Page 47 of Savage Hero

“Then where is she?”

“She’s either shitting in her diaper, taking a nap, or sucking on a nipple.”

“Whose nipple?”

“Does it fucking matter?” I growl.

Wet hair hangs in her face, but I push it away so I can look at her.

She doesn’t believe me.

I can’t have that.

“Her name’s Matilda. Lovely lady, forty-eight. A bit too old to be trying for a kid. Although her husband keeps trying to impregnate her.”

Nyx frowns. “Who the fuck—”

I put my finger on her lips. “Problem is, her husband likes kicking her as much as he does fucking her.”

Her frown deepens, her eyes darkening along with the story.

“She was released from the hospital a week ago, after a miscarriage.”

Nyx flinches.

“She’d almost carried to full term. So now she’s sitting with all that breast milk her body thinks her dead baby needs…and I have a baby that needs feeding.”

The frown dissolves. Nyx studies me for a long moment as hot water rains down around us, her eyes still angry, her mouth still pursed.

“You don’t know anything about me, Nyx. That shit on the internet is blown out of proportion.” When I hear what I’m saying I desperately attempt to reel myself in, but her angry eyes have opened the floodgates. “I won’t waste my breath claiming I’m a good man, but I’m not the monster you see in the news either.”

“There’s no gray area. If you’re not good, then you’re bad.”

“Unless it’s self-defense, killing someone is still a crime.”

Nyx drops her eyes. “If I’m going to hell, then I’m taking as many sick fucks with me as I can.”

I wrench up her chin, forcing her to look into my eyes. “Then at least I’ll have someone to keep me company.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Nyx

Savage dips his head like he’s going to kiss me, but our lips never touch. His chest lifts and falls as if he’s still out of breath when he reaches past me and adjust the faucet. The water turns off, and then back on. Cold water slams into my back, tugging a shocked gasp from me. I surge forward into Savage, and he takes it as some kind of invitation.

I struggle when he grabs my sports bra and wrenches it up. But he’s stronger than me, and easily tugs the fabric over my head. Instead of yanking it off, he twists it around my wrists and uses that grip to push me into the wet wall.

“You’re hurting me,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice as neutral as possible. I already know he gets off on pain—I don’t want to trigger him.

“You stabbed me with a fucking fork.” He points at the line of angry red marks on his muscular thigh. They’re barely noticeable, of course, but men are absolute pussies when it comes to pain.

“You kidnapped me.”

“You tried to assassinate my father.”

“Oh my God, this again?” I groan, throwing back my head and rolling my eyes for added emphasis.

“Don’t you fucking roll your eyes at me.” Savage grabs a fistful of my hair, forcing my eyes to lock with his. “You got yourself into this mess.”

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