Page 15 of Fallen Omega

I flick a glance at him and that scarred, cursed angel of a face is, as always, carved from rock. But I note the slightest lift of the corner of his mouth.

Asshole.

The sultry music of Pandora’s beats and winds around us. I need to get downstairs, but…

Fuck.

I didn’t know she was here, not until gardenias and sex scent fucking metaphorically bloomed like crazy in Pandora’s Box. I smelled the girl—and sheisa girl, abouttwenty, maybe twenty-one, if I’m lucky—right before she walked in.

She doesn’t just poison and perfume the air with her compelling scent.

It’s physically her.

To make matters worse?

She’s gorgeous.

Long dark hair, pale skin, a perfect mouth beneath the shadowed brim of a hat. I know she has dark eyes that can burn a soul to the ground.

I swallow. She’s in an old leather jacket that’s too big, a floral shapeless dress that somehow is beguiling, and Docs or something similar on her feet, with white frilly socks peeking over the edge. Oh, Jesus fucking wept.

She looks like innocence personified. An angel walking this corrupt earth.

The girl’s playing dress up and tempting all the fucking fates.

She looks, from head to toe and in the way her essence spreads everywhere, like the titular girl on the club’s door.

And just as dangerous.

Julien didn’t know. He probably still has no idea what he let in. Fucking betas. He’s lucky I value him in the Unholy Trinity. Otherwise, I might be inclined to bathe the floor in fresh blood.

I take a swallow of my whiskey. The place is low-key busy. It’s still too early for the big crowd. I’ve got business to deal with in our offices down below the second level. Fuck, I’ve even got a meeting in an hour, and yet…

Here I am.

Like I’ve been welded to the spot.

The girl clutches her bag as she tries and fails not to look like a fresh sacrifice.

She will be, if any low-life alpha gets his hands on her. I don’t need trouble in this club.

Some of our other places? Couldn’t give a fuck. But this is our HQ, the space that transforms from bar to club, and for the chosen? A speakeasy of fallen class and velvet sleaze on the lower level.

But up here, this early, the club is meant to be trouble free.

The girl’s the embodiment of the wordtrouble.

If I can’t stop staring, then… Shit.

From her scent, the way it winds tight around my cock, and the way that Reap watches her with his deadly, flat gaze, the one hiding his hunger, I can tell she’s about to go into heat.

She’s started. Not full on, but close enough. Stronger than the night I stopped the cops. Tomorrow, it’ll crash and burn her and send even the most disciplined alpha into a feral tailspin.

Luckily, I’m more than disciplined. As is Reaper. Knight? I’m not so sure. If Reaper is the soul-damaged killer, and I’m the conscienceless criminal, a ruler of Starlight’s underworld, then Knight’s the twisted heart.

She could wrap him up around her little fucking finger.

Then again, Knight’s pretty but as tough as us in his way. We’re the parts that click together to form an unstoppable, formidable front.

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