Page 43 of Wild Angel

And then she bursts into a hiccupping fit of giggles.

“Oh my God, fuck.” I clamp a hand over my heart. “Don’t youever—”

But he does. Right away.

Princess giggles and burps, that sound so fucking cute Ialmostwant to forgive Savage for giving me a goddamn heart attack.

He brings her down, cradling her against his chest and staring at her with the same intent gaze he runs over everything.

“I’ll speak to her nurse. They shouldn’t have left her alone,” he says. Then he looks up at me. “I have an errand to run tonight. You’re coming with me.”

I open my mouth, not quite to protest going out—fuck knowsIcould use the fresh air—but because of how he just assumes I’ll be his arm candy for the night.

“An errand?” I put my hands on my hips. “Like what? A decapitation? Running drugs? Or are we—”

“Why do you always assume I’m off to fucking kill someone?” he growls. “If I did that every fucking night I wouldn’t—”

But I don’t know what he wouldn’t, because Savage never finishes his sentence.

Princess interrupts him by regurgitating a big splotch of banana right onto the front of his white shirt. Savage stares down at the mess with an unreadable expression, and then slowly looks up at me again.

“That is disgusting,” he says.

“You know what?” I can’t hold back my smile. “I’dloveto go out with you tonight. It’s a date.” I point at Princess. “But you’ll have to find us a sitter first.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Savage

Fucking babies.God. I swear I can still smell banana on me, and I’ve showeredandchanged my shirt. I hardly ever wear cologne, but if there was ever a time that called for it, it’s now.

“What’s the problem here?” I ask, taking out my phone to check the time.

“Theproblem, Savage, is that I want to know what the fuck this is.” Nyx sweeps her arms around the walk-in closet like she’s trying to dispel bad spirits. She spins around, arms on her waist, and scowls at me. “When was the last time you got an STD panel done?”

My eyebrows shoot up to my fucking hairline. “The fuck did you say?”

“These are obviously for your bimbos,” she says, flicking her hand at the rows of glitzy dresses and stiletto heels. “And judging from the sizes, you’ve either slept with tons of girls with dress sizes from zero to ten, or your last girlfriend was an actress who took method acting a little too far.”

At first, I have no idea what the fuck she’s talking about. Then it dawns on me when she opens the top drawer of a dresser and pulls out a pair of lacy pink panties.

“This is the first time I’ve ever brought a girl here,” I tell her. “This?” I sweep out an arm. “This is Vito’s thing, not mine.”

Multiple girlfriends? Please. All I ever have time for is a quick fuck, and the girls I choose have all been screened.

Christ whenwasthe last time I fucked a cartel whore? I can’t even remember.

“Vito?” She laughs. “I didn’t peg him for the cross-dressing Tuesdays kind of gal.”

“I meant, he bringshisgirls here. They love it.” I clear my throat. “Apparently. I’ve only met one of them.”

Nyx sneers at me, but I don’t give her a chance to carry on this pointless conversation. “Just fucking pick one so we can go.” I shake my head as I drag my eyes over her rumpled joggers and her stained shirt. “It’s not like you give a fuck.”

Her eyes narrow into slits. She looks pissed, but I have no idea why. Does she honestly believe I go around fucking everything that moves?

“You’re right,” she says, nodding. “Idon’tcare what I wear. And neither do you, right?”

“Have I ever? You have five minutes, or I’m leaving without you.”

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