Page 70 of Unhinged Omega

Because nothing could have prepared me for the sight that greets me as I skid to a stop in a cloud of dust and gravel.

Chaos.

Pure, unadulterated chaos.

Men are running in every direction, their faces masks of terror. That asshole Lex is here, barking orders as usual with her dog barking along with her, but it's the first time I've ever seen genuine fear on her scarred face. And I can't even take a minute to savor it, considering the ground itself seems to tremble beneath my feet. Lex and the others are hurling massive chains like lassos at the armored… monster?

That's presently trying to climb out of a…

Apit?

Good gods, Nikolai has really fallen apart without me.

His operation was always a disaster, but a pit monster? Really?

And I thought the villain tower was bad enough.

I'm still trying to make out the details of the Pit Monster through the dust when I realize someone is coming straight for me.

Nikolai fucking Vlakov.

My lip curls back, an instinctive growl building in the center of my chest. Where the mere sight of him was once enough to make warmth bloom, now it feels more like I'm going to puke. He looks exactly the same and completely different all at once. That choppy white hair, the tacky red glasses—and where's his signature matching coat? Maybe he finally decided to risk washing the blood off it and ruined it. That would be beautiful.

But there's something harder in the set of his jaw, something colder in his slightly mismatched eyes as they lock onto mine behind those lenses.

Time to face the fucking music.

Even if it sounds like a death march.

I kill the engine and swing my leg over the bike, adopting a casual swagger I don't feel. My hand drifts to the ornate revolver at my hip. I can't help but smirk when I notice he's still carrying the golden one I gave him all those years ago.

"Niko!" I call out, my voice carrying over the din and dust. I spread my arms wide, a sardonic grin spreading across my face. "Miss me?"

His eyes narrow, and I see his jaw clench. Perfect. I want him off-balance. And by the looks of things, I came at exactly the right time.

Good for me.

I've always hadimpeccabletiming.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Raven?" he snarls, stalking toward me. There's a tension in his frame I've only seen a handful of times before, like a coiled spring ready to snap.

Once was the day I left.

I laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears. "What, no warm welcome for an old friend?" My eyes drift pointedly to the gun at his hip. "I see you kept my little gift. Sentimental of you."

Something flickers in his eyes, too quick for me to name. But then it's gone, replaced by that mask of cold indifference I know so well. "I don't have time for your bullshit," he growls, already turning away. "In case you hadn't noticed, we're in the middle of a situation here."

The dismissal stings more than I care to admit. As if I haven't been painstakingly avoiding him and his shitshow of an operation for the last five years. My carefully constructed bravado starts crumbling, raw hurt bubbling to the surface.

"You owe me a duel, you son of a bitch," I snap, my hand tightening on the grip of my gun.

He whirls back to face me from glancing at the pit, where Lex and the rest of his goons are still struggling to restrain that thing—and losing, much to my delight. But he just looks exasperated. "Aduel? Are you out of your fucking mind? Look around you, Raven. Does this look like a good time for your theatrics?"

As if to punctuate his point, an inhuman roar splits the air. I turn toward the sound, my eyes widening. The Pit Monster is climbing out of it, chains be damned. One snaps like it's made of twine. Guess we don't share the same affinity for being tied up.

I swallow hard as I get my first good look at the beast emerging from the pit. His massive frame rises like some ancient god of war, all rippling muscle and gleaming metal grafted together in a way that shouldn't work but absolutely does. The iron mask covering his face catches the light, and even from here I can see where it's damaged, revealing glimpses of razor-sharp teeth beneath and a chiseled jawline.

But it's not just the obvious weapons that draw my eye. The way the sunlight plays across his scarred torso is almost hypnotic, highlighting every ridge of muscle as he strainsagainst the remaining chains. The rods of metal protruding from his back like broken wings should be grotesque, but there's something darkly beautiful about the way they catch the light.

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