I considered making her wait longer, but I couldn’t stand the repetitive banging and complaining ricocheting throughout the house.
Why is she always fucking haunting me?
She looks up at me with contempt, and I’m sure my features are mirroring the same message back to her. I never wanted her here. I had years to wrap my mind around the fact that I would have to bond with her. I’d do my duty for my family, make some heirs, but I would never love her. She would be an O’Brien under my protection. Perhaps she would grow fond of my brothers and Declan, but for me, it would always be transactional. It could never be anything more than me fulfilling my duty as head of the family.
That was, of course, until I scented her, and she clawed her perfectly manicured fingers into my every waking thought. I loathe her for it.
Yet, here I am, kidnapping her for her own safety, but mainly because Travis called me and told me she wanted to sell her heat. I should feel bad about threatening the poor man, for themost part, he runs a clean business and helps Omegas. But when it came toourOmega, there was no fucking way I was leaving things to chance.
Absolutely fucking not.
“No more banging,” I order her sternly.
“Let me go. Why am I even here? What did you drug me with?”
“Don’t act stupid, Elena. It’s unbecoming.”
Her face heats red, and both of her fists ball in outrage. She reminds me of a hissing kitten, so non-threatening it's borderline humorous.
I hate that I like it.Fuck.
“What is it that you want? Ransom? I can promise you that you’re making a huge mistake,” she spits, trying to threaten me. It’s almost cute.
“Spoken like a true spoiled Omega,” I reply.
I enjoy getting under her skin, and it only seems fair, considering how deep she’s crawled under mine. I didn’t ask for any of this, yet I’m the one dealing with damage control. All this drama and blood has been because of the tiny woman sprawled on the floor looking helpless. She’s far from helpless, though. While Matteo may have shielded her from some of the life, it’s clear she can handle her own. She wasn’t kept blind like other daughters in the life. No, something tells me Elena has seen her fair share of bloodshed.
Yet she seems blind to this tether connecting us. Maybe she hates being my scent match as much as I hate being hers.
“You know nothing about me,” she seethes angrily.
Her cheekbones flush a bright pink, and her bright blue eyes fill with fury. There’s no denying that she is beautiful, that her scent is altering my fucking brain chemistry. But I’m more than capable of doing what’s expected of me, yet no one seems to listen.
I adjust my pant legs, bending to my haunches so I’m face-to-face with her.
“Elena Katerina Amante, age twenty-four. Birthday is October 29th. Only daughter to Matteo and Catherine Amante. Your only living relative is Anthony Amante, age twenty-eight, and a royal pain in my ass. You graduated from a private elite high school with flying colors and proceeded to go on to get a secondary education in surgical technology—very progressive. You were basically an assistant to a well-known mob doctor, Dr. Conti while living under your father’s roof.”
Her eyes are wide and begin welling up with tears, but I don’t stop speaking.
“A true mob princess who’s been given more freedom than most, including not being forced into bonding when you designated. Your father arranged for you to spend your heats sedated at the hospital. It’s speculated that you look so much like your mother that your father had a hard time not giving in to your whims.
“That was until dear old Pàpa had a heart attack, and everything changed. While mob daddy loved you and gave you freedom, your older brother resents you. You found out about the pack arrangement, ran to The High-fucking-Roller, of all places,” I snarl the name of the club. “And now, you’re here.”
I lean forward and push a messy piece of blonde hair behind her ear. I want to retract my hand as soon as I touch her, but it’s like I can’t help myself. No matter how firmly I try to tell myself I don’t want her, my body has different plans.
I’m proud of her when she doesn’t flinch, but her eyes and scent tell a different story.
“It didn’t matter if you ran, if you hid. You were always going to end up here. Now, all you’ve done is piss me off. So things are going to go a little differently than I originally planned,” I state, dropping her hair and standing to my full height.
I can tell she’s scared. It’s clear in her scent. It has a burned tang to it, and I hate it. But I don’t falter.
My hands slide down my jacket, straightening the material as I breathe through my mouth, trying not to let the bitterness of her scent bother me. Part of me wants to get on my knees and hold her, while the other wants to bury her in a deep grave so she’ll stop tormenting me so effortlessly.
“Where’s Cillian?” she asks in a soft voice.
I click my tongue and wonder when he told her his real name. My brother fawning over her the moment he found her is part of the reason we’re in this fucking mess. We should have taken her that night, made Anthony aware, and maybe Cian would still be alive.
But nothing changes this carnal urge she possesses over me. One I don’t deserve and certainly don’t fucking want.
