Page 23 of Brutal Vows
His look sours. “I’ll have you know, I was in complete control the entire time.”
I chuckle. “Aye, it sure looked it as you were tearing out your hair and screaming.”
His wife, Sloane, could easily rule the world if she wanted to. They met under unusual circumstances—he abducted her with a mind toward interrogation after she caused a shootout between our men and the Bratva (long story)—and he instantly fell under her spell.
As everyone does, man or beast.
When I said she was a force of nature, it was accurate. She’s an erupting volcano, a category 5 hurricane, and a magnitude 10 earthquake, all wrapped up in a body made for sin.
Like someone else I recently met.
Who I am not fucking thinking about, goddammit.
Except I am, because Declan says, “Did you meet Caruso’s sister?”
I glance up to find him looking at me with expectation. “Aye. Why?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Only that I’ve always wondered what the notorious Black Widow is like. Does she have the arse on her they say she does?”
“Whoa, hold on a minute.Black Widow?”
“Aye. According to the rumors, she killed her husband in coldblood.” He takes a swallow of scotch. “Not that he didn’t deserve it. Word is he was violent with her. By all accounts, he was a gigantic prick.”
I think of Reyna’s face when I asked if she was Mrs. something, the way she grew so angry. I think of how she was so upset about her niece not having a choice about getting married. How she scoffed when I asked what made her think the lass wouldn’t have a life of her own after we were wed.
Then I wonder about that tattoo on her ring finger, the small black line of script in the place where a wedding band would be.
I feel a sudden powerful urge to know what that script says.
I say absently, “Aye, she’s got the arse. And a pair of tits that could give a man a heart attack. And eyes like thunderclouds over a stormy sea.”
After a moment lost in thought, I realize Declan hasn’t said anything. I glance over at him to find him staring back at me with his brows raised, an amused expression on his face.
“Made quite an impression on you, did she, boyo?”
I scowl. “No.”
“Really? You’re sitting there spouting poetry about her dreamy eyes, and she didn’t make an impression?”
I drag a hand through my hair and shoot the rest of my whiskey. Then I admit reluctantly, “Aye. But only because of how much she hated me.”
“Hated you?”
I nod. “Wanted to douse me in petrol and light a match. And would’ve danced a jig as she watched me burn.”
“Why? What did you do?”
“Excuse me, but I didn’t do a bloody thing!”
“So she’s just a bitch, then.”
“Aye, she’s a bitch!” I pause, thinking of our encounter. “Can’treally blame her, though. She seems awful fond of her niece. Protective of the lass, almost like a mother. Couldn’t have been easy for her to have some strange Irishman clomping about the place and grilling the lass like she was up for an important job interview.”
“Which, technically, she was.”
I exhale heavily, suddenly exhausted. “And she passed. Let’s talk about something else now.”
“Are you joking? I’m having far too grand a time watching you squirm. Tell me more about the Black Widow. What’s her real name?”
