fading. The man watching the fire seemed oblivious. My eyes closed, with Don’s angry face seared in my vision.

“Eli, Eli.” Someone else was speaking to me. It was a familiar voice, in a French accent. “Sun’s rising soon.”

I cracked open my eyes. Jacques’s scruffy face was in mine. His breath smelled as musty as a tomb.

“It’s still dark,” I mumbled.

“Never let the sun get ahead of you.” He pulled me to my feet. His grip on my shoulder was gentle, but his hands were strong. They were like leathery, callused clamps.

I tried to rub the sleep and the dream out of my eyes. Dreams and reality kept blurring in the desert.

“A little rest, a little folding of the hands, and you’ll be destroyed, boy.” Jacques’s whisper echoed in my ears.

I looked around the tent, half expecting to see something different in the first light of morning. But it was the same. Two piles of sleeping blankets, with Naomi curled up under one on the far side of the tent. She was breathing deeply—serene and pregnant. . . .

End of preview. Continue reading here.

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