Page 184 of Ruthless Creatures

Because the universe is fucking with me at the moment, it’s not.

I stare at the label with Natalie’s name and address on it, feeling my heart thud and knowing that this is a moment of decision I’ll revisit for years to come, one way or another.

It’s a short moment.

If I’m being honest with myself, I made my mind up the second I saw her.

For better or worse, the angel’s got the devil on her side now. If there is a god, not even He can save us from what will come of this.

I walk next door like I’m walking to my own execution, because I am. I ring the doorbell knowing I’m fucked six ways to Sunday but strangely at peace with it. I’ve never been one to dwell in the past.

From somewhere in the house, Natalie calls, “Come in!”

I enter the house, stopping in the living room to look around. The place is neat, simply furnished but with a distinctly feminine flair. Catching her sweet scent, I greedily sniff the air.

The big shaggy black-and-tan Shepherd mix lying sprawled in the middle of the floor lifts its head, makes a half-heartedwoofof welcome, then goes back to sleep.

If she got this animal for protection, she needs a refund.

“Back here!”

I head toward the sound of her voice and find her in a bedroom in the back of the house. The moment I lay eyes on her, I have a fucking heart attack.

I’m fuckingdead.

On the opposite side of the room, she stands in front of a full-length mirror wearing a white wedding dress. It has a cinched waist, an open back, and little sparkly shit all over it.

She’s so knockout beautiful, my eyes burn. Someone punched me in the stomach because I can’t catch my breath.

She sees me gaping at her in the mirror and gasps in horror.

Whirling around, she covers her chest with her arms and demands, “What the hell are you doing in here?”

The lone brain cell I have left functioning operates my mouth. “You told me to come in.”

“I thought you were someone else!”

Those curves, that gown, the way it clings to her body… I’m going to rip that wedding dress off with my teeth.

She’s staring at me, trembling with anger, waiting for a response. I should say something about the package in my hand, but I’m so stunned, I’m barely functioning.

So I default to asshole mode and growl, “You getting married?”

She snaps back, “None of your business. What are you doing here?”

The sass again. Fuck, how I love it. “UPS left this on my porch. It’s addressed to you.”

All the anger drains out of her when she realizes I have a box in my hand. Now she looks confused. “Oh. Okay. Thanks. You can just leave it on the dresser.”

I would but I’m incapable of moving. My feet are rooted to the spot. Every cell in my body demands that I stand here and drink her in, so I do.

If asshole mode is my default, feisty mode is hers. When I don’t respond to her command, she folds her arms and sticks out a hip, staring defiantly at me.

It’s adorable. She’s this tiny thing compared to me, like a kitten facing a lion, but she’s not scared of me at all. From the looks of it, she’d like to kick my ass.

Now I know what it feels like to be struck by lightning. I’ve got a million volts of energy supercharging my body. I wouldn’t be surprised if I spontaneously burst into flames.

I flick my fingers toward her dress. “It doesn’t suit you.”