Page 27 of Fallen Omega

“No. Get whatever he gave her because it worked fast, and I’d like a look. His details, too.”

Julien nods, steps out into the back alley where we keep the garbage and Reaper sometimes comes to smoke. There’s another door at the end. Julien hefts the guy up and over his shoulder like he’s nothing, and heads out.

He’ll work him over, get the details, and have him dumped somewhere, either near an emergency room or just in a park. I’m betting on the latter.

Julien might be muscle, but he’s smart, loyal, and knows exactly when to do what needs to be done.

Like how he waited until I inflicted pain on the guy, but stopped me doing something stupid.

I drag another breath in and past the stench of garbage is the sweet complexity, the rich sensuality of gardenias.

This girl’s a garden of forbidden desires.

Turning, I crouch down, smoothing her hair from her face, and my heart lurches. It’s electric, touching her skin. She’s like satin and her hair silk.

She’s stunning. A mix of angel and siren.

But the plump, naturally red lips aren’t what causes that hard lurch. It’s not her beauty, or even that cocksucker’s vile scent clinging to her.

It’s her swollen lip, the spot of blood, and the black and purple bruise that’s bloomed.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She tries to push at me, but I capture her hands, as she slurs, “No, no, please?—”

“He’s gone.”

Her pretty, dark eyes dart around, unfocused. “I don’t…I don’t know…what happened.”

I’m not sure if she’s asking or announcing, but I just stroke a finger over those soft lips, even though she winces, and I say, “He drugged you. Did…did he touch you?”

This time her eyes snap to mine in focus, and there’s rage there. “He tried.”

“I should have killed him.” I sigh. “Just a figure of speech.”

Honestly, I’m not sure if either of us mean it, and I’m still touching her. It’s only when she leans into me, I realize what I’m doing.

Trying to wipe the asshole’s scent from her.

I drop my hand to her chin and gently turn her face, looking at her neck. He didn’t manage to mark her. And while I know that already, there’s something, an urge, that makes me check.

“Would you have killed him?” she asks.

I let her go and sit back. Then I settle on an answer. “I’m part owner here, so piling up bodies where I work isn’t on the agenda.”

Shit. She riles so many things in my blood. I know what I look like. I know what I like. I want her as mine, and it’s not just the fact she’s almost in heat.

I want her. To own her, call her my good girl, praise her in just the right way, until I find the sweet spot that makes her both squirm and pant in exquisite agony and need.

I want to tuck her up, look after her, have her call me Daddy.

There’s no weird and fucked up thing to it. I just like the way Daddy Doms can be soft or hard in discipline, control, gifts…

Somehow, I drag my mind back. “You know you shouldn’t be out.”

“I just…I couldn’t be at home.”

“Why?” She’s not a party girl, and she’s not looking to get laid, looking to scratch the itch for a rut to help her through.

---