Page 11 of Reckless Promises

Sascha’s gaze skims down my body, and I can’t help but take a step back. The idea of this man touching me, when he’s fantasized about me since I was underage, makes me sick. Even now, his eyes are peeling off the layers of lace, creeping his way beneath.

“Cillian’s going to defile her just to get back at you for what you did.” Sascha grits his teeth.

Of all the things I considered Cillian doing—torturing me, chaining me up in a basement, killing me—for some reason I hadn’t considered that.

“She’ll be fine.” Dad straightens his suit jacket. “I’ll work this out with Joseph before he gets the chance.”

“Or…” Sascha steps past my father to walk over to me, tipping my chin up when I refuse to look at him. “Maybe I’ll tear you open right now and send you to him all used up. Who cares what he does then.”

Sascha grips my jaw as he lowers his face to mine. His breath is soaked in the whiskey he’s been downing all night, and his gold-flecked eyes carve out a piece of my soul.

“I bet you have a tight little cunt.” He grabs my arm with his free hand. “Your daddy owed it to me. So you can either give it up yourself or let him pay back his debt with your sweet little sister.”

I try to step back, but his grip is too tight.

Tears burn in my eyes. My insides claw to get out.

I went along with this willingly to save Gen from the same fate, but now it’s ruined. Every plan. Every bit of sacrifice I was willing to make.

Sold.

One word and Cillian sealed all our fates.

“What do you think? Want to help your daddy settle his debts before you become Cillian’s whore?” Sascha looks me over, pressing his body closer. His grip burns so tight he’s probably leaving marks on my skin.

But it’s his eyes, evil and searing into me, that I can’t escape. A reality that Sascha could have been my husband, and somehow escaping that fate is worse.

Sascha doesn’t let me go, and I have to bite back the urge to spit in his face. To claw at his disgusting oily skin. To scream as loud as I can.

I take every lesson I learned from my mother and stand up tall as Sascha waits for me to break.

He starts to lean in, but just as he does, static streams the air. The energy in the room shifts and whispers kick up all around. One moment I’m flooded with the overwhelming stench of Sascha’s whiskey breath. And the next, a peppery cologne fogs around me as a body presses close.

A hand lands on my arm, pulling my back to a very solid chest.

“I suggest you take your hands off my bride.”

4

Odette

Sascha pulls back, hisgaze moving behind me as he releases my chin. “Cillian.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands on its ends as Cillian circles around me, adjusting his cufflinks, but not bothering to acknowledge Sascha.

Up close, Cillian is even more terrifying—towering over me with the energy of a storm cloud ready to release some rage. He’s taller than he looked from across the room with a good few inches over my father and Sascha, and at least six on me.

Cillian glances down—his expression impossible to read. It falls somewhere between bored and annoyed, as his gunmetal-gray eyes punch through my defenses.

And he’s younger than I expected given his prolific reputation for spilling blood and bedding women. He’slate twenties at most, much younger than most of the men who head the controlling East Coast mafia families.

Even so, he has the same hard edge. An unrelenting stare and not a flicker of mercy as he glances at me.

“Do you have your things?”

I nod, swallowing hard. The air in the room might as well be turning solid the longer he stares.

“Good. Daniel.” Cillian doesn’t break my gaze as one of his bodyguards—presumably Daniel—moves to his side. “Load Ms. Bardot’s bags in the car. We’re going home.”

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