Page 13 of Cruel Devil

She swallows. “Jane.”

I cock my head. She tosses hers.

“Fine,” she mutters. “Doe. Jane Doe.”

My eyes roll as I stand to crack my neck. I don’t have the fucking patience for this, not while I’m holding a fucking flogger.

I walk around the chair and shove the thing against Vito’s chest.

“Why the fuck is it so sticky?” I mutter, immediately showing him my palm so he doesn’t feel compelled to answer my rhetorical.

Then I remember her pocket knife I stashed in my pocket at Doc’s house. I take it out, flick it open. It’s small, but sharp.

I’m pretty sure I can draw blood with it. If I press really hard.

Vito’s phone starts ringing.

“What?” he asks, sounding as irritated as I feel. “Are you kidding? Because I’m telling you now, Savage won’t think that’s funny.”

I come to stand in front of Jane, making sure she can see the knife in my hand, but my eyes are on Vito. He looks at me, and somehow I already know.

He mouths, “Nyx,” and hands me his phone. I swap it with the pocket knife, ignoring the fact that he looks at it much like I did his flogger.

He says to Jane, “This isn’t really my thing,” as I’m headed out the door.

“What?” I growl into the phone.

“She went to the bathroom,” comes Matt’s voice. “Vito told us to call if?—”

I pause only long enough for an annoyed, “Fuck!” and then I’m charging toward the SUV.

“Hey!” Vito calls, hurrying to the cottage’s front door. “You just gonna leave me here with her?”

“You’ll be fine.” I slam the Expedition’s driver side door closed behind me. I press the starter, shaking my head when Vito comes out of the cottage.

“Savage!”

I lower the window and lean out. “If she talks, call me. If she doesn’t, get creative.”

Chapter 6

Nyx

With Savage’s rigid body pressed against mine, every ridge and muscle molding against my back, my ass, my thighs, I’m flooded with confused signals. Panic, lust, even a little bit of fear.

“That another gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

“Jesus, Nyx, what the fuck were you thinking?” Savage rips the suppressor out of my mouth, clipping my teeth so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if he chips one of them. He grinds the barrel into the soft skin under my jaw, forcing my head up so I’ll scowl up at him as he glares down at me.

Oh, he’s angry? How dare he fucking intercept me like this? And how dare he look so rakishly handsome while doing it? God, I want to run my teeth down his throat, over that mess of ink on his skin. Maybe even draw some blood.

His eyes darken to black pits as he curls his finger around the trigger. My heart lurches, but it’s impossible to know whether in love or terror.

“You do realize at this angle, you pull the trigger and both our brains will be painting the wall?” I say. But carefully, because I feel the muzzle move with every word.

His gaze drops to my mouth, then to where his gun is trying to burrow itself inside my skull. He slowly leans his head back. “Better, Angel?”

Fuck. None of my usual antics are working. He must be furious at me. I flutter my eyelashes, lick my lips. He glances at my mouth again, and then gives me the kind of smile that makes my insides clench up.

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