Page 23 of Savage Hearts

It’s disorienting.

We’re rounding the corner of the hallway and headed to the foyer when Sloane spots Spider, crossing the vast acreage of echoing marble she calls the “sitting room.” It’s so big, the weddings of future heirs to the throne of the House of Windsor could easily be held there in case Westminster Abbey burns down.

“Spider!” she calls. “Would you come here for a moment, please?”

He’s holding a can of soda in his hand. In the middle of taking a swig, he turns his head and glances in our direction.

He looks at me.

Liquid sprays abruptly from his mouth in a huge geyser, as if he’s just been punched hard in the gut. He stares at me, frozen and gaping, soda dripping from his chin.

Sloane stops and turns to me, smug. “You owe me two boxes of Twizzlers.”

Cheeks burning, I mutter, “Give me a break. That wasn’t a positive reaction. The poor man got such a fright, he nearly choked to death.”

“What you don’t know about men could fill all thirty-two volumes of theEncyclopedia Britannica.”

“They have that online now, Grandma.”

“Theory’s the same. You know jack shit about men. Let’s go eat.”

“Can you give me a sec? I need a moment alone to mentally prepare myself for my forthcoming public humiliation.”

Without waiting for her permission, I stalk off in the other direction, toward a set of open glass doors that lead to an outdoor patio.

I keep my gaze averted from Spider, who’s still standing right where he was when I turned him into a pillar of stone in a tightblack suit, and walk outside into the balmy evening air, vowing to myself that I won’t let Sloane see me cry.

I’ve cried because of that heartless wench too many damn times in my life already.

SEVEN

MAL

She emerges onto the patio in a burst of angry energy I feel all the way from where I’m sitting, fifteen hundred yards away.

Lying in wait, rather. Inside the same abandoned church belfry I scouted two days ago, when I arrived on the island.

It offers an excellent east-west view of the property. From this vantage point, I can see both the front and back of the estate. With a swing of my rifle’s muzzle to the left or right, my sights can be on Declan’s skull in either his driveway or his backyard.

Right now, they’re on the woman stalking back and forth across the patio.

Her hair is platinum blond, cut to jaw length, sleek and swinging. Her clinging black cocktail dress is almost nonexistent. And she doesn’t seem to be comfortable in the spiky heels she’s wearing.

Several times as she spins to go the other direction, an ankle wobbles, and she has to throw out an arm to regain her balance.

She’s young, slim, and extremely awkward. Something about her is fascinating. I can’t look away.

Because of the hair and the dress, it takes me a while to recognizeher. But then I note the glasses she’s wearing and suck in a breath. It comes out in a furious hiss.

Poor baby. He wasn’t satisfied with her simplybeinga whore.

He wanted her to look like one, too.

Clearly, she’s upset about it. Or about something else he did to her.

Something much worse than a wardrobe change.

Anger boils in the pit of my stomach.That son of a bitch.