Page 85 of Brutal Devil
Or is this some kind of elaborate, nefarious game he’s playing with me? Is he trying to teach me a lesson? To string me along until I’m out of my mind with lust for him?
Suddenly, I can’t wait another minute. I’ve got to know.
With a low, annoyed sound, I fling myself off the bed and go to the nightstand, hauling the hulking piece of furniture away from the door. I’m not surrendering. He hasn’t won. But I can’t keep sitting here, waiting for him like a lapdog. I’m going to go and find him.
To give him a piece of my mind.
My back twinges again as I thrust the nightstand to the side, and then I’m flinging open the door. No one is out in the hall, and it’s quiet. I tiptoe to the living room, half expecting to find Saint there binge-watching more crime documentaries withoutme. But the TV is off and the lights are low, nothing more than the night-lights that ring the perimeter of the room glowing.
“Saint?” I try tentatively.
No answer.
“Priest?”
Still silence.
Did they abandon me here? My throat goes tight at the thought of being alone, locked inside the safe house without anyone else, no one in the world but a couple of mobsters aware I’m here.
Oh my God, if something happens to them on the outside, what if no one comes back for me? What if I’m stuck here forever, until I run out of food and water? What if I die here?
My panic is rising, clawing at me, threatening to take control.
But I don’t want to give in like I did before.
Calm down, Luna. Calm down, Luna. Calm the fuck down, Luna.
It’s a mantra that I repeat to myself in my mind, over and over.
I try to control my fear and go to the kitchen, which is also empty. I head past the gym, but the lights are totally out. Then I remember the little tour Saint took me on, and I decide to try the pool. The door to the pool room is closed, but I see a glow coming from under it.
I push it open and instantly regret coming here.
Because I finally find Priest.
He’s swimming in the pool, stroke after stroke of his muscled arms propelling him forward, his broad, muscled shoulders rippling as he carves through the water.
Also, he’s completely naked.
Every inch of that gorgeous, inked body of his is on display.
I should close the door and go back to my room, leave him to his swim. But there’s something mesmerizing about the sight ofhim, his dark hair slicked to his head, the sheen of the water on him. Those muscles. That ass.
He laps the pool more times than I bother to count as I watch, my ovaries practically doing somersaults of joy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as hot as Priest, naked in the pool, the lights low.
When he reaches the opposite end of the pool, he finally stops, standing, his breathing hard. I need to go, but my feet feel like they’re glued to the floor, and my eyes are definitely glued to his muscled back, the tracery of intricate black ink. For some reason, I never noticed it before.
It’s an image of death, cloaked and menacing, holding a sickle.
“Like what you see, baby?”
My breath catches.
Caught.
It’s too late to run, so I push through the door and steel myself against his magnetism. “I’ve seen better.”
He chuckles darkly and turns around, pushing wet hair away from his face.
