Page 25 of A Murderous Omega

“Then we live with it,” I said. “Because the alternative is keeping her prisoner. And I can’t do that to her. Even if it kills me.”

“I love her,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

We sat there in the dark, holding each other, mourning an omega who was twenty feet away but might as well have been on the other side of the world.

11

LARK

A lone, unregistered omega, reeking of hormones, lying in wait, defenseless against any alpha who got a whiff of her—staking out my targets was almost as dangerous as taking them down.

I’d normally have hated the nights I spent laying here, hidden by trash, peering through the broken window of an abandoned storefront in hopes of glimpsing the mark as he exited the brothel where he trafficked in unregistered omegas.

But with Conor by my side, his peppermint and chocolate scent soothing my nerves and steadying my hands, I could take on the world.

“Where the fuck is he?” I grumbled, searching the street through my night vision scope.

“Patience,” Conor murmured beside me. “He’ll show.”

“I’m tired of being patient,” I whined. I’d been watching him since I escaped my alphas three months ago. The pimp sold his omegas, still young and malleable—unregistered, pimped out to alpha after alpha, the bites one-way, trapping the omega, until the next alpha ripped through it. And he liked to test the merchandise himself.

I fingered my neck, the memory of being sold to a pack slicing through me. Conor’s sharp eyes caught the movement. He bent over to kiss my scent gland, and I sighed softly as he soothed the brutal memory with the hot touch of his lips against my skin.

I’d been alone for so long, and it’d be so damn easy to lean into these alphas who’d decided I belonged to them. I wanted to, so damn bad.

Movement across the street drew my attention from the delicious alpha lying beside me. I shifted silently, ignoring the uneven flooring that dug into my pelvis, and the way Conor adjusted his position, so our arms pressed against each other as we peered through the darkness.

“False alarm,” I muttered as a beta emerged from a side entrance. “That’s his accountant.”

“How do you know?” Conor asked, his tone curious rather than snarky.

“I don’t go into jobs blind.” I lowered the scope. “Ever.”

Through my earpiece, Emile’s voice crackled from his position across the street. “How many omegas inside?”

“As of last week, before you fuckers kidnapped me, there were nine,” I said. “Three were in the basement—they’re the ones who need special attention, the ones who fight back.”

“You got inside,” Conor said flatly. It wasn’t a question.

“I pretended to be a buyer.” The memory made my skin crawl. “Got everything we need for after.”

To save the omegas. After we killed him.

“That was dangerous,” Conor said quietly.

I laughed softly. “So is this, but⁠—”

“Necessary,” he finished for me.

Silence settled between us, broken only by the distant sounds of the city and Emile’s quiet movements through our comms.

“First kill?” Conor asked eventually. “Aside from your pack.”

In the darkness, I could just make out his profile, his attention fixed on the door to the brothel. “Are we really going to play get-to-know-you during a stakeout?”

“We have time,” he said. “And I want to know you better.”