Page 193 of Fallen Omega

I drag him up, pinning him to the wall. I catch sight of Liz behind me, to my left. “Go inside, Liz. Now.”

I turn and she doesn’t move, so I push him away and fucking shove her even as she reaches for me, clutching at me.

“Dante—”

“Fuck, Liz, now!” I try to get her to the door and keep one eye on Ghost.

Ghost sees this, and he does what I’d do, roles reversed. He tries to take advantage, lunges at me and the door.

I whirl around and shoulder him out of the way. He comes back, swinging. He’s not looking at me. His gaze is on the door and the girl on the other side.

“Close and lock that fucking door, Lizette.” I grab him, holding him back and he hits my leg. It’s hot and sharp. Pain lances through me. “Now.”

The fucker used his knife.

The door slams, and I hold him as he plunges that fucking knife into my thigh again and again. I ignore it all the pain, his pull to get free, I just cling to the motherfucker until I hear the lock click. Then, I let him go, stepping back. I ignore the urge to buckle because of the agony and weakness that slices up through me and I gather my strength and slam my fist into his stomach.

I snarl and do it again. “Why the fuck are you here? You won’t make it out alive.”

“You underestimate me, Dante.” His soft laughter grates against my senses and I want him dead. Gone.

Once, he meant something, his friendship, kinship. But that’s fucking gone.

Nothing but dust and old memories and never-ending regret.

Nothing but fury born anew.

“Who’s the Council girl?”

His smirk is too ready, his gaze too fast to glance off the locked door. “Candice won’t appreciate being called girl.”

“Not her, fucker. The other one.” I stop, take a swing and connect with his chin, he swings at me.

The punch misses, but it’s a feint and he kicks me in the thigh. I go down, rolling as he goes to punch and he hits the ground.

I’m on my feet in seconds, and if it took longer than usual and more effort, I bury it deep. I turn and face him.

“Other one?” he asks, his filthy smirk still in place.

“The one in the fucking picture.” The smirk melts to nothing but hate and we both breathe heavily. I push it. “The one you’ve been banging.”

We circle each other, ready to rip the other’s throat out barehanded if we have to. I know I’m armed and I’m betting he is, too—beyond the knife I already know about.

The blood’s warm and flowing, growing cool as it spreads its damp stain down my pants and my head swims.

I’m not about to staunch the flow. I’m not going to give him what he wants. Weakness. My eye off the ball. I can push through. Fuck, if he thinks he can get to Liz, he’ll have to do it over my corpse.

Because it doesn’t matter what he does. If there’s breath left, an iota of strength, it’s going toward bringing him down. It’ll go to stopping the fucker in his ghostly tracks.

“Maybe it’s your songbird.”

“No. I know her. She’s ours. Of her own volition. She’s loyal, sweet, and isn’t interested in you.”

“Holy fuck,” he says. “You have feelings for her. And you’re happy to share.”

“And what about you with your Council girl?” I ask. “Susan.”

He takes a swing.

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