Page 24 of Cruel Devil

“Take it. You’re gonna need it.” He takes a long swallow from his, gently shouldering me aside so he can go back into the living room.

Savage takes the bottle my friend offers him and wanders down the hall to check out the rest of the apartment.

“Sit.” The battered recliner Liam collapses onto groans under his weight, but holds him.

He gives me a slow scan, his blue eyes narrowing when he’s done.

“The fuck are you wearing?” His Irish lilt is stronger today. “Fuck” becomes “fook”.

Uneasiness coils in my stomach as I slowly walk over and perch on the edge of the sofa where Liam pointed. I smooth my hands down the long, flowing white dress I’m wearing. Liam’s gaze follows, fixes briefly on my ring, then slides down the passage where Savage disappeared.

My friend lets out a harsh bark of a laugh, a deep groove between his ginger brows as he glares at me.

“Jesus, you fooking married ‘im?” he whispers fiercely, incredulity wiping out all the creases on his face.

“If you had objections, you missed your chance.” Savage appears out of nowhere like a fucking jump scare. “You’ll have to forever hold your peace.”

Liam keeps his chin down, eyes tracking Savage as my husband takes a seat next to me.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I mutter. “We’re just friends, Papi. You’ve got nothing to be worried about.”

But they’re still staring at each other like strange dogs.

I’ve seen my friend pensive before. Him and his dad haven’t always seen eye to eye. He’s arrived at the boxing club with a shiner and a busted lip…more than once.

This feels different.

He’s not sulking after having it out with his dad. He’s too grim for that, like he’s facing murder charges.

I don’t know if Savage saw my concerned expression from the corner of his eye, but he slides a hand over my thigh and squeezes. Hard. I stare straight ahead, refusing to look at him. I don’t need his fucking pity right now. He wouldn’t even be here if he hadn’t bullied me into agreeing he could come.

What if it’s a trap, Angel? I can’t protect you if you don’t let me, Angel.

Like I’m some fucking wimp that needs his protection. The only reason I agreed to marry him was because it was supposed to keep my sisters safe. Fat lot of good that did them.

Liam’s jaw tics. “I shouldn’t be talking to you. If Dad finds out…”

“Just tell me where the fuck Donny is,” I snap.

“Did you ever wonder why I was at The Foundry that night?”

“The Foundry?” Savage asks.

“It’s a club,” I murmur, half to myself.

A club where—if it hadn’t been for Liam—I’d have been statutory-raped by a guy named Sully.

I pre-gamed with a pint of the cheapest whisky the corner-shop sold that night, so I was already tipsy when I arrived. And pretty much hammered by the time I began dancing, unabashedly trying to charm some coke off a guy on the dance floor. I felt eyes on me and looked up to see a VIP watching me from the balcony.

I knew there was a chance he was with the mob, because back then the Irish mafia didn’t make a secret out of which clubs they owned. But I was too young, too drunk, and too traumatized by Mom’s death to give a fuck.

Mr. VIP liked what he saw. A few songs in, he crooked a finger at me.

And I went upstairs like a meek little mutt.

He had thick, dark hair. Gorgeous brown eyes.

He was tall.

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