Page 64 of The Devil's Obsession (East Coast Devils 3)

“Swimming, boss,” Paddy grunts back, calling the elevator for me. I stop and glare at him. He raises an eyebrow and says, “I didn’t think you want me down there while she’s…swimming.”

I clap him on the shoulder. Smart man.

The pool room is dark and humid. Jazz floats through the thick air at the volume it should be played when you’re not trying to drown out dark thoughts of your wife.

My wife.

There she is, slicing through the center of the pool with long, easy strokes. When she gets to the edge, she curls into a perfect little ball, rolls, and kicks off the mosaic wall, swimming half of the next lap underwater until she bobs up to sip some air. She does this for several more lengths, unaware of my presence. I watch her, mesmerized by the power in her slender arms as they propel her forward and the peace with which she swims. My eyes fall to the curve of her ass. The cut of the black swimsuit rising high on her cheeks, where only faint yellow bruises remain.

Licking my lips, I loosen my tie.

My wife looks like a bad decision.

Just then, there’s a flicker in an alcove that catches my attention. Like someone has stepped in front of one of the wall lamps, interrupting the amber glow. Hand on my holster, I storm toward the shadows, footsteps echoing off the ceiling like thunder. A silhouette comes into view, and I lunge forward, grabbing whatever fabric or flesh my fist comes into contact with first to drag the intruder into the light.

There’s a whimper, then a face appears, spotty and young. Riley, one of my newest recruits, cowers up at me, a deer caught in headlights. I tear my eyes from his to glance south.

A half-opened zipper. A half-mast cock.

“B-Boss, I—”

Rage blinds me, zapping white and hot across my vision. I grab the nape of his neck and drag him to the edge of the pool. He’s splayed on his stomach, head in the water, long before he can finish his excuse.

And I’m going to make him fucking choke on it.

His throat gurgles under my palm, his fists slam against the tiles. As his breathing labors, I grab his hair and drag his head back. Something cracks.

“Jerking off to my wife will be the biggest mistake of your very short life,” I hiss in his ear. He manages to take in half a lung’s worth of air before I dunk him back in.

Looking up, I lock eyes with Romy. I didn’t notice that she’d stopped swimming, but now she’s leaning against the pool wall opposite me, her silver hair slick and shimmering, tucked behind her ears. She stares at me, unblinking. Like we’re the only people in the room. In the whole fucking world. Finally, I might hear something tumble from her lips.

She can handle her own pain, but can she handle watching someone else suffer?

I grip Riley’s neck tighter, shoving him another inch under the surface.

My wife’s eyes never leave mine. She doesn’t flinch. In fact, she’s still as a statue, barely moving at all. Just watching, waiting. Expressionless.

When are you going to tell me to stop, sweetheart?

Ronan’s words float through my head.

She’ll open wide and invite you to pluck out every tooth.

She won’t.

The realization crashes through me at the same time the emergency exit doors crash open. My men pour through them, bringing a sea of crackling radios and heavy footsteps.

A soft hand on my shoulder. A voice in my ear. “Boss, please.”

But none of it fucking matters except my wife. My hand drifts away from Riley’s neck, limp, my knuckles dragging across the surface of the water. My men take him away, and a few seconds later, we’re plunged back into peaceful silence.

Romy’s the first to break it.

“Will he survive?”

“Do you care?”

She looks me dead in the eye. “No.”

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