Page 38 of Fallen Omega

This suits me fine.

Apart from Dante and even Knight…Julien and his woman, Darcy, who understand me, I don’t like people.

The women I fuck? Let’s say it’s not about forming a bond or a relationship.

It’s down in the dirt, primal play, the hunt stripped back to animalistic urges, rutting on a different scale—and never with an omega.

Most of them are bred and raised to mate and breed with an alpha themselves. They want it.

So, I keep away from them. I stick to the others, the outlier gammas and deltas. Even the betas, and the occasional alpha female.

I don’t take part in the chase with them often because there aren’t many who want to be chased.

Slowly, I let my gaze take in the surroundings. A couple walk past, holding hands, weaving slightly, soft giggles on the breeze.

They pass.

Then…nothing.

When I deem the area’s stalker-free, I walk down the side of the building, into the dark.

There’s no fence between this building and the next, only dumpsters. No lights.

I veer right and go to the back entrance of her building.

It’s old and it takes no work at all to get it open. Besides, I’ve picked the lock before.

Her apartment’s the same. Even with her flimsy locks on and inside, it’s nothing for me.

I go from room to room, making sure I’m alone, then I lower the blinds, flick on my flashlight I tucked into my jeans, and examine the back bedroom blind.

Just like I thought.

Black out blinds that fit perfectly.

I go around, turn on a lamp, and search the room.

Her father’s, I’m betting. Pristine like he left and didn’t come back. But I know that didn’t happen.

If he’s Elias Enver and not some guy who looks like him, then there’s no way he would walk out on his kid. I remember the baby he had.

An alpha taking off with the kid rather than have her stolen from him.

At the time that didn’t hit me, the significance and sacrilege of such an act.

I was more in awe that he wanted a baby so much, how he was willing to help us and blow up his life.

He’s dead.

I know it in my bones.

Next is her room, pretty without being girly, but still feminine. The clothes are dresses and jeans and T-shirts, hoodies and sweaters. Flat shoes. All of them from thrift stores. All of them to be worn for practicality and not to catch a man.

Then again, a girl who smells so fucking good wouldn’t need to catch anyone.

There’s nothing in her room.

Except…

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