Page 98 of The Devil's Wrath

Her words filled me with a warmth I hadn’t felt in years, chasing away the chill of old memories. I brought her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I never expected fate to bring us back together.”

She smiled, forming a soft, wistful expression that made my heart ache. “Maybe it was more than just fate,” she murmured. “Maybe it was something deeper, something that tied our souls together that night.”

I considered her words, feeling their truth resonate within me. She was right. The moment I’d touched her, an inexplicable pull—a connection that defied reason or explanation, had tethered me to her.

“Now that I have you”—I intertwined our fingers—“I’m never letting you go.”

She laughed, a musical sound that filled the room with warmth. “You’d better not. I’ve grown quite fond of having you around.”

I grinned, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Well, that’s a relief. I was starting to worry that you only kept me around for my dashing good looks and charming personality.”

She rolled her eyes, swatting at my chest playfully. “Don’t flatter yourself, Devil. I keep you around for your cooking skills and your uncanny ability to attract trouble.”

I feigned a hurt expression, placing a hand over my heart. “You wound me. And here I thought you appreciated my many other talents.”

Her expression softened. “I do appreciate your other talents,” she said, her voice growing serious. “But more than that, I appreciate you. The real you beneath the charm and bravado. The man who risked everything to save a girl he didn’t even know.”

Her words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. I swallowed hard, fighting back the sudden sting of tears. “I couldn’t save your parents,” I whispered, the old guilt rising up to choke me. “I was too late.”

She shook her head, her own eyes glistening. “You saved me. And my brother. That’s what matters.”

“Little bird,” I whispered, my voice rough. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She smiled. “I think I have some idea.”

I shook my head, marveling at the depth of her understanding. She saw me, truly saw me in a way no one else ever had. It was both thrilling and terrifying to be so utterly known.

I leaned in, resting my forehead against hers. “I love you,” I breathed, the words spilling out like a prayer. “I love you so damn much, it scares me sometimes.”

Her breath hitched, and I felt her tremble against me. “I love you. More than I ever thought possible.”

I closed my eyes, letting her words wash over me, soothing the jagged edges of my soul. For so long, I had been driven by a thirst for vengeance, fueled by a burning wrath to make those who had wronged her family—who had wronged us—pay. But now, holdingher in my arms, I realized that desire for vengeance paled in comparison to the love and connection we shared.

Revenge may have brought us together, but our bond, forged in the fires of shared pain and understanding, would keep us together. She was my redemption, my reason for living, and I would do anything to keep her safe. Even if it meant I would meet death face-to-face and ask him what took him so long.

THIRTY-THREE

THEO

Wrenly pretended she was fine, but I saw her wincing in pain when she thought I wasn’t looking. Her stomach had healed nicely over the past few weeks, only a small scar left as a reminder of the bullet that had almost taken her away from me.

I spent my days watching over her and ensuring she had everything she needed. She’d had to take time off work to heal, and a feeling of guilt haunted me. It was my fault she had been shot, my fault she had been dragged into this mess.

But she never blamed me. She just smiled that beautiful smile of hers and told me she would do it all over again if it meant keeping me safe. Her loyalty and devotion never ceased to amaze me.

As the days turned into weeks, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something big was coming. Charles McKinley, Connor’s father, released a press statement about his son’s disappearance. He knew Connor was never coming home, but for obvious reasons, he would never be able to tell the public that The Brotherhood had killed his son. To do so would have meant admitting his ties to The Collectors and the Russian Spetsnaz that had infiltrated our home and murdered innocent people. And he cared more about his public reputation than the death of his legacy.

The same could have been said for Abel Benson, the leader of TheCollectors. That corrupt motherfucker was another story entirely. He had lost more than just a son. He had lost his future. Haven lighting his only son on fire had dealt a crushing blow to his empire and The Collectors. I knew he was seething with rage. But he was a clever man, and he knew better than to show his hand too soon. He was biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike.

They may have been lying low for now, but we all knew they wouldn’t let the deaths of their sons go unanswered. They were powerful men with endless resources and a thirst for revenge that needed to be quenched.

Wrenly sat on the edge of the bed as she watched me pace the length of the room. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep that up,” she said softly, patting a spot beside her.

I sighed and went to her. “I can’t help it. I feel like we’re sitting ducks just waiting for them to strike.”

She took my hand, her touch soothing my frayed nerves. “We are fine. Nothing is going to happen without you knowing. If there’s a plan, you’ll find it before they can act.”

I sighed. “You’re right.”

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