Page 5 of Brutal Devil

LUNA

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

It’s all I can think, one unending litany, as Priest marches me back into the club like I’m a criminal on a perp walk. I try to catch my father’s eye, but he won’t look at me.

I may have been born into this world, but my father was always good at insulating me from it. I was a Mafia princess in a gilded cage, kept from all the blood and bombs and Glocks.

A minute ago, I just had a gun jammed into my temple.

That’s not the only thing Priest jammed into me when he trapped me against the wall and crowded me with his big, powerful body, his heat seeping into me. He smells like citrus and pine trees and sex. I don’t know why I’m thinking about his scent and wondering whether it’s cologne or soap. I don’t know why I’m thinking about his massive dick and the fact that he was hard.

I just am.

Maybe it’s shock. Maybe this is what happens when you’ve just been some lunatic’s trigger finger and a whim away from having your brains Jackson Pollocked all over the wall. Maybe I’ve lost my mind. Or maybe it’s something worse. Much worse.

My father’s not looking at me, and he called me home because he supposedly has cancer, but the club is empty and the Andriani crew is here, packing heat. I’m going to die.

That’s what this is.

My father crossed them somehow. Badly. They have something on him, or he’d never be here. He’d never make sure to lure me like a lamb to the slaughter. We don’t get along, but I’m the only flesh and blood he has left now that Leo’s gone.

I’m going to die, and some of my final thoughts on this earth are going to be about the size of Priest Andriani’s cock and how I was today years old when I realized it’s possible to be terrified and turned on at the same time. That you can hate someone and also want to fuck them. Or maybe something’s wrong with me, specifically, that I’m capable of feeling that way.

Maybe I’m every bit as much of a psycho as he is.

I reach the seating area I was so determined to avoid. The red velvet couches and chairs. It never seemed so obvious to me before, that the couches are the color of blood. My father is still looking everywhere but at me. The Andrianis are watching. One of them looks amused. The others look like they want to kill me themselves.

“Sit,bella,” Priest orders mockingly from behind me.

I choose a chair, opting out of the couch. I don’t want anyone sitting that close to me. But as if he knows the reason for my decision, Priest hooks his foot in the leg of the nearest chair and drags it across the floor until it’s flush with mine. Then he sinks into it, stretching out his long legs, ankles crossed. It’s the easy, graceful pose of a man who’s hot and dangerous as fuck and knows it.

I’m briefly fascinated by the sharp line of his jaw, covered in dark stubble I felt in the barest whisper against my cheek earlier when he leaned close and spoke into my ear. But then I yank my gaze away, back to my father, who finally meets my eye againafter throwing me to the wolves a few minutes ago when he allowed Priest to chase after me.

Does he know Priest had a gun to my head? Does he care? What the hell do they have on him?

He shrugs lightly, the way he does when he offers an apology he doesn’t mean.

Whatever this is, it’s not good.

I feel it hovering in the air, this ominous sense of impending doom.

Everyone sits, except for one of the Andriani crew, who goes to the door, guarding it in a defensive stance, legs spread wider than normal, hands clasped.

I decide to talk first. If I’m going to die anyway, I may as well get this party started.

“What’s going on here? Why is the club a ghost town?” I’m addressing my father, but at this point, I have no idea if he’ll respond.

“Have some patience,” Priest chides at my side like it’s his right.

I slant him a glare, wishing I were immune to his good looks. It should be a sin for a man so evil to look so damn hot. My ovaries don’t seem to care that he’s a ruthless murderer, a killer who tortures his enemies to death for sport, a criminal, a gangster, one of the vicious psychos responsible for Leo’s murder. Fucking bastards.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I snap at him.

The Andriani who looks amused, Scorpion, whistles. “You going to control her, brother?”

I want to cut off his balls and feed them to him. “No man controls me.”

“Wrong again, sweetheart,” Priest drawls at my side. “I do now.”