Page 54 of Cruel Devil

Andy and Vito are both outside the car when we come walking back. Andy steps forward and then hesitates, as if she wants to hug Nyx but decides against it. Maybe it’s the protective arm I’ve slung over my wife’s shoulders, or the way Nyx keeps her head down, as if she’s huddling out of the cold.

She’s shivering enough that it’s possible, but her body feels warm against mine where she’s pressed against my side.

“What happened?” Andy asks, glancing at me when Nyx remains silent the closer we get.

Maybe she noticed the faint streaks over Nyx’s arms and legs and face that look like dried blood hastily wiped off with a damp towel. Or the clusters of hard, blood-darkened hair dotted with what might be bits of bone.

Or the thousand-mile stare in her glassy blue eyes.

“Get in the car.”

Vito throws me a questioning look, but I just shake my head. He climbs in the back with Andy.

I usher Nyx to the driver’s side, opening her door and helping her inside. She doesn’t even try to stop me when I tug my leather jacket over her shoulders. The fact that she lets me do any of it sends a prickling uneasiness through my body.

Why the fuck is she so…docile?

I close the door, and there’s a moment’s stuffy silence inside the cab before I turn on the ignition.

“Fucknest?” Vito asks.

I glare at him in the rear view mirror, and Andy mutters, “Seriously?”

“What? It’s that or the villa.”

“The villa.”

I jerk at the sound of Nyx’s voice. It’s hoarse, like she’s been screaming. But her voice always ran on the husky side of things.

“Strap in.”

Everyone puts on their seat belt, except Nyx. I lean over and do it for her. As I’m straightening, I pause and stare at her up close.

“Tell me you’re fine,” I murmur. “Tell me I don’t have to go back in there and set the place on fire.”

“I’m fine.” Her eyelashes flutter as she blatantly forces herself to look at me. “No fires. I just…I need to think. And we—” Her eyes dart to the mirror as if to check whether Vito and Andy are paying attention. “We need to talk.”

I wouldn’t be surprised if I give everyone in the car whiplash when I throw the Expedition into reverse. But no one complains when I tear out of there like a demon running late for an appointment with Satan himself.

We stop at the circular gravel drive outside the front courtyard. The sprawling Mediterranean inspired building has been in the Domingo’s list of assets for over five decades. Like the cartel itself, it’s fallen into a state of disrepair. It’s never been as obvious as it is tonight, when I go to open the door for Nyx, and she doesn’t cuss me out for treating her like porcelain.

Vito must have messaged ahead, because there’s only one guard in the foyer, and the man hangs back when I burst in with Nyx at my side. Vito and Andy are still outside. I guess they’re as reluctant to be around me right now as the rest of the cartel men are.

Everyone was silent on the way over.

Nyx had ample opportunity to speak, but her entire body projected fuck off vibes so strong it was hard to breathe.

Shit’s gone down, and my wife decided to torture me by keeping her mouth shut.

I lead her to the stairs, but she angles for the elevator instead. It’s only one floor to my room, somewhere private where she can finally tell me what the fuck is going on, but I humor her, because there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to know.

Maybe there’s even a part of me that didn’t want her to walk out of that fucking club.

For her to just disappear.

No need for retribution, because I’d never know if someone had hurt her. No need to mourn, because I’d never know if she was dead or not. No need for any of these fucking feelings inside me, because far as I can remember, I swore to myself I’d never, ever, fucking feel like this again.

Not after Camila.

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