Page 82 of Wild Angel

Nyx

Igo back to Savage’s room to change my clothes. If he thinks I’m going to mope around in my pathetic excuse for a wedding dress while he goesto workthen he’s sorely fucking mistaken.

His goons follow me all the way to his room, but when they try and go inside I spin around and press my hands to either side of the door jam, barring them.

“Unless Caesar expressly told you to watch me get naked, I suggest you stay the fuck outside.”

They look angry, but they don’t try and push past me. I guess they’re pissed because they’ve been told to babysit when they could have been out doing fun stuff with Savage.

You and me both, fellas.

I mean, why the fuck couldn’t I have gone along? If I’m supposed to be sosafenow, then why is Savage still forcing me to stay at the villa?

It’s childish, I know, but I’m brimming with some weird kind of excitement, or anxiety, or maybe a little of both. I want to go on an adventure, but instead I’m being locked in my room like some fucking fairy tale princess.

Fuck. Now I just want to punch something. I briefly consider picking a fight with Matias, but Savage might be upset if I beat up one of his goons.

I quickly change into a pair of sweats, throw on one of Savage’s tanks that hangs off me like a fucking tablecloth, and slip into a pair of sneakers.

I pause, glance back, see Savage’s jacket.

Why the fuck I take it, I don’t know. I try to convince myself that it’s got nothing to do with the fact that it smells like him…but I’ve never been good at lying to myself.

Sam and Matias give me a double take when I step out of the room with my new outfit, but they don’t say anything.

“This place has a gym, right?”

Sam closes his eyes and lets out a groan. Matias looks up at the ceiling like he’s praying.

“Well, come on boys. I need one of you to spot me.”

We start walking, but a minute later Matias says, “This isn’t the way to the gym.”

“Why, gee, Bongo, guess you’ll have to point me in the right direction then.”

Matias makes an angry sound as he storms ahead of Sam and me. I turn to his friend, give him a sharklike grin.

Sam glances at me and then stares straight ahead with wide eyes.

“He always like this, or is it just when he’s on the rag?”

Sam says nothing.

“So, how much can you bench, bigshot?”

His face sets like concrete.

“Glad you could come to the wedding,” I natter on. “Hope you got us a gift. We asked for cash.”

* * *

The dumbbell clanks backinto its slot, and I sit up in a rush, massaging my biceps with either hand. “Alright, take five.”

Sam steps away from the bench with a sigh.

“You rolling your eyes at me, Sam?”

He turns his back to me, shakes his head.

---