Page 103 of Brutal Devil
Fuck, she’s like a dog with a bone.
“Would it make your pussy wet if I told you I did?”
I’m being cruel and I know it. But that’s what I do best. What I was raised to be.
Luna’s staring at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “You’re a monster. I don’t know how I let myself forget it. Must have been the Stockholm syndrome.”
I raise a brow. “I think we both know what it was.”
“Fuck you, Matteo,” she whispers.
We spend the rest of the ride in an icy silence, and as we pull up to the penthouse, it belatedly occurs to me that was the first time my wife called me by my real name.
And she did it in cold anger, just like I deserve.
Chapter 25
LUNA
The penthouse hasn’t changed much since I was here last. But one room—a former guest bedroom—did.
I’m standing in it now, staring in awe at a beautiful desk that’s situated in front of a window with the best view of the city I’ve ever seen. The bed, nightstands, and twin dressers are gone. This is no longer a bedroom. The entire, generous space has been converted into an office.
There’s a comfortable-looking leather chair tucked in. Bookshelves, empty and waiting to be filled, line the periphery of the room, in a sleek matching wood.
There’s a whole box of my favorite pens.
Another box brimming with journals.
And my laptop in the center of the desk.
My.
Laptop.
A cry of happiness gurgles out of me. It’s like being reunited with a long-lost relative. My laptop is a part of me. I’ve had it all through college and my postgraduate years. Hundreds of thousands of words I’ve written are saved on its hard drive. I know how the finish is coming off the H key and the way the Asometimes sticks. This laptop has been my best friend, a part of me.
As if I’m in a trance, I move toward it, hand trembling as I lift the lid. The reliable old girl chugs on. My heart beats faster with excitement. Surely Priest would have known I’d turn on my laptop. That I’d reconnect with the outside world.
He abandoned me after a call came in on the drive here, telling me that something came up unexpectedly and he’d be back in an hour or two. I was swiftly escorted to the private elevator by my armed guards, while Saint hopped into the G-Wagon and Rocco took off with the two of them. I’m locked inside, which is as irritating as it is insulting. My armed jailers have no intention of letting me escape.
At this point, I don’t even know if I’d try.
I don’t know if I can trust anyone. Where I’d go. How I can get anywhere. I have no phone, no money, no ID. My purse and wallet are still in Priest’s possession. Sure, I could find my way to a police department, but would they believe me or would they think I’m having a breakdown?
I pull back the desk chair and sit as my wallpaper appears on the screen. It’s the handwritten verses to one of my favorite poems. The chair is soft and padded, and it molds to my body like it was specifically made for me.
It’s as if this whole office, in fact, was fashioned just for me. As if it’s meant to be mine. The shelves for my books, the desk, the chair, my laptop, my favorite pens.
Did Priest do this?
I shake my head, hand on my mouse as I navigate to the internet browser and double-click. It’s far more likely he had his men assemble the desk and shelves. I’m sure he wouldn’t bother wasting time on building me an office.
A dinosaur pops up on my screen, along with a message.
“Unable to connect to the internet,” I read aloud. “Shit.”
In a couple of clicks, I confirm what I already should have known. Priest made sure to keep me from the Wi-Fi. I have no internet access. Still no link to the outside world that I can only watch from the windows high above the city.
