Page 66 of The Devil's Thorn
The words sting more than they should. I look away, jaw clenched. “You never asked for the truth.”
He watches me for a moment longer, then moves toward the windows, pouring himself another drink like this is just another night.
“You knew how to fight,” he says. “But you didn’t flinch.”
He turns slightly.
“Who trained you?”
“Does it matter?” I fire back.
His voice stays calm. Dangerous. “It does when you’ve been lying to me in my own house.”
I swallow hard, trying to keep my spine straight. Because I won’t let him see me bleed more than I already have.
“This was never about the casino,” he says. “So what was it about?”
I meet his eyes. “Maybe I just wanted to see who the devil really was.”
That gets a reaction. The smirk fades. His eyes darken, gaze fixed like he’s reading every thought behind my skin. But before he can say another word— the penthouse doors slam open.
Andeverythingstops.
Nikolai steps inside, his face hard, jaw clenched. Behind him—two of Rafael’s men drag familiar bodies into the room.
Kellan. Ash.
Both of them bruised but still fighting, struggling even as they’re shoved to the floor like trophies.
“We found them outside security control,” Nikolai says calmly. “Trying to loop the feed.”
My heart slams. Hard.
“Ash—” I breathe.
Ash glares at the men who dragged him in, spitting blood onto the floor.
“You’re all dead,” he snarls. “You hear me? You lay another hand on her, and I’ll bury you all.”
Kellan pushes up onto his hands, shaking off the grip of the guy beside him.
“You set us up,” he growls, eyes locked on Rafael now. “You knew. You fucking knew.”
Rafael doesn’t flinch. He just watches me. LikeI’mthe one he’s still trying to solve. And I stand there… Bleeding. Breathing hard. Caught between the man I came to destroy— and the only two people I trust left on this earth.
My chest rises and falls in shallow breaths as I stare at the two men on the floor—mymen. Brought in like criminals. Bruised. Angry. Still ready to fight.
But not atme.Never at me.
Rafael stands near the windows, one hand still wrapped loosely around his glass, the other resting casually in the pocketof his slacks like none of this surprises him. Like he planned it all.
Because he did.
He steps away from the glass and slowly circles behind me, his shoes clicking softly against the marble.
He says nothing at first. But I feel it. His attention. His calculation. Like he’s watching a puzzle finally take shape.
“Interesting,” he says quietly as he moves. “You walk like a shadow, but they follow you like a general.”
