Page 46 of A Murderous Omega

“I’m a consultant,” I corrected primly.

“That’s not better.”

Conor laughed, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You’re perfect.”

“I know.”

We made our way back through the garden party—me and my two ridiculous, murderous, perfect alphas—the thumb drive heavy in my pocket. Laurent had no idea what was coming for him.

But he would soon.

Later, after we said our goodbyes and survived the drive home, we collapsed into my nest. I curled between Emile and Conor, breathing in their scents, our bond pulsing with contentment and anticipation.

“So,” Conor said eventually. “We’re really doing this.”

“We’re really doing this,” I confirmed.

Emile pulled me closer. “When?”

“Soon.” I smiled into the darkness. “Very soon.”

“I love you,” he murmured.

“Love you too,” Conor added.

They surrounded me with warmth and safety, and as I drifted toward sleep, I thought about how far I’d come. From a terrified omega sold to an abusive pack, to a serial killer living alone in the shadows, to this—a woman with a nest and a pack and people who loved her exactly as she was.

Laurent had taken everything from me once.

Now I would take everything from him.

But first, I was going to enjoy being home.

EPILOGUE

LARK

Emile swept me around the ballroom, leaving me breathless with the intensity of his gaze, just in time to pass me to Conor, whose bright smile left me breathless in a different way.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured as he spun me around. “And hopefully armed as well.”

I scoffed as he dipped me, “What do you think?” As if we hadn’t been planning this operation for months, to take out the matchmaker who’d sold me to my pack, still playing the respectable official while he abused omegas.

“I think you’re gorgeous, clever, and you’re going to enjoy cutting off Julian Laurent’s balls and feeding them to him tonight.”

Goddess, this man knew me, and it warmed me from the inside that not only did he know how bloodthirsty I was, he loved it.

Conor twirled me and twirled me and twirled me, locking my gaze until we stumbled off the dance floor. He handed me a glass of champagne, and I tripped, accidentally dumping it all over a beautiful woman whose make-up covered several bruises.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I said, my voice light and airy, my public persona as brainless as Conor’s. We fit into the billionaire set brilliantly—a shiftless heir to billions, an attorney to the stars, and their silly little omega, whose registration magically reappeared once Conor made a generous donation to the Omega Institute.

“Can I help you clean that up?” I asked her, wrapping my fingers around her wrist and practically dragging the omega out of her seat.

“No no no no, I’m fine,” she protested, looking around with panic in her eyes.

“Desiree,” a deep voice said. “What’s this?”

I looked up and came face to face with the alpha who sold me, underage and defenseless, in exchange for the chance to rape me and take my virginity. He didn’t recognize me—it’d been ten years. Why would he?