Page 10 of His Angel

“Michele, he…” My throat tightens with the weight of it all, “he was a monster. But Anthony…he didn’t?—”

“He didn’twhat?” His voice is a whip crack slicing through my stammering. “Didn’t deserve it? That piece of shit put his hands on you. Thought he could have you. He signed his death warrant the day he walked into Ember & Bean acting like he owns you.”

My knees buckle, hitting the edge of the bed, and I collapse onto it, the memory slamming into me. Anthony’s body crumpled, lifeless, the dull thud of it echoing in my skull. Blood pooling, staining the floor.

And then the lies. The fucking liesItold. The onesIsaia unraveled with a bullet, all for me—becauseof me.

Isaia’s hand shoots out, fingers curling around my arm, but I wrench away, instinct overriding the heat still licking through my veins.

His eyes flare, a storm of black fire. “I’m only going to say this one more time. Do not. Pull away from me.”

“You didn’t have to kill him,” I whisper. “He wasn’t?—”

“Hetouchedyou,” Isaia snarls, cutting me off, his voice dipping into a guttural roar as he closes the distance, looming over me.

His hand lashes out again, this time snagging my wrist in a grip so tight it bruises, yanking me up and back toward him until I’m pressed against the furnace of his chest.

“You think I’d let anyone—anyone—lay a finger on what belongs to me and live?”

“He didn’t?—”

“He took you from me!”

“No, he didn't,” I cry out. “Michele took me. He’s the one who forced me to marry Anthony by threatening my mother. Isaia, I had no choice. Anthony was simply doing what I asked him to do.”

“Do you want the bullshit response to that, or the honest one?"

I swallow. “I don’t?—”

“Here’s the honest one.” He takes my chin between his fingers, a fever flooding my system as he tilts my head back. “I don’t care that you were forced to marry him. I don’t care that Michele used your mother’s cancer to do it. All I give an inkling of a fuck about is the fact that Anthony thought he could have you.”

“You didn’t have to kill him, Isaia.”

“Yeah, I did.” He drags his thumb along my bottom lip. “I told you I’d do it. Remember? I told you it wasn’t a question ofifI’d kill him. It was a matter of when.”

“He was right about you.” Tears prickle my eyes. “You are a monster.”

“Of course, he was right about me. Because men like us, we’re all monsters.” He grips my cheeks and squeezes, puckering my lips. “But me? I’myourmonster, baby girl.” Hot lips claim mine, and instead of fighting, I melt into him, my body reacting before my mind can protest.

Strong fingers weave into my hair, tugging just enough to make me gasp, and heat explodes low in my belly, a dark, twisted coil of lust snaking through my traitorous body. The wordmonsteris stuck in my head like a big, bold neon sign, but my craving for him easily ignores it, refusing to acknowledge any and all warnings.

His tongue lashes against mine, deliberate and punishing, and he tastes like bourbon laced with feral chaos, a flavor so distinctly Isaia it seeps into my blood like poison, making me willing and pliant to his every demand.

My hands shove against his chest—not to fight, but to yield, fingers clawing at him like he’s the only thing tethering me to sanity as he drags me under, drowning me in the wildfire of his touch.

His mouth parts from mine long enough for him to pull the shirt over my head before slamming back into a kiss so hot it can burn me to ash. While he devours me, my body hums louder with every bruising second, a primal symphony that swallows the blood, the lies, the savage choices that forged this moment—until it’s just him, justus, a collision too fucked-up to resist.

“Isaia…” My gasp is sharp as he drags his palms over my hips, yanking me against him. “Isaia, we can’t…” I try to protest yet refuse to pull my lips from his. “We need…we need to talk.”

“There’s a lot of things I need right now, and talking ain’t one.”

“Isaia, please,” I whisper against his mouth.

“Fine. Want to talk? How about another taste of my truth?”

Before I can answer, he spins me fast, slamming me chest first against the window, my palms smacking flat against it, fingers splaying helplessly, naked breasts pressed against the cold glass.

A growl rumbles from his throat, pure impatience, and his hands clamp onto my waist.

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