Page 29 of A Murderous Omega

Pride filled my chest. Our woman. Our omega. And she didn’t need our help. She’d planned every detail, and watching her execute a perfect kill made my chest tighten with respect and pride.

Her eyes flicked to me, cold and furious, as she yanked the garotte harder, until the alpha collapsed to the ground.

Lark leapt back, then kicked the body, sneering.

She looked at Conor and me with the same disgust.

We had some groveling to do, but first, we needed to get this body off the street, no matter how shadowed and deserted it was, and into the alley where Lark intended to cut him into pieces.

Conor grabbed his feet, and I grabbed him under the shoulders. Together we lifted him and waited for our omega’s instructions. Silently, she pointed to the shadows beside us, a narrow alley filled with detritus and trash bins.

We leaned his back against the wall, his legs straight out in front of him, as if he were sitting, then injected him with the paralytic that would keep him still, even once he swam back to consciousness.

Conor tied his hands together, and his feet, just in case, then looked over his shoulder, seeking our omega’s approval.

My heart sank at her inscrutable expression. Working with us on this kill hadn’t changed her mind. We’d make it perfect for her anyway. Show her how much better it could be when we were together. Then take her home and rut her through her heat.

Silently, Conor and I worked in tandem, slicing into the pimp, stripping away his humanity piece by piece as we skinned him alive.

When his eyes finally opened, Lark crouched in front of him. “This is for the omegas that you’ve trafficked and tortured.”

He couldn’t respond, but the stench of piss surrounded us as he realized just how dire his circumstances were.

“I’m not going to bite you because I don’t want scum like you in my head,” Lark growled, “but I am going to make sure you can’t bite anyone else ever again.”

She pulled a pair of pliers out of the pocket of her cargo pants.

“Hold him.”

The paralytic should have kept him from wiggling, but Conor and I obeyed our vicious, bloody queen, kneeling beside him and holding his shoulders still. Conor grabbed the mark’s chin and tilted his head up, opening his mouth for Lark.

One by one, Lark yanked out the alpha’s teeth, grinning as blood spattered her hands and her face.

Fucking gorgeous.

As the paralytic wore off, the man struggled and kicked, but we held him still until she completed her gruesome operation.

When she finished, she pushed up on her knees to stand, smearing blood over the black tactical fabric of her pants.

The man was naked, his mouth a gaping wound of blood and misery, whimpering, but not quite dead yet.

“I oughta saw your dick off with a bread knife,” she mused.

I choked back a laugh.

“Instead, I’m gonna do this.”

She pulled a silenced gun out of the back of her pants and shot him in the cock, twice. Each time, his body twitched. She shot him a third time through the heart, ending the hours of torment as the first rays of sunlight fell into the alley.

Lark finally swept her gaze over Conor and me. Her contempt struck me in the chest, cracking open my soul and grinding it to dust.

Her lilac and vanilla scent wafted around us as we knelt on either side of the body, waiting for her judgment. We’d fucked up when we kidnapped her a second time, and now we were going to lose her.

Shit.

She dropped the gun on the ground beside the now dead pimp, his teeth, and the pliers. She didn’t bother peeling off her leather gloves—she wouldn’t want to leave any evidence behind.

She reached over me to fish my phone out of my pocket, thumbing it open and sending a quick text message. It pinged a second later.