Page 99 of Devil's Iris

Another sigh, deeper this time, as she melts into me.

Her head comes to rest in the crook of my neck, her hair tickling my chin and sending shivers down my spine. A harsh breath bursts out when her hands cover mine beneath the water and lift them, guiding them over her skin in a slow, sensual drag.

The only sounds in the air are our heavy breathing and the gentle lap of water as I explore her body—lush and warm and pliant under my touch. But the silence isn’t awkward. It’s comfortable, intimate. Like we’re both lost in our thoughts, trying to process what the hell just happened between us.

Because fuck, it’s still hard to believe I put my gun against her temple and pulled the trigger. Itreallywas loaded—one bullet left in the chamber. And because I’d spun it earlier, the bullets were randomized, meaning there was a one-in-six chance of blowing her skull apart. Those are incredibly high odds. And still, I did it.

What the hell was I thinking? And how could she trust me so blindly? Does she have no sense of self-preservation?

She shifts in my arms, breaking into my spiraling thoughts. “Will you tell me what that guy did? The one you killed?”

“Leni…”

“Please?” She glances back at me through wet lashes, her eyes pools of liquid metal. She doesn’t look afraid or worried at all. Just curious.

And I find myself wanting to tell her. My tongue is heavy with how much I want to tell her. This and anything else she wants to know. I want to tell her everything. Give her everything she asks for and more.

Definitely fucked.

“He stole from me,” I sigh in resignation, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her temple. “But I’m not sure you’ll understand the significance if I tell you what he stole.”

“Then start from the beginning.”

She’s gotten good at this. My lips curl as I indulge her. “My brothers and I run a variety of businesses that bring in profit for us. Both legal and illegal. However, a few years ago, I took on a client who’d murdered someone. A thief.” My smile fades as the memory surfaces, and I don’t even notice Leni going still in my arms.

“This client owned a chain of pharmacies all over the city, but he started noticing expensive medications going missing from his Brooklyn branch. Mounjaro—a tirzepatide used for type two diabetes,” I continue.

Even newer than Ozempic, Mounjaro costs a fortune, which is why Nolan noticed whenever it vanished. The financial impact was impossible to ignore.

“So he investigated and discovered one of his employees was the thief. The man had a diabetic mother who couldn’t gain access to the medications she needed. They had little to no insurance, no money to cover the expenses, and not nearly enough credits to qualify for a loan while already drowning in medical bills.”

“So he stole from his employer,” Leni comments softly.

“Exactly. My client wasn’t pleased when he confronted his employee, who only cried and pleaded for mercy. Mercy he wasn’t granted. He lost his life for the theft.” My jaw tightens. I defended Nolan and won. Hated myself for days after. Because that could have easily been me two decades ago—if I hadaccess to a pharmacy while Mom was fighting her battle with diabetes.

“Poor guy. He was just a victim of circumstances.”

“Yeah.” I run a hand over the curve of her breast—not for lust, but to soothe myself as I move to the harder part of my memory. A lump forms in my throat, the words choking me as I let them out. “He reminded me of myself.”

“How so?” she prompts gently when I go quiet.

“Because years ago, I was in his shoes. A diabetic mother who needed expensive medications to survive. A criminal father whose record was longer than a city block. A selfish fucker who didn’t think it was worth spending money on his sick wife.”

The memory of his voice echoes in my head, clear as the day he said them:

She’s going to die anyway, Romero.

What’s the point in spending so much money on drugs she’ll always need?

It’s better she die peacefully now rather than down the line when I can’t afford to buy her drugs anymore.

Being dependent on medications to survive is no different from being a junkie, you know?

Leni’s sharp inhale drags me back to the present, and I realize I’m gripping her tit too hard.Fuck.

I release her quickly. “Sorry.”

“No.” Her hand slips into the water and finds mine, squeezing. “Keep going. Please.”