15. Finn

Elena'sback is pressed against the bed, her red dress shimmied against her hips, and her sweater askew off her shoulder.

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 the most part, he runs a clean business and helps Omegas. But when it came to our Omega, 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.

"My brother is in the hospital because your brother shot him. Not only that, Anthony has also killed one of my men, and another is down two fingers because of his tantrum."

Her brows furrow, and she shakes her head.

"Is he going to be alright? Does he know I'm here?"

"Knowing about Cillian is a privilege. Privileges are earned in this house."

The fire comes back to her features as she glares at me. Perhaps she's not as weak as I thought. That aspect of her intrigues me. It will do her well to not be weak. The earlier she learns her place in the hierarchy of this household, however, the better off she'll be.

"You might have ran from your brother, but there is no running from the O'Briens. Behave, and you will be rewarded. Continue kicking the fucking door, and I'll keep you locked in this room for days on end until you learn to act respectfully."

She swallows and narrows her eyes at me.

"Let me talk to Declan," she demands, and I bark out a laugh.

"You could have had a cushy life, you know? The three of them are already wrapped around your sneaky little finger. I will be the only one you deal with until I know you can act right. Then maybe you can earn the life you were supposed to have if you hadn't run away like a toddler throwing a tantrum."

I don't admit that locking her in this room feels wrong, like my mind and body revolting over the idea of causing discomfort to my Omega. God, that's disgusting.

I'm not sure what I expect her to say, but the next words aren't it.

"Go fuck yourself," she snarls, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting.

"Have it your way then," I sigh, heading towards the door. I'm not facing her as I speak, my hand on the knob, ready to leave. "Just know that I could have easily returned you back to your demented brother, but I didn't."

She laughs sardonically behind me, and I turn to look over my shoulder. She doesn't speak, just laughs like she knows she wouldn't have been returned, regardless. I leave the room wondering if I've underestimated the little terror I'm keeping hostage in my home.

"Let me go talk to her," Lorcán all but yells at me when I get to the dining room.

I just roll my eyes and take a seat as Maeve sets out dinner.

"Make her a plate. Bring Tadgh with you. Do not speak to her. Drop off the food and leave," I direct Maeve, handing her the key, which she takes with a nod of her head.

"I'm not fucking around. She's probably terrified," Lorcán rants, and I roll my eyes again.

If she was truly terrified, she wouldn't have told me to fuck myself. She also didn't ask me hardly any questions, but that could have more to do with her shock than anything else. She's probably wrapping her mind around everything: her precious little bodyguard Logan betraying her, as well as Declan.

Declan came home smug and drenched in her scent the other night. He's pretending that he's unphased, but I can spot the tension in his jaw. He's just smarter about vocalizing it compared to my petulant half-brother.

"Until our little captive learns some manners, I'll be the only one who deals with her."

"That's bullshit," Lorcán spits.

I calmly place my knife and fork down on the table and wipe my mouth with a napkin.

"You might be my blood, Lorcán, but do not forget your place in this family. You were the one responsible for her well-being while she was still under the Amante roof and failed. Not only that, but now my brother has completely fucked everything up, and he's in the hospital because of it. Since everyone in this goddamn pack seems incapable of rational thought when it comes to the Omega upstairs, I will be the one to decide her care. If you can't handle that, then perhaps I'll find a room to lock you in so you, too, can learn to behave."

Lorcán looks at me like he wants to pull out his gun and shoot me between the eyes, but he doesn't. He wouldn't dare. There's a pecking order not only in the family but within this pack. I'm the oldest, I'm the heir, and that needs to be respected.

Even if I'm the one who should be trusted the least when it comes to the Omega currently locked upstairs.

"I swear to God if you hurt a hair on her head?—"

I swipe my hand in the air, cutting off that train of thought immediately.

"I don't hit women. But she needs to learn her place. If she had come here when she was supposed to, things would be different. We've already lost one man, another is disfigured. I won't allow any more fucking mistakes. Elena has been made aware of her situation. As long as she behaves, then there won't be any issues, and I'll let her see you. But I will not let her damage this family anymore than she already has."

Maeve walks back into the dining room with Tadgh and gives me a firm nod. She's a much better cook than she is a cleaner. The old woman has an attitude more often than not.

"The prisoner has been fed," she informs, dropping the key off in my hand. I pinch the bridge of my nose and try not to snap. "Can I bring her a change of clothes? All she's wearing is that slutty dress."

I'm about to open my mouth to respond when the loud bang of a food tray slamming against the door of Elena's room ripples through the house.

I rub my temples and sigh.

Killing her would be less painful than this.

"No, she will sit in those clothes until she learns her place."

"Her suppressants?" Declan asks, who has been quiet throughout dinner.

"Crush them up and put them in her food," I tell Maeve, and Declan takes a deep inhale.

"Nách mór an diabhal thú," Maeve hisses under her breath.

"Ah, but if I'm the devil, that would make you the devil's housekeeper," I tell her, rising from my place at the dining table. "Any of you even goes near that fucking door, and Rory won't be the only man missing a finger around here."

I leave with the warning still hanging in the air. I get into the back of the SUV. All the vehicles have been properly scanned since the last incident.

"Where to, boss?"

"The hospital, then the morgue."

I still have a present to send to Anthony Amante, and I need to check on my brother. As Cormac drives, I pull out my phone and watch the surveillance of my new little pet.

It isn't a fixation, simply a safety precaution. I need to make sure she doesn't try anything stupid, like attempting to kill herself. It's also a way to make sure that everyone else in that fucking house listens to my orders and stays the course.

The camera shows me four different angles, and I sigh in frustration as I look at the one facing the door. The food Maeve provided is scattered along the floor as the blonde Omega paces back and forth in the room.

Part of me almost hopes that she tries something. It's been so long since I've had a worthy opponent.

I can't decide if I want her to fight me or if I want to watch the disobedience drain from her eyes.