Page 102 of Brutal Devil

Grinding my molars, I shoot Saint a look. He nods and leads the guards a few feet away, giving Luna and me some space.

When they’re out of earshot, I tip up her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. “You’re angry at me. I get it. But the longer we linger out here without cover, the greater the danger is to you. So, please. Get in the car.”

“I’m starting to think that catching a bullet would be merciful,” she snaps, before she whirls away from me and gets in the back of the G-Wagon.

Trying to keep my own temper under rein, I nod at Saint before rounding the back of the SUV and getting in on the other side. Luna’s staring straight ahead, her body rigid. She’s wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a silky purple top that clings to her curves and makes me want to tear it off her. Her dark waves are pulled into a loose bun, a few tendrils curling around her face. I’ve never seen another woman master casual beauty the way she does—she’s gorgeous without even trying.

And furious with me.

“Drive,” I tell Roc, snapping my seat belt.

Morning traffic in the city is no joke. It’s likely going to take us the better part of two hours to get to the penthouse. Which means it’s going to be a hell of a long car ride. Fortunately, I’ve come prepared.

I reach into my suit and extract a flask.

“It’s seven a.m.,” she informs me.

I hold her gaze as I unscrew the cap and then lift the flask to her in a mock salute. “Cheers.”

We peel out of the casino parking lot, Saint and the guards tailing us in another car. The whiskey hits right, just what I need to smooth the edge off. I take a few pulls for good measure. After we get Luna settled in the penthouse, the first thing I’m going to do is pass out and get some rest.

I tuck the flask back into my pocket and wince as my ruined knuckles brush against fabric. Wanting to feel the pain, I flex my fingers a few more times. I did so much damage last night with the punching bag that my tattoos will probably be all fucked up when the skin heals. And I don’t give a shit.

“What happened to your hands?” she asks quietly as the G hits a pothole and takes it like a champ.

“You did.”

Finding her with ink stains on her fingers, all caught up in a poetry frenzy, unlocked something inside me. Something I’m not prepared to deal with now. Maybe not ever.

We ride in silence for a few minutes before she speaks again.

“Saint told me you left last night.”

I glance over at her. She’s looking at me, questions in her big brown eyes. Fuck, she’s pretty. How did I get so tangled up in this woman in such a short amount of time?

“Is my brother my keeper now?” I drawl, flexing my right hand again.

I wish I had the punching bag in front of me. I’d give it another go.

Her lips tighten. “Where were you?”

“Where do you think I was,amore mio?”

Our gazes hold, like we’re in a childish game of seeing who blinks first. I know what she’s asking me. But I don’t like the answer to her question, because it reveals too much.

“I don’t know,” she says finally in a tense voice. “That’s why I asked.”

I lean toward her across the bench seat. “You afraid I spent the night in someone else’s bed, baby?”

Her nostrils flare and her face closes up. “Did you?”

“No,” I bite out.

I could have let her think it; maybe doing everything I have to in the next few days would have been easier. But I don’t want to lie to her. Not about that.

Her pretty pink lips part, like she’s sighing in relief.

“Did you beat someone up?” she asks next.