Page 169 of Fallen Omega

Maybe I just imagined it, or maybe it was more that I could feel it, since there’s soundproofing. But she was here, so how can she?—

I stop, looking down, then up.

Would fucking Dante shove her in one of the safe rooms?

Fuck, I don’t know. But I’ll find out.

I head up to the second floor, press the hidden button that effectively hides the floor below so it looks like it’s just more wall. I then go into the storeroom and grab some bottles, and head on up.

It’s overkill, what I did, but I prefer that to being caught with our dicks out.

I shove the door open, and carry the bottles out, putting them down. The look Darcy shoots is all I need.

In the office, I hear Dante reaming someone out in pure Dante-style.

“You heard me,” he says. “This is private fucking property. A legit business with all the paperwork. Liquor licenses paid and up to date. On display. And I’m happy to show you our books, if you have a warrant.” He pauses. “That’s right, Trevor, they need just cause and a warrant.”

Our lawyer’s one of the top alpha lawyers in the city, possibly the east coast. He’s a criminal lawyer who’s schooled in Council ways and reach and politics.

There’s a man in a suit who’s definitely upper law enforcement, and the Council woman who lookslike she’d rather be anywhere but on Unholy Trinity ground, and a boy in blue who is poking around near the stage. The little shit’s on our payroll.

He’s lucky it’s me and not Reaper.

Reaper would mark him for death. Not for coming here—chances are the cop had no say in that—but for what he’s doing, touching the dancers’ belongings, and edging out the tablet, one that Sierra uses with the girl’s numbers and schedules on it.

That, in Reaper’s eyes, is worthy of death. The girls work for us, fall under our protection and he takes that job seriously.

I stare at the cop until he feels the prick of my gaze and looks up.

He flushes brick red and turns, looking at the curtains.

Creeper asshole.

“These bottles don’t put away themselves,” Darcy says.

I go over to her. “Looking to be fired?”

Her voice drops like mine. “Maybe I’m saving your ass.”

“Or you covet my ass. What do you think? Better than Julien?” I turn slowly, showing her.

She laughs. “Hardly.”

“A word like that gets you unemployed, quick,” I say.

We start putting the bottles away. And I start chatting to her about the boring shit, inventories, what’s selling.

She answers but I can hear the concern in her voice, and as I pull out the paper version to go against the one on the device, she asks, “Reaper?”

“I don’t know. Not here. I texted but he’s smart enough to keep away.” I pause. “Liz?”

She doesn’t respond, but her mouth tightens.

“What?” I ask.

“Dante.”

“With him?”

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