Page 59 of Brutal Devil
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s just been a while.”
“No one since the asshole who made it to the NHL?” he asks.
He’s talking about Jackson, my college boyfriend who dumped me for a puck bunny after he led the team to achampionship, and who—last I heard—plays for the Baltimore Blades in the NHL and is dating a very famous pop singer.
My mouth falls open with shock in the same moment the elevator doors open. “How do you know about that?”
His cruel mouth kicks up in a half grin. “I make it my business to know everything there is to know about you.”
“Exes I haven’t seen in years?”
“Social media,topolina. It’s painfully easy to find out almost anything.”
“You two lovebirds going to come out of the elevator, or do you need a minute?” intrudes a familiar voice.
With a jolt, I turn to see we have an audience. Saint is standing there, watching us with undisguised curiosity. His nose looks better. It’s not even crooked. I do regret headbutting him, but not taking the chance to escape, even if I failed.
I jerk myself out of Priest’s arms, my face on fire, and glare at his evil brother as I march off the elevator. “We’renotlovebirds.”
“Didn’t look that way to me, Jessica Fletcher.”
“Do I look like an elderly Maine mystery writer to you?” I demand, throwing up my hands.
“Aw, shit. I think I meant that other one.” He scratches his chin, the intricate ink on his fingers dancing. “The one who writes the romance books they made into movies with Dakota Fanning.”
I shake my head at him. “Oh my God. It’s DakotaJohnsonin theFifty Shades of Greymovies, and the author of those books is so not Jessica Fletcher, who isn’t even real, by the way.”
Priest strolls up to me, all calm and smooth, oozing sex. “Ignore him. He’s a shit-stirrer. Nothing entertains him more than riling people up. Basically, he’s an internet troll in real life.”
I narrow my eyes at an unrepentantly grinning Saint. “Everything makes complete sense now. You’re all a bunch of crazy motherfuckers.”
“Welcome to the family, sis,” Saint says.
“I’m not a part of the family. I’m getting out of here before I lose my mind.”
Which, judging from what I just did with Priest in the observation room, maybe I already have.
Priest’s hand flattens on the small of my back again. “Any word from Lucky and Scorpion?” he asks Saint over my head.
And it’s like a switch has flipped. Saint’s grin fades. “Yeah. We do need to talk when you’ve got a minute.”
Priest nods. “Give me five.”
He starts steering me back toward my prison, but I put on the brakes. “Wait. Priest, please. I don’t want to be locked in that room again.”
He pauses, his expression pensive. Like he’s actually mulling over giving in to me. I didn’t have sex with him to gain leverage over him, but I won’t turn it down if that’s what caused it either. At this point, I’m so desperate not to be trapped in a room that I’ll take anything I can get.
“You can stay in the living room if you promise to behave.”
“How about giving me back my phone?”
He shakes his head, his jaw tense. “Living room. There’s a TV. You can stream some chick shit.”
“So you trust me enough to…do what we did back there, but not enough to give me my phone? And by the way, calling somethingchick shitis super sexist.”
He chuckles, the sound dark and sinful. “You still can’t say it, can you?”
I look around wildly to make sure Saint isn’t within earshot. He isn’t. He’s standing back down the hall, by the elevator where we left him, looking at his phone. How nice that someone around here is trusted enough to have one. I’m starting to feel like Edmond Dantès, trapped in the dungeons of the Château d’If and closed off from the outside world.
