Page 22 of Foxy Filthy Omega

I didn’t respond as I studied his body language.

Taylor hasn’t improved at all since the last time we sparred. If anything, he’s gotten worse.

The knee injury a few years ago really fucked him up, but he was a good detective who always got the evidence. Almost like he had a nose for drama or something.

I stood still as the other alpha bounced on the balls of his feet, psyching himself up.

Taylor knew he was going to lose and he knew it was going to hurt, but I had to hand it to him, he didn’t try to get out of his punishment. He was ready to take it or die trying.

Lucky for him, my father wasn’t the one overseeing his training because if he were…blood would stain my hands once more.

I flexed my fingers but didn’t make a fist. I just let my arms hang as I watched Taylor try to decide if he should strike first or stay on the defensive.

Taylor was a decent person. I needed to remember that. He only had the most basic alpha training and he didn’t really have the pheromones to need more. He was physically strong and smart.

Crippling him would only cripple me since this was my business. I relied on him to get most of the evidence we needed for the big cases since he was so good at sweet talking people.

We happened to have that in common.

I shifted my weight slightly and Taylor stopped bouncing around. He clenched his jaw and braced himself – his instincts picking up on something imperceptible. It was something I’ve never been able to pinpoint either.

Being able to pretend I was anything other than what I was…it was my greatest strength, but I couldn’t hide something if I couldn’t see it.

Was it the way I moved?

It had to be, otherwise he wouldn’t look so apathetic while my arms were still hanging by my sides.

Taylor started getting antsy when I didn’t move again, keeping my body as still as possible while I waited him out.

My hunting style was curated by my father.

Patience was our strongest weapon. It gave the other party the opportunity to walk right into our trap and allowed me to exert the smallest amount of effort possible which was fucking vital for someone like me.

I needed every advantage I could get.

Taylor finally gave in to his impatience and anxiety, moving just as fast as I remembered.

And just like last time, he went for my ribs, swinging as hard and as fast as he could on my right side. I was usually right-handed and I’ve been injured there before so it was a good choice, but he wasn’t fast enough.

Stepping into him, I twisted my torso ever so slightly to dodge his strike, bringing up my fist in a mean left jab as I did so to hit the side of his neck with concentrated force.

His body instantly crumbled at my feet in a massive pile and I stared down at it, unimpressed.

I’d made sure not to permanently damage him. He was just unconscious. Not dead.

Kneeling down to check his pulse, I felt dissatisfied with such an easy win. “Should have gone for my left side.”

Taylor was definitely still breathing so I stood and shoved him with my foot so he was flat on his back, opening up his airway.

“Anyone else wanna draw straws?” I looked over at the other senior detectives and they all stared down at the floor looking properly chastised.

“No, ma’am.”

Good.

“Actually, I would.”

My gaze slid over to the massive rookie who’s been silently waiting in the same place this whole time.

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