Page 23 of Twisted Fate

His free hand sinks into my hair.

I pull back, his thumb sliding free of my lips with a soft pop. I open my eyes to find him watching me, his expression hard with lust. My pulse races, my breath coming in shallow pants.

He leans closer, his lips a breath from mine—

A buzzing sound interrupts, and Damian pulls back from me. I exhale a shuddery breath as he reaches for his phone and puts it to his ear, his gaze still locked on mine.

“What?”

I can hear someone on the other end of the call, but can’t make out the words.

“Fine,” Damian says. “I’ll stop there first.”

With that, he stands and pulls me to my feet. He takes my hand and presses it to the hard ridge of his cock, straining against the front of his jeans. Then he presses his mouth to mine in a hard kiss, one that hints at both need and frustration.

“I’ll be back later to continue this conversation,” he promises.

Or maybe it’s more of a warning than a promise.

He grabs the leather jacket draped over the back of one of the chairs and slips the phone into the pocket, already headed for the door before I can even think of a reply.

9

Damian

I leave Vito and Joe to guard Alina while Luca and I head to Dante’s penthouse in downtown Vegas.

I’m fucking obsessed. I want to touch every inch of her soft skin, lick her, bite her, make her scream my name. If it was just that—a need to fuck her—I could understand it. But it isn’t just that. When she talked about the asshole who killed her parents, I wanted to find him and kill him slowly, bring her his severed head as a gift. I wanted to take her hurt and swallow it, make it my own so it never touches her again. And that makes no fucking sense.

“You want me to come up with you?” Luca asks.

It takes me a second to pull my thoughts from Alina and remember where the fuck I am. “Probably best I go up alone. Leo says Dante’s in rough shape. Wants me to slap some sense into him.”

Luca nods. “Maybe get him to eat something before you hit him? And careful of that pretty face.”

“Mine or his?”

Luca grins. “Definitely not yours.”

I take the elevator up and bang on the door, wait a few minutes before banging again. No one answers. I bang again and lean against the door to call, “I know you’re here, shithead. Open the fucking door.”

I hear a groan, then a thump. Finally, the door opens and the smell of stale booze hits me in a wave.

“You look like shit,” I say.

He does. My brother is both handsome and vain. He normally keeps his light brown hair perfectly cut and styled. He’s always clean-shaven. He’s always dressed smart-casual. He works out on the daily. And his place is usually as impeccable as his grooming.

The man in front of me is dishevelled, his shirt stained, his jaw sporting at least a week’s growth of beard. His green eyes are bloodshot, the skin beneath puffy and dark. And he’s holding a half-full glass of booze in his hand.

“It’s nine o’clock in the morning,” I say.

“Never too early to get a head start on the day,” Dante says, raises his glass in a toast, then takes a long swallow of his drink.

“When was the last time you ate? Showered? Drank something non-alcoholic?”

“Don’t know. Not sure. Don’t care,” Dante replies, his voice rough and raw.

I push past him and step inside. He closes the door behind me. The place stinks and is wreathed in gloom. The blinds that cover the floor to ceiling windows are closed. There are empty bottles on the coffee table and floor.

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