Page 27 of Brutal Devil
Shimmery silk pools over the comforter. It’s strapless, the bodice embellished with silver and crystal orchids. The gown is floor-length, with a long slit. The tag proclaims it’s Oscar de la Renta.
Designer. Also my size.
Either Maria is the most astute Italian mobster auntie in the world, or my captor has been doing his research. How the hell does Priest know my shoe size, my bra size, and my dress size? And how does he know what I’d like? This is no wedding dress, to be sure, but I’m in love with it just the same. How could I not be? It’s gorgeous.
And expensive.
And…dare I think it…thoughtful.
Which is also weird, because this is coming from a man who kills people for a living. Heartlessly. Coldly. A man who had no compunction about holding a Glock to my head.
A man who made me eat lasagna last night.
This is beyond fucked up.
And nowI’mfucked up. More fucked up than I already was.
A knock sounds at the door, interrupting my argument with myself.
“You getting dressed, sweets? I don’t hear a lot of movement in there.”
It’s Saint again.
“Don’t call me sweets,” I call, annoyed with him.
Annoyed with myself most of all. I’m not supposed to be thinking good thoughts about the enemy. About the mobster who basically kidnapped me and is now forcing me into a sham arranged marriage I don’t want.
I’m not the kind of girl who gets impressed by expensive things. Shit, I am in so much trouble right now.
“And stop listening at the door like a creeper,” I add as an afterthought.
“Watch it, sweets. You don’t call the shots around here.”
“Thanks, tips,” I mutter.
“Need help?”
The door handle jiggles like he’s about to rush in. Is he planning to force me to strip and get into the dress for him? Somehow, I don’t think Priest would go for that. But I don’t really know what any of these assholes are capable of.
I need to keep reminding myself of who these monsters really are. They’re gorgeous psychos, beautiful mobsters. Dangerous criminals. Untrustworthy enemies. They’re from the family who killed my brother. I don’t care what Priest claimed last night. Guilty until proven innocent.
Saint has a certain, odd charm that had me off-kilter, but I’m a big girl. I can handle today. All I need to do is take a deep breath, get dressed, and formulate a way to escape.
Another jiggle. “We’re going to be late.”
I decide to drag my heels. To prolong this nightmare. Maybe if I waste enough time, I can miss the wedding altogether.
“I need a shower,” I call.
“The fuck you do.”
He sounds annoyed.
“Every bride should look her best on her wedding day, don’t you think?” My voice is one hundred percent sweet tea right now.
A grunt sounds on the other side of the door. “You look fine.”
“Fine?”
