Page 16 of A Murderous Omega

That was the kicker.

She was kinky as fuck.

Kinky like us.

A killer like us.

Like I said. Perfect.

“Work with us. Trust us.”

She looked at the file, then up at me, then at Emile for a moment. Her face was unreadable, but her scent flooded the café, edged with the bitterness of burnt sugar, telling me she wasn’t as sanguine about this conversation as she wanted us to believe.

Lark shoved the folder back at me. “No.”

Shock wound its way through me, then hurt, before I remembered we had a plan for this, the unimaginable scenario in which she didn’t feel the same way about us as we did about her, like the night we spent together wasn’t life changing.

Emile caught my eye before I could say something stupid. I had to remember that just because we’d spent two years stalking and obsessing over her didn’t mean she’d done the same. For her, we were just two scent matched alphas who’d breezed into her life, kidnapped her, and now wanted her full attention.

He purred softly, his gentle touches on her bare skin eliciting a slight moan from our gorgeous little slut. Then he picked up the chocolate chip cookie on his plate and fed it to her.

My eyes narrowed as Lark nibbled, her pink lips soft and plump, unable to resist the siren call of an alpha—her alpha—caring for her as she was surrounded by his scent.

Lark pushed away from Emile but couldn’t escape the hard cage of his arms. She blinked slowly, dreamily, then looked up at me, her breathing speeding up in panic as she realized what we’d done.

“You assholes,” she swore softly as her eyelids lowered, her long lashes brushing against her flushed cheeks. She settled closer into Emile, curling up tight against his softly rumbling chest. “I’ll kill you for this.”

Maybe so. But what a way to go.

7

LARK

Those fuckers drugged me. Again. I ruthlessly silenced the part of me that wanted to squeal and giggle at how hard they were working to keep me. Instead, I focused on the fact that I hadn’t consented to any of it.

I was in a bedroom, simple but luxurious, and they hadn’t tied me up this time. There were two doors, no windows, and a plain wooden bed, too big and heavy for me to realistically turn into a weapon. I tested one door—locked.

The other led to a bathroom with a shower, a toilet, and no mirror. I searched the drawers, but all I found were toiletries—expensive ones, far finer than I’d ever bought, or stolen. I opened a pot of lotion and inhaled the heavenly scent—exactly what I would have chosen for myself, had I been able to afford it.

Curious, I ambled back over to the bed, running my fingers over sheets with the highest thread count I’d ever touched. I might be locked in here without weapons, but they’d taken care of me. I preened, my pleasure over my alphas’ care for me momentarily overcoming my irritation at finding myself once again a prisoner at their mercy.

That wouldn’t do. I pounded on the door. “Hey! Anyone there? Let me the fuck out!”

When no one answered, I pouted, then stood up straight, schooling my face to stillness when I realized I was pouting.

I was a fierce killer, an omega who’d murdered a pack for abusing her. I’d killed a dozen assholes, and I planned to kill a dozen more.

But Conor and Emile were offering me everything I’d ever wanted.

A pack.

Safety.

Partnership.

They wanted me to trust them. They wanted me to trust that they wouldn’t get me caught. They wanted to claim me.

I finally admitted to myself that I wanted them to claim me too.