Page 33 of Savage Hearts

“Did you see a man enter or leave?”

“No. No one went in or out except her.”

“When she came out, did she say anything about a man being inside?”

Spider glances at me. His expression is apologetic. “No.”

Sloane turns back to me, nostrils flared and lips flattened. “Jesus, Riley. For a singing bird box? If you needed money so badly, all you had to do was ask.”

“This isn’t about the bet, Sloane!”

“Game’s over. Spider, take her back to her room.” Everyone in the room is now staring at me.

Me, in my stupid slutty dress, with my stupid bleached hair and my white-hot mortification at being called a liar.

By my own sister, the asshole who wanted me to come here in the first place.

Without waiting for Spider to humiliate me further by grabbing my wrist and dragging me away, I turn and walk out, keeping my head held high despite the rock in my throat and the water welling in my eyes.

So help me god, this is the last time I’ll ever speak to her again.

TEN

MAL

When I return to my perch in the belfry, Declan’s house is dark.

The only lights that remain burning are the landscape floodlights and in lamps in three rooms on the first floor.

One of those rooms is a bedroom.

I can’t see much from this angle, but I can see French doors with curtains drawn over. There’s a small, private patio off the room, decorated with pots of blooming flowers.

An armed guard passes by the patio, rifle at the ready. They’re crawling all over the property, these guards. As if it makes a difference.

I don’t know if Declan and his entourage have already gone to bed or if they went somewhere else after I left the restaurant, because I didn’t come straight here. I drove around the island, thinking. Trying to clear my head.

Of her. The waif.

I’m angry with myself that I frightened her.

I’m even more angry that I care that I frightened her.

I never care about scaring anyone. No matter their gender.

I’ve been the recipient of people’s fear for so long, it no longer means anything to me.

But hers did. I hate that.

When I close my eyes to draw a breath, an image of her terrified face pops up against my eyelids. I allow myself to sit with it for a moment, taking pleasure in the details.

Everything about this girl is in the details.

She’s not tall, like Declan’s woman. She’s not flashy, or curvy, or sexy, or anything obvious that would catch a man’s eye.

She’s like a little bird that looks plain at first glance. Only when you focus your attention can you see the incredible intricacy of her feathers.

The ring of gold around her pupils.