Page 57 of Savage Don's Captive

The loaded silence from the closet is telling. I can hear her swallow from here.

“What about her?” Soft and wary now.

“I had my guy pull her file. The crash report, scene photos, witness accounts. Everything.”

More suffocating quiet, but I press on.

“I really think you oughta take a look. Get the facts for yourself, babe. See it with clear eyes for once.”

Something thumps in there, but she’s quick to cover with irritated rustling. “I’m not interested in rehashing ancient bullshit today, but thanks.”

Rehashing bullshit, she says. Like I’m not trying to do her a favor here. Like I’ve ever jerked her around or lied about important shit. I may omit details now and then, for her own good. But outright lie to her face… Not my style.

I sigh heavily. “Alessa, I’m not asking. We’re doing this, with or without your blessing. But I figured you’d wanna know the truth about what went down that night.”

The clicking of her heels announces her return before I glance up and—mingya, I nearly bite my own tongue.

She’s a fucking vision in white lace, the kind of dress that’s demure and sinful. It gloves every dangerous curve, hugging tight from collarbones to calves, and oh, what delicious curves they are. Just begging for my big hands to hold, to pet, to leave marks. The neckline ain’t exactly leaving much to the imagination, lifting those perfect tits like they’re begging to be touched. And those legs—don’t even get me started—she’s wearing fuck-me pumps like she’s ready to be bent over and fucked from behind.

Makes me want to drag her to the nearest flat surface and make her forget how to walk in those heels—ready to worship thatficaon an altar until she’s hoarse from screaming my name.Cristo… I’ll commit all kinds of sins on every inch of that creamy heaven she’s flaunting. And she fucking knows it too.La mia testa rossaknows my tongue’s damn near dragging the ground, watching her fiddle with some earrings, acting oblivious. But I see that sly little quirk at the corner of her mouth.

Minx.

She’s lucky I don’t trust myself to speak proper without busting out something crude enough to make the devil blush right about now. Some shit on par with “sit on my face and let me die happy”

Yeah, not my finest pillow talk, but I’m operating on half a brain here. The blood’s rushing decidedly south of my belt buckle, sue me.

Finally, after letting me stew long enough, she puts a hand on her hip and gives me a flat look. “Well? Go on then. Hit me with these so-called facts of yours. But I reserve the right to call bullshit.”

My teeth grind together. “I don’t peddle bullshit, Alessa. Not about this.”

She waves a hand. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

Right. Enough dancing around it. She needs to hear this. Whether she wants to or not.

I stand up slowly, holding her gaze hostage. I can see the moment it dawns on her that playtime’s over.

Good. Because I’m done pussyfooting.

“What if...” I take a step toward her, keeping my voice real calm, soothing-like. “What if it was your dad?” There it is. I watch it sink hooks into that smart brain of hers, watch her eyes go wide and face pale. Watch the horrible truth blossom like nightshade, poisoning the fantasy of her saintly father.

“No, that’s... You’re wrong, he loved my mother, he wouldn’t —”

I’m on her before she can finish shaking her head in frantic denial, cupping her cheek, thumbing away the single tear that slips free.

“Use your head, baby,” I murmur, tipping her chin up until our eyes lock. Letting her see the conviction in mine. “He’s the only one with means and motive. At least that the cops knew about. It’s all there in black and white for anybody with half a brain to see.”

I can tell she wants to jerk away, shove me, scream in my face that I’m a liar. But I hold firm, caging her in with my body. Forcing her to be still and listen.

“I know it ain’t what you wanna hear. Don’t take my word though.” I trail my fingers along her jaw, her throat, feeling the frantic thrum of her pulse. “Read his file. See the ugly truth for yourself.”

I step back and her knees almost buckle. But she’s strong, my girl. Too strong to fall apart so easy.

“Then we’ll talk,” I promise softly. I turn before I do something stupid, like yank her into my arms and kiss her tears away. Comfort her like I want to.

But she needs to do this bit alone, I know. Let the poison work its way through her system in peace. Let the pieces fall into place in that too-clever brain.

So, I leave her slack-jawed and trembling, and head for the door.

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