Page 36 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a tone almost intimate. "It’s a promise."

My breath catches, but I force myself to focus on the board, on the game. Still, my hands feel unsteady as I move another piece, and Damien watches me with a knowing smirk.

"You’re getting better, Pet. But you’re still an easy read."

I narrow my eyes. "Maybe I’m just lulling you into a false sense of security."

He pinches my chin between his fingertips, and I lean across the chessboard to be closer to him. His eyes darken to a storm as he whispers a breath away from my lips. "Is that so?"

Before I can answer, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, glances at the screen, and his jaw tightens.

"I have to take this," he mutters, standing abruptly. The playful air around us shifts as he steps away, his voice dropping as he answers.

_________________

Damien

I keep my gaze on hers. “Cast,” I bite out. “This better be good.”

“I’m switching you out with Vincent,” he says, and I can already feel the headache forming.

“The hell you are,” I snap.

“It’s not up for debate,” Cast counters smoothly. “I think I know who threatened Willow.”

That stops me cold. My eyes flick back to her—she’s watching me, her brows drawn together in concern, lips still swollen from my kiss. The sight of her like this—so soft, so unaware of the storm brewing just outside our safe house—makes a dark and possessive passion coil in my chest.

“Give me the address,” I say, my voice low, lethal.

There’s a beat of silence before Cast sighs. “Knew you’d say that.” Then he rattles it off.

I hang up without another word.

Willow watches me carefully. “Damien?”

I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering. “I need to handle a problem.”

She frowns, searching my face. “Is it about me?”

I force a sardonic grin, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “It’s always about you, Trouble.”

15

CAST

I tapmy finger against the skull of the Italian man who just ruined all of our fun by falling asleep mid-torture session. I mean, how pathetic do you have to be to not be able to handle a couple of stab wounds and some light electrocution? I’ve had worse nights just for fun.

"Wakey, wakey," I mock, tilting my head as I slide my index finger beneath his nose. A faint, shallow breath warms my skin. "Come on, Enzo. Don’t tell me you’re dead already."

His head lolls slightly, but he's still out cold, a twitch running along his jaw. I sigh, feigning disappointment. Then I rear my hand back and crack my knuckles against his skull with enough force to send a sharp, reverberatingcrackthrough the room.

The reaction is immediate. He gasps like a drowning man breaking through the surface of the water, his chest heaving, body seizing as a cough rips from his core. His body undulates against the chair, pain pulling him violently back to consciousness.

"Good morning, sunshine," I coo, crouching in front of him, watching the slow return of awareness in his bloodshot eyes. "How was your nap?"

His lip curls, and even before he speaks, I know something shitty is about to come out of his mouth.

"Sei un fottuto topo brutto,"he snorts, his head reeling back before he spits a glob of blood and saliva onto my shoe.

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