Page 172 of Pucking Obsessed

Heine drops in a heap to the ground. He’s ugly crying, clutching at his sore neck. One of his wings is broken and hangs at a sad angle.

He looks small.

Even like this, however, he’s not helpless. He’s scrutinizing me through his tears with a calculating look.

“Don’t move,” I command, “or I’ll tie you up.”

“I won’t move,” Heine rasps. “I’ll be good.”

It’s a lie.

An act.

I cock my head, studying Heine.

Everything about him is fake.

When I take a step closer, I can’t decide whether I like it or not that he flinches.

I turn around, scanning the room. Then I suck in a harsh breath.

D’Angelo is awkwardly pushing himself to the edge of a large, black bed with a metal headboard and contraption underneath it that looks like a cage. He’s moving with the same carefulness that I recognize.

He’s in agony and trying to hide it.

He’s pale.

Probably, shock.

I stride to him, tipping up his head.

D’Angelo’s eyes are surprisingly clear. “With me now, Eden?”

Perhaps, I’m the one in shock.

My brow furrows.

How is D’Angelo also able to pull me back from my darkness? Has he truly become another brother to me?

I nod. “He was hurting you.”

“He was.” D’Angelo pulls his chin gently out of my grip. He studies my wrist with concern. “He’s hurt you as well. Your sleeve is stained with blood.”

I shrug.

Is he worried that the suit he gave me is damaged?

“I’ll have it dry cleaned,” I reassure him. “If they can’t get the blood out, then you can take the cost of a new shirt out of my next pay check.”

Why is D’Angelo looking at me like that?

“I won’t. I’ll buy you ten new suits. Twenty.You’re more precious than anything I could ever buy.”

I don’t understand what he means.

D’Angelo’s gaze lights on the short whip that’s lying next to him. His breathing picks up, and he winces.

My shoulders stiffen. “He’s never going to touch you again.”

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