Page 33 of Unwrapping Deviance

Daniel squeezes her small fingers and brings them to his lips. “I promise to explain everything. Let’s just get breakfast and get back, okay?”

I can see the need to argue, to push for an explanation, but Mira huffs out a grumble and sits back.

“Were you raised in a cult?” she blurts.

Against my better judgement, I burst out laughing because she’s not far off. Jefferson is definitely part of a cult run by the four most powerful families — the original founding members. Each controlling a key sector.

Law enforcement.

Government.

Religion.

Banking.

Together, they protect Jefferson from the evils of the outside world by keeping an iron grip around the people.

“Maybe,” Daniel answers, chuckling. “Didn’t feel like it growing up. The rules seemed normal. Reasonable.”

“Anything is normal when you don’t know better and it’s fed to you every second of the day,” I cut in.

Mira turns her head back and our gazes lock. Her soft blue eyes are the clear blue of the Mediterranean. Perfect pools with just a faint ring of black.

Last night, when I had her against the wall, her thick, musky scent a siren’s song floating through my system, all I could think was how her eyes reminded me of the ocean right before dusk, when it’s a vast, dark void prepared to pull men to their deaths.

In the sharp glare of day, they are so open. So vulnerable. They make me want to gather her up and protect her from the cold world.

I would go to war for her,I think stupidly.I’d slay a fucking dragon for her.

“Are you okay?” she breaks into my ridiculous thoughts.

I don’t know this girl.

I have no reason to be this delusional over her.

But, God, she’s fucking with my head.

“Now, that you’re not throwing yourself between me and a gun?”

Daniel’s head whips in her direction with such speeds, I hear his neck crack. “You what?”

Mira winces. Her gaze flicks away from him to flash me a,you fucker, glower before returning.

All fucking big eyes and innocence.

Bullshit.

She can fool my brother with her sweet, baby girl face, but I’ve seen her fire. I’ve seen her passion. She’s the flame on a candle, vibrant and dangerous. She’ll give you comforting light or she’ll burn your fucking house to the ground.

She’s a little brat beneath all that pouty lip crap and I fucking love it.

“He didn’t have a gun. I grabbed his arm. He was going to hit Christian for no reason.”

“Parker had his gun,” I add to her torment. “He could have shot you when you lunged at Walton.”

“Mira!” Daniel snaps.

A muscle tightens in her delicate jawline and if looks could kill, Daniel would be planning my funeral because she levels me with all the promises of a slow death brimming behind her eyes.

---