Page 8 of Brutal Devil
My father’s reaction is instant. He backhands me across the face. It’s fast and painful. With as much violence as he’s perpetrated on others over the years, he’s never hit me before. I didn’t expect it.
Just as quickly, there’s an arm banded around my waist like steel. I’m hauled backward, behind a wall of six-foot-three, muscle-bound mobster.
“No one touches what’s mine,” Priest snarls at my father, barely leashed violence in his voice.
I’m not his, but I’m still so shocked by everything that I stare at his back, words eluding me, pressing a hand to my aching cheek. Tasting the coppery tang of blood. I must have bitten my tongue, and I’m momentarily stunned into allowing Priest to shield me, to take my side against my own father. It’s the last thing I expected of myself, just as much as it’s the last thing I expected of Priest.
“She’s not yours yet,” my father is saying.
My heart is pounding too hard, threatening to drown out the words. Everything around me starts to spin, and I don’t know if it’s from the force of the blow my father dealt me or if it’s the shock. Maybe both.
“You signed a contract,” Priest rumbles. “No second thoughts. It’s done. Do I need to remind you of what happens to this shithole and the Revello family if you go back on your word?”
“Maybe we should remind him of why he needs the Andrianis,” says one of the brothers.
A gunshot rings out, followed by a hail of broken glass raining on the floor.
“That light fixture cost me twenty grand,” my father complains. “I flew it in from France.”
That’s what he’s concerned about right now. A light that’s lying in a thousand broken pieces on the dance floor. Not his daughter.
“Next time, it’ll be your kneecap, asshole,” Priest warns. “She’s coming with us now, or the deal’s off.”
I’m coming with them?
Now?
Oh my fucking God. I might pass out.
This can’t be happening. I need time. Time to get myself out of this. Time to run and hide, to start over in another city with a new name. Somewhere in the Midwest where none of these psychos will ever find me.
“Take her, then,” my father says. “You know the deal. I want it done, pronto.”
“It will be.” Priest glances at me over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “You okay?”
He frowns when his gaze dips to my cheek. It’s throbbing, and the skin feels tight and swollen, so I know my father did a number on me.
“Never been better.” I can’t keep the sarcasm from my voice.
I’m not close to my father, and the last five years of distance haven’t brought us together. Neither has his devotion to a string of flavors of the month who usually happen to be my age. But I’m his blood. His daughter. I thought that meant something. In my own foolish way, I loved him. I just loved him from afar, in the only way I knew how, trying to reconcile the heinous crimes I know he’s committed with my own conscience as best as I could.
I should’ve seen this coming. My father hasn’t had a damn scruple in his life. I shouldn’t have answered his call. I shouldn’t have come back here. But it’s too late. I fell into his trap, and I’m going to have to fight with everything I have to get out of it and return to the life I’ve made for myself.
Priest is still staring, his gaze boring into me. Slowly, he nods.
Then he turns back to my father, takes a step forward, and in one swift, graceful motion slams his fist into my father’s jaw. I hear the dull thud of bones connecting with flesh and don’t even flinch. I’m numb except for the pain.
“That’s for hurting her,” he says, flexing his fingers at his side. “If you dare to touch her again, I’ll kill you, but not until you’re begging me for a final bullet.”
The way he’s talking to my father…
I’m stunned.
When I left, my father was the kingpin of this city. No one would dare to meet his eye, let alone threaten him. Something has changed, and I don’t know what. I’m in way over my head, and not just because I’m about to be kidnapped by a bloodthirsty gangster who intends to force me into marrying him.
But yeah, that’s enough to make me feel like I want to throw up all over Priest’s black Dior shoes.
He’s facing me now, his sinful lips in a grim, thin line. “Time to go, Luna.”
