Page 17 of Deviant Knight

“Wake up, girl,” he says, his voice frustrated but lacking any amount of malice. Perhaps there’s even an air of concern in his tone, but at this moment, I don’t give a fuck. He shouldn’t be in here with her.

The covers are shoved away from Ciera and mostly falling off the end of the bed. The lights are off, but with the curtains pulled back and the window partially open, there is a chill in the room. The moonlight shines through the glass panes, creating a nightly glow. Ciera’s feet are running across the fitted sheet like she’s trying to get away from something or someone.

“Dammit, rainbow, wake the fuck up. Don’t make me do this,” he forces out as he reaches for her with one hand, and with the other, he rears it back as I raise my weapon, pointing it at the back of his head.

“Hit her, and I pull the trigger.” My voice is cold and detached but full of promise. It has to be when I know I’m about to kill another person. If he touches her, the round in the chamber will be fired. There’s no way for him to mistake my words.

He freezes, his arm midair. After a heartbeat or two, he says, “She’s having a night terror,” as if that makes it okay for him to slap her. It doesn’t.

“Get. The. Fuck. Off her. Now,” I bite out, my voice seething and my finger itching to pull the trigger my forefinger is poised against. I was taught never to insert my finger into the trigger well if I didn’t intend to fire a round, but the second he raised his hand, palm open, the reflex was automatic.

“What the hell is going on?” my father’s gruff and angered voice pierces my eardrums from behind me.

“My suspicion was right, Tony,” Giovanni says, not moving an inch as I’ve ordered.

Stepping forward, I shove the barrel of the gun hard against the back of his head, and this time my voice is louder, more lethal, and as deadly as I can make it. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

I don’t give one fuck that he’s Dad’s best friend or even a member ofthe familysince the boss appointed him as the consigliere. He can die right here, and I won’t feel an ounce of guilt. Sienna may not be ready to take his place yet, but no one ever is until they’re tossed into the deep end and forced to sink or swim.

“Step away from her, G,” Dad says, lacking the authority he should be showing by backing up his second, his son.

“Tony, I can’t leave her like this. I know what—”

“I have no problem painting your brain matter all over the walls, motherfucker,” I seethe, interrupting whatever bullshit excuse he was trying to spew.

His spine straightens as he breathes, then, after a beat, he forcefully blows out a breath. Turning one hundred and eighty degrees, he looks me dead in the eyes, his equally as cold as mine. “I wasn’t going to hurt her.”

“Next time you consider touching here or entering her room uninvited, you’ll find a round lodged in your skull,” I snarl.

He’s smart. He doesn’t say another word before stepping around me and leaving with my father.

Lowering my gun to my right side, I step to the foot of Ciera’s bed. Kicking the comforter and top sheet that have pooled onto the floor out of my way, I stop when my knees meet the footboard. I plan to watch her, but then her brows pinch together as her fists clench at her sides. Her ivory-colored face screws up in terror. A breath later, her body starts to tremble, and that’s when I can’t stop myself.

Reaching for her ankle, I wrap my fingers around the warm skin and pull her toward me, being gentle and unlike my usual aggressive self. Her left leg slides against my dress pants, scorching my skin through the material and only inches from the gun dangling in my hand. Letting go of her right ankle, I lean forward, bringing my free hand to her delicate throat.

The faint marking of the bruise I saw earlier tonight isn’t visible in her moonlit bedroom, but that doesn’t stop me from squeezing her flesh. As I tighten my hold, I lower my bare chest until it meets the thin material of the black tank top covering her breasts. During her thrashing, the camisole has risen above her navel, showing off soft creamy skin that makes my dick harden as my mouth waters and tingles run down the length of my spine.

Dad was right about one thing. I shouldn’t have let her go all those weeks ago when I found her at Santos’s place in New Orleans. Not one day has passed that I haven’t thought of her and how the memory of her hot little body fucks with my mind more than it should. I don’t think there is a single thing I’ve ever wanted more than to eat Ciera Fitzgerald. I want to suck every drop of essence from her pussy. I want to shove myself so far inside her that there isn’t one second of every day that she doesn’t remember I was there. I want to take up residence in every opening and never leave.

Not touching her is a battle I’ve lost damn near every time I’ve seen her. The only reason I didn’t reach out and snatch her away from my father’s side two nights ago during Sienna’s wedding reception was because Krishna grabbed me like I was his to own. It fucking pissed me off and aroused me at the same time.

I’m not his.

I’m not hers either.

And neither of them are mine.

I dip my head, my bottom lip touching her earlobe as I place the weapon on the bed, letting it go. The pull to touch more of her is too much, so I put my now free hand onto her outer thigh and squeeze it against my hip.

“Wake up, beautiful,” I coax her in a gentle tone that surprises me.

Her thrashing settles to a squirm at the sound of my voice, but the soft movement rubs against my hard-on, making me squeeze her neck more; not enough to cut off her air supply, but enough pressure to restrict the blood flow more than I had been doing. My dick throbs, demanding for her and knowing she’s the only one at this moment that could sate my desires.

Running my palm underneath her shorts, I grab her ample ass cheek. There’s so much goddamn saliva pooled in my mouth that I have to swallow before I speak. “Stop dreaming of whatever bad shit is happening inside that pretty little head of yours, Ciera.”

Saying her name out loud makes my cock jerk. It’s why I called her a pheata, the Irish term for “my pet” during dinner. I didn’t need my dick trying to push through the soft fabric of my trousers during a family meal.

Her chest expands, pressing into mine as her lungs steal air despite my hold on her. Then, a shudder escapes her lips, the hot air coating the side of my face and tickling the inside of my ear in the best way imaginable.

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