Page 11 of Brutal Devil

I don’t like it.

“Where he hit you,” I add, still feeling like we’re speaking two different languages. She has this glazed look in her eyes, and I don’t know if it’s shock or if this is a show she’s putting on. I’m prepared for it to be either. “How is it?”

“Oh.” She lifts a hand to her cheek, pressing it to the swollen bruise. “That.”

“Yeah, fuckingthat.” I’m angry now, feeling like I’m spitting nails with every word. “Don’t minimize what he did to you. He never should have touched you. If I’d known…”

I let my words trail off because they’re ugly and full of vengeance. I’m not trying to scare her right now—I want her malleable. For all the bravado Luna Revello shows, I know enough about her to understand she’s soft. Softer than soft. And I’m not talking about her delicious skin, her lips and ass, her sweet curves. No, I’m talking about the way she was raised.

She’s been coddled and protected. She’s Tomasso Revello’s fucking golden child. Hisonlychild who hasn’t left the chat of life. And that’s why she’s priceless. That’s why I have to marry her. If we want to join the families, it’s got to be with blood. It’s got to fucking stick.

“It’s fine,” she says.

But her voice is off. I heard it earlier, when it was full of sass and fire. Something has changed. And whatever it is, it’s broken her a little.

That pisses me off, even though I know I shouldn’t give a fuck. She’s the enemy. The daughter of our enemy. She’d sooner stick a blade in my back than tell me the truth. And even thoughshe agreed to leave with me, I’m no fool. I know she’s biding her time, looking to run at the first opportunity.

Fortunately for her, I won’t let her.

“It’s not fine that he hit you.” The words leave me in a rush before I can think twice. I know better than to show so much emotion—any emotion, in fact—but something about her makes the parts inside my machine come loose. She leaves me feeling strangely vulnerable, and I don’t know if it’s her or the fact that she’s going to be my wife.

My other half, sharing my bed. The mother of my future demons.Fuuuuuuck.I have to flip the switch and turn off that part of my brain.

Right goddamnnow.

“He does what he wants. It’s his right.” Her voice is wooden. As hollow as her eyes.

And perversely, it stokes my rage for that piece of shit, Tomasso Revello. I never liked him. He’s a coldhearted, merciless prick. Takes one to know one. But abusing his own daughter? It’s lower than low.

I clench my jaw. “Hitting you isn’t his fucking right. Don’t act like it is.”

“I’m not acting like anything.”

This situation is fucked up to the nth degree. But we’re fucked up too. The world we were born into is fucked up. And now, together, we’re doomed to do fucked-up shit.

Until we die.

We’re not dying today. Not here, not now, not yet.

“I didn’t know he was going to hurt you,” I say, my throat thick. I’m reliving that bastard slapping her, and it’s filling me with rage I can’t afford to feel just now, which is crazy since I’m the one who held a Glock to her head earlier. But maybe not quite as crazy when you know it wasn’t loaded. “If I hadsuspected, I’d have had his hands cut off. Fuck. Ishouldhave his hands cut off for hitting you.”

I’m not lying. I’d have held him down and watched as my brother Lucky sawed off Revello’s ugly, worthless mitts. I’d have laughed and spat in his face. All that, I would have done just to keep him from hurting Luna, to keep him from breaking that fragile bond between a father and his daughter. So important. He was trying to send a message, but I’d have told him something else.

You don’t fuck with my woman and get away with it.

I shouldn’t say any of this to my future bride, of course, so I hold my tongue. I’m good at being quiet. At making the other guy talk. And usually, when he does, he spills his guts.

Okay, sometimes it’s because I’m slicing him up with a blade. In my next life, I’m gonna be a chef. I’ve got serious knife skills. These hands are works of art.

At my side, she stiffens and shrinks away from me.

But damn it, she needs to understand. This isn’t Iowa. She’s back in my world now. This isn’t some kumbaya shit in a cornfield. This is life and death, blood and violence and sex and hate and vengeance and money and power. It’s the ugly underbelly, and that’s where we live, where we thrive.

“Are you going to do it?” she asks, and I can see her hesitation.

There’s something she doesn’t want to give voice to, but I don’t have a clue what it is.

“Am I going to do what? You’ll have to spell it out for me,bella. I don’t read minds.”