Page 197 of Fallen Omega

“The Council and the blonde were good at supplying info. Just feed them some bullshit. He wants to bring down your fuck buddies and get his hands on Dad’s region. The Council wants you for Dad. I’m going to take you and tell them that the Unholy Trinity killed you and watch them all rip each other apart. And me? I’ll get a taste of you and make money off you. Win-win. For me.”

I hate him. It’s poison in my blood, a dark strength that feeds my anger. And I make myself crawl to him and then I sit, kneeling, and put my hands in my pockets.

“Jake?”

“Yes.”

It’d be easy to think he’s insane. But he isn’t crazy. He’s sane. Just the wrong kind of greed and lusty evil that my dad warned me about.

He never warned me about men like Knight or Reaper or even Dante.

And I don’t think it’s because he never thought they existed. It’s because if I chose them, it would be me choosing men who I loved or wanted me; who wanted me as a part of their world, who’d fight for me. I don’t think he cared or wanted to know what we did behind closed doors. He kept his love life away from me.

He had to have had one.

It would break me if he didn’t.

That man deserved happiness beyond our family unit. We were very much happy. He just deserved the other part, too.

And this asshole? He doesn’t deserve anything at all.

Not even air.

“I wish you’d given me the chance to know you without the lies, Jake.” I’m lying now. “Without the drugs.”

I open the corkscrew with my right hand and flick out the little knife that cuts through metal or plastic, that locks in the cork in wine. Then I fist it. Like keys in self-defense.

In my other hand, I fist a cocktail stirrer.

I sit up, looking at him, leaning into him. “I’d have chosen you.” And I stab him in the face with the corkscrew.

He screams, staggering up, kicking at me, landing blows, and I have to curl on myself until he staggers off. Then I’m on my feet.

The corkscrew clatters to the ground in a spray of blood and I grip the stirrer tight, pick up the chair and slam it into him. It shatters. I scramble for the corkscrew, managing to grab it.

He’s stronger than he looks. He picks up a chair leg and starts beating me with it.

I launch myself at him but he laughs and bats me to the ground, kicking me.

“Fucking stupid cunt,” he yells, bringing his foot down to crush my ribs.

I roll out of the way but he kicks me in the back.

I roll again, grabbing his leg with one hand and topping him. Then I stab him hard in the balls.

He shrieks and I launch myself on him, pulling out the metal stirrer and with all my might, I bring it down on him, over and over again.

When he tosses me off him, he crawls, grabbing some wood, just as I connect with the stirrer.

He brings the wood down hard, and the world swims sickeningly.

I hold on as long as I can, and as he goes to hit me again,he comes down with it. And with the last piece of strength and consciousness, I drive the corkscrew into his eye. As my other hand flops, it hits metal; the stirrer is in his chest.

Then something thumps down on my head, making pain flare briefly, before the world goes black and still.

Chapter

Forty

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