Page 17 of A Murderous Omega

I couldn’t let them.

I’d never be trapped again.

But maybe I could pretend to be trapped until I figured out how to disappear, enjoy the creature comforts these alphas were offering me.

I silenced the voice that told me it wasn’t creature comforts I wanted to enjoy, but the safety and security of two alphas who accepted me for exactly what I was—who wanted me because of it.

“I know you can hear me, you melodramatic assholes!” I shouted.

Still nothing.

“I’m going to murder both of you in your sleep!”

I lifted my hand to pound on the door again, only for Emile to pull it open, greeting me with an easy smile that made my thighs clench together just as much as my heart. Fuck.

“Salut, ma petite.” Good morning, little one.

I stepped back, hating how my instincts pushed me to step closer instead.

“Don’t ma petite me—wait, is that a banh mi?”

His lips twitched. “Your favorite.”

Goddess dammit.

I snatched at the bag, only for him to hold it above my head, one eyebrow raised as I glared at him.

“You gonna behave yourself?”

I snorted. “No.”

His lips cracked in a smile. “How’re you feeling?”

“Hungry.”

Emile offered me his hand. “Come on upstairs.”

“What did you do to me?”

“Drugged you, brought you to this safe house, bought you banh mi,” he answered. “All of which you know already. Come on upstairs and take another look at this target.”

His hand was steady as he waited for me to take it. I looked at the bag of food in his other hand, and finally met his eyes. “What are you going to do with me?”

“Claim you,” he answered. “Which you also already know.”

“Why me?” My voice cracked, and I hated the vulnerability it revealed.

“Because you’re ours,” he said, as if telling me the sky was blue. “Now come on upstairs and eat.”

My heart was in turmoil, my instincts screaming for me to climb this alpha who stated his intentions so boldly but hadn’t actually bonded me yet. I wrapped my fingers around his, wondering if trusting him was the biggest mistake of my life. But goddess, I wanted to, so fucking bad.

Emile squeezed once, an attempt to reassure me, then led me down a long, carpeted hallway. “Movie theater on the left,” he said. “Mini-bar on the right. Another bathroom on the right.”

Right.

They were fucking rich.

And I was what? Nothing more than an unregistered omega, running drugs to make rent, killing traffickers in my spare time, broken beyond repair.