Page 73 of Fallen Omega

If someone comes at me, I can drop the groceries, get my gun and hurl the clothes—or leave the damn case and grab her if she’s in danger.

Lizette breathes out and doesn’t move. “I asked you a question. I know you can talk.”

She’s not afraid of me. She sees me.

The two thoughts drift once more.

“This isn’t safe. I’m taking you elsewhere.”

Her fingers turn white on the backpack’s handle. “Why can’t I stay here?”

“Because if you run, whoever else is watching will follow.”

“S-Someone else is following me? Other than you?”

I only look at her. “This way.”

Lizette sits, crowding in on herself on the sofa in the bare bones basement. She can come and go, if she wishes. It’ll take her longer; she might get lost. But considering she’s got nowhere to go, no job, this is better.

Isolated.

If I were a different man, I’d feel sorry for her.

But all that’s in me is the hunt, the stakeout, the watching.

And, yes, the lust. For her.

I’m not Dante. I don’t tie myself up in knots over wanting something I shouldn’t. Or think I shouldn’t.

The girl’s no longer in heat, and if I choose to take her, fuck her, then I will.

I’m not about to. It’s just lust on a deep flesh and marrow level. It’s earth, blood, and sweat. And it's a rough, hardcore fantasy I’m not bringing to life.

Everything about her is tied up in her toxic aroma, that sweet, sensuous slide through the air.

I amend myself for honesty. I’m not about to fuck her right now. But I know I will. Eventually.

She’s too tempting not to.

After we remove the mark.

Or maybe before.

Beforewill be intriguing, especially if there’s anafteronce it’s gone. Just to see if it makes a difference in her appeal.

Her taste.

“I’ll be back,” I say.

She looks up. “You can’t just leave me, not until?—”

“It’s safe. You have your phone. There’s WIFI. Password is in the kitchen cutlery drawer. This isn’t a high-tech place. So…” I shrug. “I need to go get your things. The rest of them. You remember the way we came?”

Lizette stares up at me, her hands gripping each other, her eyes big, liquid, like prey. “Are you locking me in?”

“Keys are on the coffee table. This is a basement apartment. Studio. The other room’s a bathroom. I’ll be back.”

It doesn’t take me long to check to make sure we weren’t followed. There’s always some kind of sign, and I hid the luggage at one stop, one of the Trinity’s hole-in-the-wall bars.

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