Page 98 of Omega

I think we both had a lot of not loving people or being loved to make up for.

We had nearly no sleep that night. But by the time the sun was peeking through the blinds, I was reasonably sure Nicholas Harris loved me. Judging by the something like five hundred times he’d told me throughout the night.

Not that I was counting or anything.

Nor was I counting the number of orgasms he gave me.

(Nine.)

Or his.

(Four times inside me, plus a fifth in the wee hours of the morning, on my tits, right before we passed out.)

We woke up mid-afternoon, ordered room service, showered, went down on each other, ate breakfast, had sex twice more, showered again, and finally got dressed to leave the hotel.

We were at the front desk checking out when I got the feeling.

I leaned close to Nick. “Can we stay for a little longer?” I leaned my head against his shoulder. “Please?”

He glanced at me as he dug an envelope full of cash out of the backpack he’d bought in with us. “Haven’t had enough, huh? Jesus, Layla. We’ve had sex six times in the last eighteen hours. I’ve given you at least ten orgasms. Plus, Thresh is waiting at the docks.”

The hotel employee counting out the cash Harris had handed her was trying valiantly not to listen, but was failing. Miserably. She was blushing scarlet and eyeing us surreptitiously, and lost count three times. “Ten?” She squeaked. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that many times in my entire life.” She clapped her hand over her mouth, mortified. “Oh god, I’m so sorry!”

Harris just grinned at her. “Then sweetheart, you’re not having the right kind of sex.” He took his change and winked at her.

“It’s not that,” I said. “Or, not entirely. I told you, I don’t have an orgasm threshold. I could come until I passed out from exhaustion and still be ready for another one.”

“Then what is it?” He led me by the hand across the lobby and handed the valet his car claim ticket.

I shrugged, finding it hard to put into words. “I don’t know. Just…a bad feeling. Like, dread. I don’t know. I just feel like we should stay here. Like something bad is going to happen. It sounds stupid, but…I don’t know. I’ve just got a bad feeling.”

The valet arrived with our monstrosity-mobile, Nick handed him a hundred-dollar bill, and then checked the trunk, the back seats, the front end, knelt and glanced at the undercarriage, even popped the hood to examine the engine.

“The truck is clean, babe. I’m not saying we’re home free, because Vitaly’s not dead. But we’re okay for now. All right?” He dropped the hood with a loud slam and brushed his hands on the front of his jeans.

Time distorted then.

I felt my blood thicken and slow, and my heart stop. My eyes lifted as if in slow motion.

Vitaly was walking toward me. Arm extended. Huge silver pistol in his hand, eyes dark and cold and deadly.

Stupidly, my last thought as Vitaly pulled the trigger was:Well…fuck.

18

THROUGH-AND-THROUGH

I heard theBLAM!as if through a cloud of cotton: dense, distant, muffled, thunderous.

I braced for an impact that never came.

BLAMBLAM!—BLAMBLAM!

Harris fell in slow motion to the ground at my feet. Bleeding.

People were screaming, but I barely noticed.

Vitaly was stumbling backward, pistol hanging down, blood welling in four spots on his chest, clustered in a tight group dead center, right over his sternum.