Page 24 of Savage Hearts
I knew he was ruthless when he killed all the leaders of the various American families. With the exception of Kazimir, which isn’t surprising. He’s notoriously hard to kill. Hundreds of men have died trying.
But to bring a girl from the streets to your home to fuck in front of your woman, then tart her up and parade her around so everyone can plainly see her humiliation…
That’s beyond ruthless. It’s sick.
My anger grows hotter as I continue to watch the girl. She stops pacing and leans against the curved stone balustrade of the patio, folding her arms over her chest and turning her face up to the full moon like she’s trying to draw strength from its glow.
Dragging deep breaths into her lungs, she closes her eyes. After a moment, she bows her head, as if in prayer.
Furious, I decide that I won’t kill him in front of her. She looks fragile enough already. She doesn’t need more trauma.
I’ll wait until he’s finished with her and she leaves, then I’ll put a bullet in his brain.
Mikhail would understand. He had a soft spot for girls like this. Abused, defenseless girls. A delay of a few hours or days won’t make a difference in the end.
I’ll still get what I’m coming for: my enemy’s blood. Shoulders slumped, the girl pushes away from the balustrade and reluctantly returns inside. A few minutes later, a group exits the front door.
Declan and his woman are there, along with the girl and halfa dozen bodyguards. They pile into a trio of SUVs and pull out of the driveway.
I watch the red glow of the vehicles’ taillights, wrestling with myself.
Then I climb down out of the belfry and hop onto the motorcycle waiting outside the old church doors, knowing that what I’m about to do is both stupid and dangerous.
And also that my dead brother would approve.
EIGHT
RILEY
The restaurant Declan takes us to is so elegant and upscale, I feel like I should have a sign around my neck apologizing for my attire.
The sign would blame it all on Sloane, of course.
The three of us sit in a corner booth at the back of a large, candlelit dining room. Spider and the other bodyguards sit at two separate tables nearby.
Every time I glance in Spider’s direction, he’s gazing at me with stern, unwavering focus, like he’s judging my life choices.
That makes two of us.
“So, Riley. Tell me about yourself.”
Lounging against the booth with one arm slung over Sloane’s shoulders, king-of-the-jungle Declan smiles at me. How the man manages to ooze dominance and sexual prowess simply sitting there is one of life’s great mysteries.
Meanwhile, Sloane gazes dreamily up at his chiseled profile with little red hearts in her eyes.
I swear, I never would’ve believed this shit if I wasn’t seeing it for myself.
“Gee, where to start?” I muse, nibbling on a dinner roll.
Okay, nibbling is a lie. I’m gnawing on it like a farm animal. I’m so hungry, I could chew my own arm off. If the waitress doesn’t arrive with our entrées soon, I’m going to barge straight into the kitchen and start threatening people with a meat cleaver.
“I work as a freelance editor, which I adore. Mainly because of how much I love books, but also because I get to work in my pajamas.”
“And avoid all human contact,” Sloane adds, smiling. “Yes. That’s a major benefit.”
Declan quirks a brow. “Not much of a people person, are you?”
“It’s not that I hate people, I just feel better when they’re not around.”
