Page 157 of The Devil's Thorn

He studied me, unreadable for a beat. “Don’t let him get in your head.”

“I’m not afraid of him.”

“You should be.”

I arched a brow. “Like I should be afraid of you?”

He didn’t answer that. Just reached for his own glass and took a slow sip, his eyes still locked on mine.

I didn’t move. Neither did he.

Then—

The music shifted. Louder. Bolder. The low hum of base vibrating through the floor. I turned around. And there he was.

Yuri, walking in with five women trailing behind him—each of them barely dressed, adorned in silk and lace, like some scene out of a fever dream. One of them blew a kiss at Rafael. Another smiled at Ash.

Yuri threw his arms out wide, voice booming. “The Cartel sent gifts,” he announced to the entire space. “AndGod bless themfor knowing my taste.”

I blinked slowly. Of course. Ofcoursehe did.

Beside me, Rafael muttered under his breath, and I didn’t need to look to know that his jaw was clenched again.

But me?

I just smiled, slow and deliberate, and leaned back against the bar. This is going to be interesting.

Rafael didn’t move from my side. Even with the chaos unfolding around us—music pumping louder, laughter rising, hands trailing places I didn’t care to glance—he remained still. Present. Anchored. His hand rested on the bar, fingers curled around the rim of his untouched drink, while the other settled on the edge of his thigh like he was biding time. Calculating.

But I felt the shift the moment he glanced at me again. Not just looked—glanced. Eyes dragging, burning, reading me like I was a language he already spoke but still wanted to relearn.

One of the women—half-naked, glitter-coated and smelling like vanilla and something sharp—planted herself in Ash’s lap. He didn’t look surprised. Another one was already leaning into Kellan, whispering something in his ear that made his jaw tick. Across from me, Yuri had a girl straddling his chair, a blade in his hand tracing lazy, tantalizing paths over her bare thigh. She arched into it, eyes hooded. Not afraid.

I sipped my drink, not tasting it. Not caring.

And then I felt it—heat at the nape of my neck. Fingers, slow and possessive, threading through the back of my hair. Rafael’s hand. A calloused thumb brushing over my skin, down to the curve where my neck met shoulder, firm and deliberate.

He leaned in—close enough for his breath to tickle my ear, his voice low and laced with something dark. “You enjoy watching, Isabella?”

His words were laced with something dangerous. Something that dared me to look away. I didn’t.

Instead, I turned my head slightly, just enough for my temple to graze his jaw. “I’ve seen worse. Been through worse.”

His hand slid lower—along my spine, then curling slightly around my waist, his fingers grazing the edge of the barely-there dress I wore over my bikini. He didn’t rush. Didn’t grab. Just moved like he had all the time in the world and every right to touch me.

He pressed his lips to the shell of my ear, and this time, they stayed. “You shouldn’t get too close to Yuri,” he murmured. “He might joke, laugh, charm… But you can never know what he will do next.”

I didn’t flinch. I just smiled and murmured back, “Isn’t that why you keep him close?”

His hand tensed slightly at my waist. “I keep him close because he’s loyal. And because when things get messy, Yuri doesn’t hesitate. That’s rare.”

“You make it sound like you admire him,” I said, tone even, fingers tightening around the chilled glass in my hand.

“I admire results,” Rafael said simply.

My gaze flicked back to Yuri—still dragging his knife across the girl’s thigh, still smiling like the devil’s favorite child.

Then Rafael’s fingers slid back up my spine, over my shoulder, tugging gently on the strand of braided red thread Yuri had tied in my hair. He held it between two fingers, inspecting itlike he already knew where it came from, but wanted to hear it from me anyway.