Page 41 of The Devil's Thorn
I should push back. I should remind him I’m not property.
But the truth is—thisis what I came for. His attention. His authority. His weakness, if I can find it.
So I answer without breaking eye contact. “Understood.”
He steps closer, voice quieter now, meant only for me.
“You’ll work shifts only when I’m here. You’ll serve my table. No one else’s.”
He’s not asking. He’s setting the rules.
And the most dangerous part?
I want to say yes.
Because the closer he pulls me, the deeper I get into his world. And the deeper I get… the more likely he is to slip.
“To be clear,” I say, tilting my head just slightly, “I don’t take orders from most men.”
“You’re not working for most men.”
I hold his gaze for a beat. Then nod once. “Very well.”
His lips twitch like he’s satisfied with the answer—like heknewI’d agree before I even did.
Then he turns and walks back toward the table.
And I follow. Not because I have to. Because this is the moment I’ve been waiting for.
The door isn’t just open.
He’sinviting me in.
As I fall into step behind him, back in that shadow he’s already claimed, my thoughts coil tighter.
He thinks I’m his.
But he doesn’t know that I was never meant to be owned.
I’m here to destroy him.
Or fall with him trying.
Back at the table, I take my place behind Rafael’s shoulder again. No one says anything about the scene that just played out. But I feel it in the shift.
The glances.
The silence.
The respect.
He reclaims his seat like he never left it—like the room belongs to him and only paused in his absence.
The game continues. Cards are dealt. Chips are played. Voices remain low.
And then?—
Footsteps approach. Measured. Familiar.
