Page 49 of Brutal Devil
Or else.
Saint pulls out a burner phone, ready to call Antonio, but I hold up a hand to stop him. “No. This isn’t a phone kind of conversation. Take me to him.”
Saint sends a wary look in Rocco’s direction.
Irritated, I slam my fork down before standing. “And stop it with the fucking morse code, or you two will be next.”
I crack my knuckles, abandoning my sad breakfast. Slamming my fist into my cousin’s jaw could be just the distraction I need. He’s lucky if that’s all I do to him.
Stupid asshole.
Luna
I know the second he’s back before the door to my glorified prison cell opens. I can feel a shift, like the way the air changes just before a storm. I’m in the middle of doing yoga, which I’ve reverted to as a way to pass the time and release my pent-up energy. Currently in downward facing dog.
I have just enough time to unfold my body into a standing position before the door bursts open. He hesitates before entering, eye-fucking me with that pale-blue stare. He’s wearing blue jeans and a white undershirt that shows off his muscled arms. As he stands there at the threshold, I see my chance. It’s now or never.
I bolt toward him, running as fast as I can, determined to escape.
But he’s faster.
With lightning-swift movements, he enters the room and slams the door shut, and I’m suddenly barreling into his chest. Caught in his arms instead of running free.
“Fuck,” I burst out.
“So eager to see me, baby?” He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s a coldness there, a sharpness that was missing this morning at breakfast. “If I’d have known, I would have come home to you sooner.”
He smells incredible, and I have to resist the urge to press my face to his neck and inhale deeply with all the willpower I possess. Suddenly, I notice that his hair is damp, like he’s showered recently. But not here. Somewhere else.
I don’t know why the thought of him showering elsewhere makes my stomach clench, but it does.
I shove at his chest, and he releases me. “Let me out of here. It’s been a week since you kidnapped me and brought me to your secret gangster dungeon.”
He passes a tattooed hand over the shadowed edge of his jaw. “You’re my wife. I can’t kidnap you.”
His hands are sexy. And he used them on me this morning. I’ve had a hard time thinking about anything else since, and I hate myself for it.
Where did he shower? And why? Was he using those fingers on someone else?
“You can’t disappear me just because we’re married either,” I point out.
“Actually, I can do anything I want to, and we both know it.”
He’s talking about what happened this morning. About how he finger-fucked me until I came all over him. My clit pulses. Something is very wrong with me. Hideously, alarmingly wrong with me. I can’t think about this now.
Maybe not ever.
“Can I have my phone back?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Not yet.”
“You don’t trust me with it.”
“After what happened at our wedding, I don’t trust anyone.”
“Fair enough. I’m in the same boat. And you know who I especially don’t trust? Gangsters who kidnap me, force me to marry them, and then keep me locked in some kind of insane mafioso basement vault.”
“I was under the impression I’m the only man you’ve married,topolina.”
