Page 58 of His Angel

There, lurking in the shadows near the pool, I spot him. And what do you fucking know, it’s Wyatt—the fresh-faced punk I almost killed once before, drooling over her like a goddamn degenerate.

He’s crouched behind the bushes, a black smear against the shimmering water, his eyes locked on Everly as she swims, wearing a yellow bikini tiny enough to call it a suggestion—barely there, entirely mine, and a middle finger to modesty.

Her skin glistens like a vision, her body cutting through the water like a blade wrapped in silk. That yellow bikini clings tightly, hugging her curves like it’s begging me to rip it off with my teeth. Each stroke pulls her arms taut, muscles flexing under that wet sheen, moonlight bouncing off her skin in a dance that’s got my cock twitching. Her hips roll with every kick, ass breaking the surface just enough to taunt—round, firm, a goddamn tease swaying in rhythm with the waves.

I stay back, unnoticed, glancing at Everly to see water streaming down her back, tracing the dip of her spine like it’s jealous of my hands, and her tits—fuck—press against that thin fabric, nipples pebbling under the cold, screaming for my mouth.

She’s a siren in motion, all fluid heat and dangerous grace, every inch of her a live wire sparking my blood.

And this fuck, Wyatt, is staring at her like it’s open season.

I move silently, lethally, feet whispering over the grass, closing the distance with a wolf’s precision. My heart doesn’t just pound; it rages, a battering ram smashing my ribs and control fraying to threads.

By the time I’m a breath away, my hands are weapons, fists itching for bone, fingers curling for the knife at my hip.

It’s when he reaches inside his pants that I finally lose my shit.

With a shadow’s speed, I strike, one hand clamps over his mouth, fingers digging into his ugly motherfucking face, muffling his gasp as I yank him back. The other draws my blade, cold steel kissing his throat, pressing in until his pulse jumps under the edge—wild, alive, and about to end.

His body jerks, muscles locking as the truth hits; he’s fucked, and I’m the devil cashing him out.

“You like watching her, huh?” My voice is a guttural snarl, low, venomous, the knife digging deeper, blood beading along the steel. “Think you can eyeball my woman like some filthy fucking rat?”

He mumbles against my hand, but I shove the blade harder, silencing him.

“Tell me, Wyatt, why’d you reach for your cock? Wanted to jerk off while watching her?” I hiss against his ear. “You think because you had an hour of small talk with her, you can make yourself come thinking about her?”

Jesus, the thought alone has my knuckles turning white around the hilt of my blade, my adrenaline spiking sharply like a beast momentarily chained.

The taste of rage is coppery, foul; it burns at the back of my throat, and I swallow against it. Wyatt's grating, muffled pleas are barely more than a buzzing irritation.

Wyatt tries to break free, but I merely tighten my hold. “I got a sniper aiming at your motherfucking forehead right now. Run, and she’ll take you out.”

Right on time, Poppy’s voice crackles through the radio clipped to my belt. “Want me to take the shot? He’s squirming like a worm on a hook.”

“Hold off,” I mutter, not breaking my glare from Wyatt’s wide, panicked eyes. “This fucker’s mine.”

“Aw, you’re no fun,” she whines, but I hear the grin in it. “Make it pretty. I’m watching.”

I tighten my grip, his back against my chest, one of his arms locked under mine while I keep the knife steady against his windpipe.

“You think you can gawk at her like some sleazy teenager with a tiny dick?”

His eyes bulge, terror flashing, and I feel that dark thrill surge, the power over his life pumping through me like a drug.

“No one gets to lust after my woman. No man gets to even think of her in any way other than ‘she belongs to Isaia Del Rossa.’”

I rip my hand off his mouth and he gasps, a ragged plea spilling out.

“Please, boss, I didn’t—” but I cut it short, slamming the knife deep into his throat.

The blade bites flesh, a wet crunch as it tears through muscle and cartilage, hot blood gushing over my fingers. His body convulses, wild, useless, gurgles choking out as I twist the steel, carving a bloody path down then ripping it out with a sickening yet satisfying squelch before stabbing it into his eye socket.

“Fuck you,” I growl, wrenching the knife free, his body slumping as I drive it back into the other eye, blood splattering over my face. “You don’t look at her. You don’t breathe near her.” Blood slicks my hands, warm, thick, and I’m consumed with red-hot madness as I take the blade and start carving her name in his chest, slow, dragging it out like he can still feel it.

E-V-E-R-L-Y.

It’s jagged letters dripping red, a mark for hell to read.

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