Page 8 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

She finally turns to me, her hazel eyes sharp enough to cut glass. “Oh, I don’t know, Cast. Probably as long as I haveyour cumbetween my thighs.”

My blood runs hot, and my cock stirs at the thought of wiping that defiance off her face, of reminding her exactly who she’s dealing with.

“Willow,” I say, my voice low, laced with warning. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t even flinch, still staring out the window like I’m not worth her attention.

“Willow,” I repeat, sharper this time. “Look at me.”

She ignores me again, her fingers tapping impatiently against her armrest.

“Get over here,” I command, my tone leaving no room for argument.

She whips her head around, eyes blazing. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” I say, leaning back in my seat, spreading my legs wider as I pat my thigh. “Come here. Now.”

Her jaw tightens, and for a second, I think she might actually tell me to go to hell. But then she shifts, slowly uncrossing her arms and standing, her movements deliberate and full of attitude. She’s challenging me, testing how far I’ll go, and fuck, if it doesn’t make my dick harder.

She steps closer, stopping just in front of me, her hands on her hips. “Happy now?” she snaps.

I grin up at her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her down onto my lap before she can protest. She gasps, her hands landing on my chest as I grip her hips, keeping her firmly in place.

“Over the fucking moon, Cariña.” I whisper into the curve of her neck and just like when we were teens she melts into me with a smile.

Her body softens, her anger momentarily slipping away as she relaxes against me. That little smile tugs at her lips, the one I used to live for, and for a moment, it’s like no time has passed. Like we’re still those reckless kids who thought the world couldn’t touch us.

“What exactly happened to my father, Cast?” she whispers, her voice trembling. The warmth in her transitions into somethingcolder, and sharper. She sits up, her hazel eyes locking onto mine, and I see the fear creeping in. “Tell me.”

I exhale, my hands tightening on her hips to ground us both. “Damien was visiting him every Sunday. The Italians saw and took him out as a warning.”

Her breath catches, her body going eerily still. "Damien visited my father?"

“Yes,” I say too sharply, and she flinches. Cursing myself, I soften my tone, brushing my thumb along her side. “Willow. When you ran, we didn’t have any leads. Your father was the only connection we had to you.”

Her lips tighten, and I can practically see the storm brewing behind her hazel eyes. She sucks her teeth, the sound sharp, dismissive. “Karma,” she mutters under her breath.

“What?”

Her eyes snap to mine, and there’s no mistaking the icy edge in her tone. “I killed Rosemary, and now because of you my father was killed.” She says it so flatly, so numbly, that it knocks the breath out of me.

“Willow—” I start, but she cuts me off, her voice rising.

“No, Cast. Don’t. Don’t tell me it’s not the same, because it is. You just don’t want to admit it.” She pushes at my chest, trying to free herself, but I hold her tighter, keeping her in my lap.

“Listen to me,” I growl, my voice low and firm. “This isn’t the same,Cariña.What happened to Rosemary happened so you could live. So you could survive.. And your father...” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “He got caught up in a war he wasn’t built for. It wasn’t personal.”

She lets out a bitter laugh, the sound grating. “Not personal? Cast, I took her heart. Her actual heart. Then look at what happens? I leave and suddenly you and the boys are playing chess with my family’s lives.”

My jaw tightens, the memory of that day flashing through my mind like a brand. Rosemary’s death wasn’t clean. It wasn’t easy. And it wasn’t Willow’s fault, no matter how much she tried to shoulder it. No matter how much Damien wants to believe that it’s her fault.

“You didn’t kill Rosemary,” I say, my voice dropping into a dangerous calm. “You did what you had to. If you hadn’t taken that heart, you wouldn’t be here. She would’ve died anyway, and you know it.”

Her eyes glisten, but she shakes her head, her lips trembling. “And my father? What’s your excuse for that? He didn’t deserve to die because of me.”

“No,” I admit. “He didn’t. But the Italians don’t care about fairness. They care about sending a message. And you, Cariña,would be one hell of a message.”

Her body stiffens, and I see the walls go up in her eyes. “So what? Am I a pawn in your little war now? That it?”

“You’re not a pawn,” I snap, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at me. “You’re the Queen. And if they think they can come for you, they’re about to find out how wrong they are. But I can’t protect you if you’re not with me.”

---