Chapter 1 #3
Etched into the marrow of my bones. And for the first time in my miserable existence, I understand all there is to know about destruction.
Why kingdoms burn. Why empires fall. Why monsters kneel before gods.
Because if anyone so much as touched a single strand of hair on her head, I’d bare my teeth at the sky and fight the fucking gods myself.
I’d rip destiny apart with my own bare hands, because this Omega, my Omega, was fucking made for me.
Clive places a hand on her shoulder, forcing me to anchor myself into my seat as an irrational wave of anger threatens to consume me.
I don’t give a fuck that he’s the assistant manager of the Cardinals. He has his hands on my girl. A slight that cannot be overlooked. A hand lands on my leg, a calming sensation that has me settling within a matter of seconds. Dominic.
There’s a hard look in his eyes as his grip tightens, a silent warning. He shakes his head once. He doesn’t need to say anything further, because I know that look.
I may be the pack leader, but that doesn’t diminish any of Dom’s dominance. The only reason why he let me take charge was that he didn’t want the responsibility that came with being at the head of the pack.
So, against every instinct scratching beneath my skin, I concede, sinking back into my chair, never taking my eyes off my Omega. And the motherfucker who eventually removes his hand from her shoulder.
Smart man.
I wasn’t in the mood to explain a body today. Going absolutely feral in the locker room probably wouldn’t go down well with the suits.
“I am so thrilled to introduce you all to Lennon Gilmore. Some of you Vets may remember her as Coach's daughter.”
Sounds of acknowledgment ripple around the room.
This time, it's not only Dominic who reaches for me. Holden’s hand splays across my other knee with enough force to make me look at him.
There is no confusion in those dark eyes.
No question. He knows it. Felt it. The same thing that’s turned my blood to fucking ice.
His grip tightens and his gaze narrows on me, silently warning me to get my shit together.
But I can’t hear him.
Can’t read him the way I usually do.
Because my mind is filled with fire and wrath. A feral, all-consuming rage I’ve spent the better part of twenty years keeping buried beneath scar tissue and clenched fists.
Pure hatred. Unrelenting. Murderous.
Because my sweet Omega isn’t so sweet.
She’s a fucking Gilmore.
The daughter of the man who is at the root of every nightmare I’ve ever had.
The man who caused my father to self-destruct.
To turn his rage inward until there was nothing left but a hollow shell wearing skin.
The man whose demands, expectations, and poison transformed a once good Alpha into someone unrecognizable.
Into the man who raised his fists to his only child.
My lungs burn, my heart threatens to stop altogether, and suddenly, I’m not twenty-nine anymore.
I’m nine.
Ten.
Twelve.
Standing outside my bedroom door, listening to my mother cry and praying my father doesn’t remember I’m there.
Counting the cracks in the paint on the window frame to summon the courage to face him.
To distract him long enough for my mother to run.
All those lonely nights begging for someone, anyone, to save us from him.
Or at the very least, save him from himself.
But I knew that was never going to happen. That sort of destiny wasn’t written for men like me. Men like me don’t get miracles. We work hard for everything we have. Crawl out of the fucking pits of hell and make something of ourselves, or we die trying.
Christ. Fate, in all its twisted cruelty, must be punishing me or something, because it has just placed the one person in this entire fucking universe I want to destroy, right in front of me, and called her mine.
My Omega.
That deep pool of hatred festering inside me turns rancid, poisoning everything it touches as it desperately searches for somewhere to go.
Somewhere to sink its teeth. And after twenty years, it finally finds a face.
Her. The promise of a broken little boy echoes through my mind.
That a Gilmore will bleed for what has been done to his father.
Done to me. And as I stare at the woman fate insists belongs to me, I make myself a new promise.
Her father ruined my fucking life and drove my mother to the grave.
So, I’ll return the fucking favor.
The coach's daughter will pay the price for his sins.
Eye for an eye. Debt for debt.
Dead or not, I’ll take everything from him.
Starting with his daughter.
And if fate is cruel enough to make her my Omega, then fate can watch me destroy her piece by fucking piece.
Because grief made me, hatred raised me, and vengeance has spent so many fucking years clawing at the walls of my soul, begging to be fed.
Now, it finally has something to feast on.
Her blood will wash away the debt her father left behind.
And God help anyone who tries to stop me.
Cause I won’t.