Page 90 of Blood Owed (Blood Mafia 1)
Her lips are lifted, and she squeezes my fingers. “You’re going to piss me off if you keep this up.”
“Is there something else you’d like my fingers to do?”
Subtle, yeah, I know. The pink flooding her face makes the stupid comment worth it. Her own breathing quickens and her nostrils flare slightly. I watch her sort through a thousand scenarios, finding myself frowning when she shutters her thoughts from me and hardens her gaze.
“What am I doing here, Mateo? Where are we going?”
Just like that, she’s switched to hating me again. I’m an asshole for expecting her to like me. I ordered her capture, and I’d do it again. She’s not escaping from me, not after I’ve tasted her blood and given her mine. She will be mine.
Demetria will give herself to me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Demi
Mateo gives me a non-answer, saying he’s taking me to dinner. It isn’t that simple, I know better. There’s something else he isn’t telling me.
Colt catches me watching him in the rearview mirror for the fourth time. He doesn’t smirk, only holds my eyes until I look away from his obvious thoughts. I go back to ignoring Mateo and half-listen to Grayson and him talking.
The city is lit up at eight o’clock, and the lights flash by as we drive toward the ritzier side of downtown, toward a restaurant I’d never be able to afford on my own. Since we’re going to an expensive place, I assume the company will be someone of importance. Why Mateo wants me by his side is beyond me. I’m no one.
I’m the worst at small talk, and I can’t guarantee not to stab someone. Especially if the cramps start up again. Evelyn forced four Ibuprofen on me, saying it would cure the pain.
Had it been so long since she’d experienced how vaginas turned against their owners? If she’s Mateo’s sister, the answer is yes. Evelyn hasn’t the faintest memory of the pain.
Colt brakes outside of Pescaraz, the hottest and most hard to get into Italian restaurant.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, watching what can only be a gaggle of models sashay inside. “We’re eating here?”
All thoughts of stabbing have fled with the promise of divine pasta, the giver of mouth orgasms.
“You approve?”
I snap my head around and scoff at Mateo. “Hell yes, I approve. Do you know how hard it is for us mere peasants to get on the waitlist?”
He tips his head to the side and studies me. “You’re not a peasant.”
Well, that may be, but it doesn’t change growing up as one. My parents had money, but not this kind of money. This was alet’s go out on the yacht this weekend and fly to Milan on Mondaysort of money. Notlet’s go on vacation next yeartype of money. Those are distinctly different.
The valet takes the keys from Colt when we climb out. Mateo slides out after me and proffers his arm. I press my lips together in disapproval but link mine with his because there are several people lurking outside the restaurant, hoping to snag a spot when someone no shows on a reservation. Their eyes are on us as we walk through the front door; their skin practically turns green with envy when the hostess nods at Mateo and we bypass her stand.
He leads our group to the back of the restaurant, keeping his gaze pinned straight ahead and ignoring how some of the patrons gawk at us... or really, just him. If Colt and Grayson’s Blood Mafia suits didn’t give it away, I’d say it was the aura of malice rolling off of Mateo in palpable waves.
No one pays me any mind, and I can’t say I blame them. Mateo is like a bright flame and the people in the dining room are moths drawing close, not giving a damn if they make it out alive.
Pescaraz has several private rooms, with dark tinted windows so you can’t see who is inside, hidden away from the general population. Mateo stops outside of door number two, pausing with me while Colt and Grayson head in first. Grayson’s fingers flex on the handle of a Glock and a spark of fear runs through me.
Who are we meeting?
Colt peeks his head through the door, lips drawn into a firm line and the skin around his eyes pinched. “Clear.”
Mateo glances sidelong at me, probably listening to the erratic beating of my heart. He lifts his hand and brushes my hair away from my ear. “Easy, little hunter, you’re safe.”
I make a mental note to punch Evelyn for telling him her nickname for me. I don’t like being teased for trying to be reasonable with spending. Us mere mortals—or the ones that aren’t swimming in money—have to think practically. They shouldn’t shame me for it.
Taking a deep breath, I set my eyes ahead and place an indifferent smile on my face. “If this is a trap, I’ll find a way to haunt you from the grave.”
Mateo’s dark laughter gives me gooseflesh, and I follow him as he leads us into the intimate dining room.
