Page 13 of Vicious Heir

“You know nothing about me,” she grits out from behind clenched teeth, her chest quickly rising and falling, her pulse clearly out of control like my own.

I laugh at her words. If only she knew. I know more than I’d like to care to admit about her.

“Keep on thinking that, viper,” I say, and then I forcefully pull her behind me as I head toward the private rooms.

She immediately tries to stop, but her strength isn’t a match for mine. I tug her along as she objects from behind me. I don’t miss the eyes on us as I pull her through the club, and I also don’t give a fuck.

When we get to the door, I turn to her.

“You came all this way, and you’re not even going to know for sure what he’s doing back there? Taking my word as if you trust me, now, are you? I feel special.” I grin at her, and she tries again to pull free from me. “Can’t handle seeing your husband fucking another woman? Or do you just not want to admit to yourself that your life is a goddamn lie, Evelina?”

Maybe my words are harsh.

Maybe I don’t give a fuck.

I want her to understand she deserves better, even if she hates me for showing her.

She stares at me, unmoving, no longer trying to get away from me—finally.

I watch her resolve dim before she speaks, and I already know I’ve won. Even if I never really wanted to play this fucking game to begin with.

She uses her free arm to pull her phone out of her back pocket and open up her camera app. Hopefully he’s in a viewing room and not a fully private one tonight; otherwise, she’s not going to be able to take a photo without showing her cards. And as much as I want her to make a move, part of me wonders how the fucker will react.

“I’ve already handled more in my lifetime than you’ll ever see in yours,” she spits. “Sitting up on your Amatofuckingthrone.”

She jerks her arm away, and this time I let her go. Something in the tone of her words makes me believe her. But if that’s true, I don’t know her as well as I think I do.

“Let’s go, then, Niccolò. Let’s get this over with. Let’s fulfill your sick and twisted humor while my life continues to crumble around me.”

Ah, fuck.

I didn’t mean for her to get this worked up. Did I want to show her that her husband isn’t who he claims to be? Sure fucking did. But did I want her to be collateral damage to his lies?

No.

I push open the door as she adjusts the wig on her head, and we enter the hallway leading to the lounge, along with a few of the private rooms and the rooms with display windows for others to watch.

One of the private rooms is open, and I feel Evelina tense beside me as we walk. Her combat boots quietly pad on the floor as she takes in the space around her, which is made to feel like an open and inviting space. The walls have a fresh coat of paint on them and tables with condoms, to encourage protection, and refreshments line the hallway.

Once we get to the second voyeur room, we see him. Evelina stops in her tracks as we look on at Enzo railing into a curvy brunette. My attention zeroes in on Evelina, but she shows exactly zero emotion on her face as she snaps a few photos in quick succession and then spins on her heel and starts walking back in the direction we just came from.

I follow closely behind, having no plan in my head as to how I’m going to cool her down. She continues walking until she’s outside the club, and I let her but stay a short distance behind her as she walks quietly down the sidewalk.

We’ve made it a couple blocks when we come to a motorcycle, and she unlocks a cargo bin and removes a helmet from the storage.

What the fuck?

My thoughts ping-pong between the fact that I somehow didn’t know this and also that she looks so fucking sexy flinging her leg over the side of the bike and straddling it.

“Any particular reason you’re following me like a puppy dog, Niccolò?” she asks, and this time I do control the smirk that threatens to break free.

I fucking love this side of this woman. All those days I spent watching her in the shop, and I never once assumed she would be this outspoken, feisty firecracker of a woman.

She fits her helmet over her head and kick-starts the bike to life.

“You got what you wanted.” She does a slow clap before rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

I can just barely see it from behind her helmet. After checking her small mirror, she hastily speeds off into the night, and I stand still in the place she left me. Unmoving.

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