Page 92 of Cruel Devil

“This okay?” he asks, his fingers flinching before relaxing over my hip.

“Yeah.” I nuzzle into my pillow, expecting my eyes to stay wide open and staring in the dark…but the rhythmic contrast of warm air when Vito exhales, cool air when he inhales, rocks me to sleep.

I let out a long sigh, and force my body to relax.

I’m always trying to control every aspect of my life, hoping that it will somehow determine the outcome. That I can keep myself safe.

Yet here I am. Side-by-side with the type of man I swore I’d never go near again.

Something wakes me, but I’m not sure if it was Vito’s hand tensing against my hip, or the sound of the door opening. Bright light stabs into my eyes, triggering a splitting headache.

Vito’s fingers dig into my skin, and I inhale a sharp breath through my nose as I try to sort out all the sensations and information hitting my mind at once. My mouth is dry, my stomach queasy, and it tastes like I’m exhaling tequila fumes.

I can’t believe I actually fell asleep.

From the way my head feels, however much I got, it wasn’t enough.

“Should have known I’d find you with a whore in your bed,” a man says, smooth, callous.

I quickly push onto one elbow, shading my eyes with a hand as I squint blindly toward the doorway. Every hair on my body stands on end before I even catch sight of the man. He sounds much older than Vito, but with a strong Colombian accent.

The way Vito’s fingers flinch, like a protective reflex, makes me suddenly feel very, very exposed and oh-so fucking vulnerable. Like when you lift a rock and see an earthworm burrowing frantically into the safety of the soil.

I’m that earthworm. But there’s nowhere for me to escape.

“What time is it?” Vito croaks, sounding hungover and groggy as he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand.

“Time to get out of bed.” The man steps closer, and my eyes finally adjust to the glaring overhead light he turned on.

My mouth goes dry.

The man staring at me with a faint half-smile on his wide mouth bears a strong resemblance to Bryan.

This must be Sergio Domingo. Who else would barge into Vito’s room?

Which makes Vito his son.

Sergio gives me a lingering once-over that switches my body and mind into full PTSD lockdown mode. I can’t even scrape the sheets up against my chest, or cower away, or think about slipping out of the room.

I just stare at Vito’s father, my lips parted, my eyes glazed over, as I wait for the horror that will inevitably come next. I can recognize the cruel twitch of sadism on someone’s mouth as they entertain whatever sick thoughts are scrolling through their minds.

That is a skill you can never unlearn.

Your survival depends on it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Vito says, calm as a fucking Buddhist monk. “Could have given us a heads up. Then I’d have been ready and waiting.”

Sergio clasps his hands behind his back. At a glance, in his perfectly pressed black suit, crisp button-down shirt, and gleaming dress shoes, he’s the epitome of a wealthy gentleman.

But I know what I’m looking at. One look in his soulless black eyes, and any woman would know he’s neither gentle, nor a man.

Monsters don’t always hide in the shadows.

Finally, fucking finally, my paralysis breaks. “I should go,” I whisper, scrambling to the side of the bed.

I hear Vito lighting a cigarette, and he drawls out an easy, “Yeah, sure, babe. Why don’t you go wait downstairs? I’ll get one of the guys to take you back to the club.”

His words almost put a crick in my neck as I spin to face him. “What?”

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