Page 145 of The Devil's Thorn
I looked up at him, fire simmering just under my skin. “Then prove it.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to, his slow smirk was answer enough, but his words still echoed in my head.
I’d ruin every man who’s ever touched you. And then I’d make you forget they ever existed.
It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even lust. It was possession. Pure, dark, and deliberate. And maybe… just maybe, it should’ve scared me more than it did.
I tilted my chin up, locking eyes with him. “Do you always flirt with women who’d rather see you six feet under?”
A slow smile pulled at his mouth. “Only when they look like you while saying it.”
My jaw twitched. “Is that your way of avoiding the question?”
“No.” His voice dropped a little. “You asked if I always flirt with my enemies. You should’ve asked if I sleep with them.”
The way he looked at me then… it was heat without movement. Hunger without touch. My pulse was steady. My mind was not.
I gave him a cool smile. “Fine. Consider it asked. Do you sleep with your enemies, Rafael?”
His answer was immediate. “Sometimes. It’s easier to read people when they’re naked.”
I let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m honest,” he said, stepping closer again. “Sex has always been a battlefield. You learn more from what someone does to you when they think they’ve already won.”
There was something about that… something true. But I couldn’t let him get the upper hand. Not for a second.
“You ever think maybe you’re the one being played?”
“I’ve thought about it,” he said easily. “And then I thought—better to keep my enemies close…” He leaned down slightly, his breath brushing the side of my face. “…but under me is closer.”
The audacity made my lips twitch. I wanted to slap him. But I didn’t move. I didn’t let him have the satisfaction of a reaction. I simply stared up at him with fire in my eyes and said, “The only reason I’d ever sleep with you, Rafael, is because it’d be easier to stab you through the heart when you’re already inside me.”
The silence that followed that was sharp enough to slice through glass. His eyes darkened, and for one, tight second, I didn’t know if he was going to laugh—or lunge.
Instead, he stepped back. Just a fraction. But enough. There was tension in his jaw, but his expression was unreadable. Hestared at me like I was a puzzle he hadn’t solved yet—and couldn’t decide if he wanted to.
I turned away first. Slowly. Deliberately. Then I walked back toward the front of the jet, hips swaying with the same confidence he wielded like a weapon. And sat back in my seat.
Kellan glanced up at me, brow raised in question.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t speak. Instead, I looked out the window. And I let the quiet swallow me whole.
Hourspassed.The sky outside turned from deep sapphire to burning gold as we crossed over the sea and into Colombian airspace.
I barely moved. Barely blinked. Every few minutes, I’d glance at the dagger resting in the pocket of my coat. The weight of it against my thigh was comforting—familiar.
That man… he played chess like it was war. And I wasn’t naïve enough to think I wasn’t already a piece on his board.
But what he didn’t know… was that I had my own. And I’d been playing since I was ten years old.
By the time the jet began to descend, dipping through clouds with the promise of heat and danger waiting below, my thoughts were sharper than ever. And I knew one thing for certain.
Whatever game Rafael thought he was playing—He hadn’t seen anything yet.
The wheels hit the tarmac with a jolt, shaking me from the haze I’d fallen into. I sat up straighter in my seat, fingers brushing down the front of my black tank top as I looked out the small window. Cartagena stretched beneath us—heat shimmering off the pavement, palm trees swaying under a sun that burned brighter than I wanted it to. The sky was cloudless, too blue, too perfect for the kind of mess we’d just flown into.
Ash leaned forward from the seat beside me, peering out the window. “This looks like the kind of place people come to die or disappear.”
