Page 85 of A Deviant Queen

I’MGETTINGREADYTO interrogate Olin’s man, the one Leger grabbed yesterday. A few other agents came with me to the police station, where he’s being held without bond. Bastian stands across the room, texting away on his phone, with a smug look on his pale face and dressed in a way I’m not used to with him.

I stroll across the room, narrowing my gaze as I take in his appearance and body language. Bastian hasn’t noticed my arrival yet. The fucker might be smug now, but he wouldn’t be if he knew what I ate for dinner last night.

The cave with Mila was something I had never experienced. The need to claim her and make her admit she was mine was calling to the most primal parts of me. I got on my knees and buried my face in her pussy just to bring that need out of her too, but she didn’t waver.

Mila held strong in her denial over what she was feeling, yet she didn’t realize the power I had given her. In her tiny palm, she holds the ability to wreck what I am.

My obsession with her has become the bane of my existence; it’s the misery of needing someone so fiercely it overwhelms all your senses. I’m lost in her apple and cinnamon scent, along with something uniquely hers, in the feel of her soft skin against mine through subtle contact. The emerald of her green eyes is my favorite color and the sound of her taunting laugh. And now I can add the taste of her plump lips to my list of favorites.

I’m well and truly fucked over this girl who says she doesn’t want me. I’ve never looked at a woman and wanted anything other than a thorough fuck and bail out. Commitment has never been in my life dictionary, but here I am.

I fell to my knees, worshiped the woman I crave so badly, and denied her my dick. A woman who can make a man like me look twice is the type of woman men go to war over.

And my first battle for Mila Williams stands in front of me like he’s got better shit to deal with.

“Hire a stylist?” I question my old friend, who’s dressed in pressed slacks and a button-down blue shirt.

Agent Deavers stands beside Bastian, flipping through some paperwork before glancing next to him and raising a questionable eyebrow.

“He’s right. What’s up?” Deavers asks him while dropping the files on the desk to his other side.

I already had an inkling of what this little show was about, but the way Bastian glances at me confirms my suspicions. The urge to go into detail about how perfectly bare

Mila’s pussy is and the exquisite taste she hides buried between her legs overwhelms me, but I suppress it.

“I’m taking my girl out tonight after work,” he says, an enormous smile stretched across his face.

A snort escapes me before I can swallow it, so I return the smile.

“What do you need, Brenner?”

Bastian and I didn’t speak yesterday, aside from what we needed to communicate during the raid. The savvy tech could not breach The Omen’s security cameras. Olin had known we were there, and he had his tech countering everything Bastian did, making it impossible for him to break in.

I called Bastian to come to the police station to go through our perp’s cellphone and gather any information he could on it.

“Personally, you can be pissed at me all you want. I couldn’t care less. Professionally, I’m still your boss, Collins. It’ll do you well to remember that.”

I let Bastian read between the lines of my words. His eyes go wide before he nods his head in understanding.

“His phone is in holding. Do what you can with it and let me know immediately if you find anything. And Deavers, get all the information they dug up on him and see if you find anything significant. His twenty-four-hour hold is running up. Be diligent, but fast.”

Both men nod and quickly get to work on what I tasked them with. Turning on my heel, I spot Oren walking through the door as if he is looking for something. When his gaze lands on me, and he strides over to me with purpose, I meet him halfway.

“Oren, all good?” I ask him.

“You’re the one who called us here, and it looks like I’m late to the party. What do you need from me?” He asks me.

“Help Deavers go through the paperwork to see if we can find anything to hold him here longer. This fucker might be the break I need to get The Omen.” Oren’s eyebrows pinch together, observing me before shaking his head. “What?”

He looks around the police station for anyone who might be tuned in on this conversation. Oren is about to come to me as a friend and tell me how unhealthy this obsession with The Omen is. Little does he know—I’ve found something new consuming my mind.

“You’ve spent years working on this case you’re trying to build, Liam,” he shrugs. “Not using your additional advantages and rushing this could leave the opportunity for mistakes.”

“I appreciate your concern, O. But you’re right, it has been years, so I want to get this shit over with and get my parents the justice they deserve. Have our perp tailed when he’s released.”

I push past Oren and stride over to the interrogation room this fucker is in, putting finality to this conversation.

I should probably learn the fucker’s name because I’m sure calling him “fucker” is frowned upon. Looking down at the file in my hand, I note they dubbed the piece of shit Ronald Orken at birth.

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