Page 72 of The Mafia's Omega Queen

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I slip out of my spot, tip-toeing up behind him. “Angel!!” he screams out in anguish as he fists his hair, dropping to his knees and giving me the advantage on his colossal size.

“She’s waiting for you in hell, motherfucker,” I hiss against his ear as I cover his mouth with my bloody palm, nailing the behemoth in the jugular with my trusty dagger. He doesn’t go down like a two-ton brick as I hoped; the demon gets to his feet, staggering, his meaty mitts scrambling to dislodge me from his back.

I hold on for dear life as he starts to spin in a circle, working his way closer and closer to the hissing fire. The hand previously on his mouth moves down, barring my arm across his neck as I rip the dagger free and repeatedly stab the dude over and over again. Waiting for the damn asshole to drop.

My back cracks against the wall as he backs himself into it when I make a final plunge, lodging the dagger between his ribs directly into his heart. He falls face-first to the ground. Finally. I roll off him with a groan and jump to my feet, all heat leaching from my body when I see we caught Lionel’s attention.

And shit. I’m weaponless. My knife is stuck somewhere inside the dead dude at my feet, and there’s no way I’ll be able to roll the fucker over to get it before Lionel makes an attempt to grab me.

“Come to me, mate,” Lionel demands with a tsk, infusing his words with a command. He hasn’t gotten the memo yet that they no longer affect me, but if I play along, I may just get my chance to take him out.

With every tentative step toward the man who’s had a starring role in my nightmare, I try to think of a way to remove him from the equation. It’s only a matter of time before everyone outside is dead to where my guys can come in and get me, or who knows. They could be dead already. But that’s not a thought I want weighing down on me when the most pressing matter is the one in my sights.

“That’s my good little omega. Come to your owner. Let’s show those outside who you’ve decided to take as your mate.” I grit my teeth so hard I swear I hear one of them crack. The man is delusional. A fucking basket case if he thinks I would choose him over the four amazing men in my life.

The moment I’m within reaching distance, he grabs for me, his hands slipping off my skin as he smears the copious amounts of blood across my flesh. When he finally gets a solid hold on me, he pulls my body in front of him like he plans to use me as a human shield. One arm wraps around my waist while the other comes up and grips my bare breast in his hand, kneading it painfully.

His raunchous breath washes over me as he whispers in my ear, “Not much longer now. The moment they’re dead, I’m taking you away from here, and I'm going to get you through your heat; whether you allow me to do it willingly or not is up to you. But by the time you come out of it, you’ll be my mate, and the moment I take over the Storm Empire, I’ll put your ass in the ground and rule over the entire U.S.”

There’s the villain monologue I was hoping for. It never fails. In every movie, every story, the villain always gives away his plans right before his death.

“Fat fucking chance, ya old fuck.” I toss my head back, slamming into his face with all the force I can muster. A resounding crunch and his scream echo around the foyer, once again fueling the fight in me. He staggers back as he lets me go, his hands cupping his face.

“Stop!” he barks, thrusting one hand out as if that’s going to stop me.

I giggle, the sound bordering on psychotic. “I will not stop until you’re fucking dead,” I seethe in a low growl as I advance on him, taking one step for every two he makes. The dumb bastard trips on his own feet as he retreats back, falling backward with his arms pinwheeling around like there’ll be something there to break his fall.

The moment his back connects with the ground, I race across the empty space and straddle the fucker, my fists flying, one after another, pounding repeatedly into his wrinkly face. Things crunch and break under my blows, my own knuckles splitting in response. But I don’t stop. I can’t stop until I know the threat he poses is over.

For a moment, he attempts to fight back, but then, the fight in him flees, and he gives in under my onslaught.

Every punch, every hit, is for all the leering looks he gave me as a child. For each and every person whom I’ve known that has died because of him. For the scars I know bear because of his whims or those of his daughter. For the ones my own dad has to wear because this fucker couldn’t stomach someone who was better than him.

And most of all, this is for me. For my peace of mind that he will never come after those I love ever again.

There’s only one thing I love more than explosions, my favorite knife, and torturing people. And that’s my little killer, stark fucking naked and covered in the blood of our enemies.

It’s like my wildest fantasy has come to life right before my eyes.

Which begs to question…why the fuck is she even naked?

If the fuck she’s wailing on weren’t dead already, staring lifelessly at the ceiling with horror etched all over his face, I’d kill the fucker myself. My lips pop out in a pout; my little killer took all the fun away. She sucks at sharing. Plain and simple. She’s lucky we don’t have that problem when it comes to her tight, sexy body.

Vinny calls out to the forces behind us as I amble forward, a wide grin on my face at the fierceness of my little mate. I never doubted for a minute that she wouldn’t find a way out before we rescued her. But I wasn’t going to tell them that and ruin my chances of blowing shit up.

Haylee is in her own little world, her blue gaze focused on the minced meat of a man, pulverizing him until he’s nearly unrecognizable. But there’s no denying who it is. Lionel fucking Kilroy. I doubt she even knows the fighting outside has come to an end, and that the fuck is dead. She just keeps screaming incoherent words every time her fist flies.

The scent of blood and death is heavily in the air, along with a tell-tale campfire smell as the back of the building continues to burn. The acrid scent of burnt plastic also laces the air, burning my nose.

“Little killer,” I rumble as I step up next to her, grimacing at what’s left of Lionel. Sucks to be him. If he was lucky, he’d get a closed casket, but he’s not, so his corpse will swim with the fishes at the bottom of the nearest body of water.

When Haylee doesn’t acknowledge me, I reach out and run my hand down her sweaty, grimy, blood-covered back. My hand almost sticks to her skin, but she wrenches away from me, her bloody fists raised, still raring for a fight.

Her eyes widen when the haze of bloodlust clears, and she throws herself into my arms, knocking me to my ass.

“Alpha,” she mumbles, kissing my cheeks, lips, and jaw, never staying in one place. “Alpha, I hurt.”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion for a hot minute until the unmistakable vanilla and buttercream scent of her bowls me over like a ton of bricks. It’s stronger, headier, than it is on any normal given day. It’s also heavily doused in arousal.

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