Page 9 of Cruel Devil

It must be Savage on the other end of the line. Nothing else can explain the way their eyes throw daggers at me once the call is over.

Seriously? Is it a crime to have lunch with a friend?

Thankfully, Matty starts arguing with Sam, breaking their death stare in my direction.

“Fucking idiots,” I mutter sourly, more to myself than to Viv,

Viv reaches over and pats my hand. “They’re just keeping us safe, doll.”

Doll isn’t much better than Nicky, but I’ll take it. I give her a forced smile. “I have to go powder my nose. They’ll probably want to come into the stall with me.”

Viv’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree someone just set on fire. “Ooh, I’ll have some of that.”

It says a lot about my current state of mind that I stare at her for a few seconds before deciphering her sudden interest in my bowel movements. “Oh, no, this doesn't involve hard drugs."

She blinks at me, her smile fading a little, but still exuding eagerness.

"I have to go drop the kids off at the pool, if you know what I mean.” I almost tap the side of my nose, but that might just confuse the situation.

She deflates. “Oh.” Then grimaces. “Oh.”

I stand, forcing myself not to look at Savage’s goons. I twirl my finger above our the empty platter and our tiny, just as empty, sake cups. “How about you order us another round?”

Viv nods, twisting in her seat to find our waiter.

Matty and Sammy stare at me as I head for the restaurant building, but I throw them the finger. “Bathroom break, boys.”

Sam starts forward, but Matty grabs his arm, stopping him. I watch them from the corner of my eye as they have a brief, heated argument with their eyes, before Sammy pointedly stares ahead at nothing, mouth set in a sulky line.

Huh. For once, things are going my way.

Or maybe this is the calm before the storm. Well, the category nine hurricane, in my case. That thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, but I ignore it as I storm into the woman’s bathroom and immediately throw back the door on the first stall.

Damn it.

The second stall is no winner either.

The third stall is closed, and I’m grinding my teeth as I wait for the woman to finish up whatever the hell she’s doing in there. After five seconds of fuming, I rap on the door.

“Hey, hurry up in there!”

“Wh-what?”

“Hurry the fuck up. There’s an emergency out here.” I glance at the two open stalls and quickly—but quietly—pull them closed.

“I’m busy!”

I tap my foot. I chew my lip. I keep glancing at the door, expecting one of the goons to come barging in demanding to know why I'm not back at the table yet. I don't know how long I wait. It feels like hours, but couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes.

I'm waiting for so long, I even start checking myself out in the full-length mirror against one wall. I look like a 90s emo punk rock chick in this outfit, with my black underwear shining through the fabric, the outline of my sports bra much thicker than the feminine straps on my shoulders. The grimy sneakers. I could have done something with my dirty-blond hair. I used to braid it a lot because of how quickly it became messy and tangled. It hangs around my face in wavy chunks.

Savage gave me a double-take when he saw me in this dress. Or maybe that's because I was so pissed at having been stuffed into it against my will.

I twist the ring on my finger.

My mind goes back to the pink ring box I saw in Savage's walk-in closet. It was empty when I opened it, but that doesn't mean there wasn't a ring in there before.

Am I the first person marrying this monster?

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