Page 104 of Deviant Princess (Knight's Ridge Empire 5)

“No, I didn’t think so. I guess I should just be grateful that my brother had the sense to give her a burner in case anything ever got a little fucked up. Because if he hadn’t and she hadn’t been able to reach out, she’d still be in here now, wouldn’t she?”

“Probably,” I confess.

“So what was your plan?” Cruz asks. “Lock her up, make her fall in love with you, get her pregnant and pop out some little Reapers/Cirillo heirs?”

“G-get her preg— What? No, I wasn’t trying to trick her into anything. Shit. What the fuck do you think of me?”

“So you didn’t drug her, lock her in a cell and withhold birth control?”

My chin drops hearing the words, and I’m not the only one they shock, because in a heartbeat my back is against the wall and Dawson’s forearm is pressing against my throat, cutting off my air supply.

“You’re a manipulative cunt, Cirillo.”

“I-I d-didn’t,” I gasp, fighting to get the words out. “That wasn’t w-what—”

“So my niece didn’t ask me to get her the morning after pill because of you?”

Pain explodes across the side of my head and everything goes black.

* * *

“Theo.” The soft, feminine voice flows through my ears and my blood begins to heat.

Emmie.

Fingers gently brush down my face and goosebumps prickle my skin.

“Em,” I groan, my body burning up from her innocent touch.

“Theo, wake up.”

My head knows something is wrong, but my body refuses to accept it.

“I need you,” I plead, reaching for her.

My hand finds her waist, and I squeeze, assuring myself that she’s there before gliding it up her body until—

“Keep going and you might lose the use of your hand.”

My eyes fly open and I suck in a shocked breath.

I knew it wasn’t her, but I didn’t want to believe it.

“Fuck,” I hiss as I stare into Stella’s light blue eyes. “How did you get in?”

“Your door was open. I saw Emmie’s dad and uncle leaving the building. I assumed they’d paid you a visit.”

“Yeah,” I grunt, pushing myself so I’m sitting with my back against my kitchen island.

My hangover still rages, but it’s the shooting pain from the side of my face that’s more insistent.

“What happened?”

“D knocked me out,” I confess.

“Can’t say you didn’t deserve it.”

“I know. I’m surprised he didn’t do worse, to be honest.”