Page 64 of Goddess of Mayhem

Now, I’m standing at the security gate trying to get the fuck inside to find out what happened.

“Leave now, boy,” the large security guard snaps at me.

“Let him in.”

I don’t recognize the voice through the speaker, but they gave me permission to come in. The security guard glares at me, and I beam sarcastically at him.

Fucker.

He grunts and pushes a button that opens the gates, I get back inside my car and speed down the narrow and windy driveway until I’m parked in front of the mansion. Donovan opens the door with a scowl as I am racing up the steps. I barely got my car turned off before I was racing up the steps.

“You know we have more important shit to deal with tonight than whatever you’re trying to sniff around and find out,” he grinds out.

Malia and Donovan may not look much alike but they both have attitude problems. I wonder if The Omen would retract that no-kill order if I punch his son in the face. I’m tempted to find out.

I snort. “I’m here in peace.” I raise my hands in mock surrender just to be a smartass.

Donovan opens the door wider to allow me to enter, I step through, and he slams the door before shoulder-checking me without so much as a grunt.

Not a fan of me either, I suppose. Seems to be the running theme in the Olin household, and it warms my insides with slight delight that I piss so many of them off.

He walks ahead of me, signaling for me to follow and I do. I haven’t been on this side of the mansion. When we were in The Omen’s office that night of the ball we had taken a back route which wasn’t far from the ballroom. This must be the main living quarters.

After about ten minutes of walking, which seems like a lot but I get the feeling Donovan was trying to confuse me so I can’t figure out how to get out, we reach a hall I’m familiar with. I recognize a large painting of a man with similar eyes of Malia and The Omen’s, the emerald-green and black hair.

Donovan stops at his father’s office door and leads me inside, closing the door behind me without staying. I mumble a few choice words for the cocksucker before turning to The Omen who’s not made any indication he knows I’m here even though I know that’s not true.

This is the second time I’ve found myself in this fucker’s office. The Omen is tense sitting behind his large oak desk, yelling into his phone, and rubbing at the stubble on his jaw. I imagine I’d be pissed off too if my business was blown to bits with a handful of injuries and a few deaths.

Sitting across from him so soon after the ball—and laying out half of my parents’ untold story like kibble to gobble up and fester—is a surprise to me. I haven’t decided if I believe him or not. There’s no one alive to back his claims and again he’s only given me half of the story.

I’m here because Malia was at that club tonight and I need to know if she made it out of there alive or not. The fact that he even agreed to see me makes me think that she’s fine. I’m sure if it were the other way, even the vow he says he made with my father wouldn’t make him obligated to sit with me right now after a loss of a child.

“Find her, Reynolds.” I hear him growl into the phone that instantly raises my hackles and I jump to my feet.

“Where is she?” I say, flattening my palms on the table and leaning forward demanding his attention.

The Omen turns those green eyes on me and raises an eyebrow like he just remembered I was here.

“Where is who?” He drops his phone on the desk and stands, running a hand through his jet-black curly hair, then raises a hand to stop me from answering. “Nevermind, that was a ridiculous question. Malia will be fine; she’s always been resilient.”

My back snaps straight and I round the desk, bending down slightly to level with him. “Where. Is. She?”

“Have a seat, Liam. We need to talk,” The Omen says coolly, his eyes are zoned in noting my silent threat.

I scoff and perch on the corner of the desk, clapping my hands together and resting them in my lap.

He chuckles without humor and rolls up the sleeves on his black button-up shirt. Only now with him standing do I notice the dark stains on it and the blood on his hands. He takes notice, maybe there’s panic on my face when all sarcasm slips and I’m back on my feet.

Whose blood would Nathaniel Olin wear if not an enemy or someone he loves.

“It’s Malia’s blood,” he confirms, already spinning on my feet to go find her before he finishes his sentence. His hands reaches out and grasps my shoulder, stopping me. “She’s being taken care of, but we need to talk. I promise you, Liam, she will be fine.”

Spinning back around I knock his hand away. “Yourpromisesdon’t mean shit to me.Youdon’t mean shit to me.”

He dips his chin in understanding, acknowledging that I still don’t trust him. “But you do Malia so shut the fuck up and listen. Where your outbursts would normally be tolerated and your sarcasm amusing—today isn’t the day.”

I huff, returning to the other side of the desk because I might just kill the man. I don’t sit. I can’t, not with the tension winding me up and making me anxious to see her.

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