Page 99 of Cruel Devil

Sam shrugs. “Maybe after yard time.”

I purse my lips as I storm past him. “Where is he?”

“Out back.”

“As in Australia?”

Sam frowns so hard, I could push a quarter between his brows and it would stay there.

“You know? Dingos and didgeridoos?”

“I mean out back, as in the backyard. He said to come fetch you.”

“What’s he doing in the yard?” It better be damn important for him to abandon me like this without so much as a single Cheerio for breakfast. Does he think I know how to work the coffee machine? Because you’d need an engineering degree just to switch it on.

“Playing with his dogs.”

Playing with his…?

My shoulders are hunched, my hands in creaking fists.

Why am I so angry? I should be fucking used to this by now. There’s only a handful of places inside this villa I haven’t been locked up in.

I get it. He can’t let me run loose, because I might kill someone. Can’t throw me out, because we’re fucking married.

Catch twenty-two, isn’t it?

I could make it a hell of a lot easier for him, though.

“Know any good divorce lawyers?” I grump at Sam over my shoulder. He’s keeping a respectable distance between us as he herds me toward the elevator.

“Don’t believe in divorce,” he says.

We step inside the elevator, and I lean my butt against the bronze mirror, turning to him with my head cocked and my arms crossed.

Sam looks up from his phone, giving me a double-take when he sees my expression. “Jesus, what?”

“You have no problem killing people, but divorce is where you draw the line?”

He has the audacity to roll his eyes at me.

Sam leads me through the villa’s sprawling garden, completely ignoring the cobblestone paths winding through the flower beds, and choosing the boring manicured lawn instead. I guess it’s a shorter path, but since I’m picking up a whole lot of nasty vibes from Sam, I’d have preferred a more leisurely tour through the garden.

We round a small copse of trees, and a shed comes into view in the distance. There’s a long stretch of rectangular lawn, goal posts on either side.

Up ahead, Savage leans back and throws a football. The pair of Rottweilers who’d been planted on their butts at his side tear after it. One of them leaps up and snatches the ball out of the air. When that dog turns to run back to Savage, it spots me and Sam, and detours.

It’s a frightening thing, having a five-hundred pound monster rushing you, especially when it’s foaming from the mouth.

My legs lock up, but as soon as Sam realizes I’ve stopped walking, he grabs my arm and drags me along after him.

Asshole.

I recognize Bella when she’s a few feet away.

And thank God she didn’t wake up and choose violence. Instead of mauling me, she drops the ball at my feet.

“You gonna throw it, or what?” Sam mutters, releasing my arm with a little shove to get me going.

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