Page 66 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

Something almost like concern flickers across Dante’s face. “Road life’s not for everyone. Even wild little princesses need roots.”

I rip the bag from his grip, my knuckles whitening around the handles. “Your job’s done. Now fuck off.”

Why does everyone suddenly feel the need to write my wedding vows because I rescued Romano’s daughter?

He raises his hands in mock surrender, that damned smirk creeping back onto his face. “Just saying, you might wanna rethink the nomadic life.”

He turns on his heel, sauntering back to the SUV.

“And you might wanna watch your back, felon,” I call after him as he pulls open the door.

Dante glances over his shoulder. “Why should I? That’s what you’re there for.”

I grit my teeth, my hand twitching with the urge to throw the penknife in my boot at him. But sweet little Addy wouldn’t appreciate having to dig my parting gift out of her husband’s ass. So I just watch until the Escalade disappears.

I slam the door shut.Pussy-whipped?I can’t fucking believe my sister. I know she and Dante are thick as thieves, but she’s supposed to be a therapist. And two seconds after I tell her about Luna, she’s blabbing that shit to him?

But maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world that Luna already has Sophie and Dante on her side. Something tells me she’ll need those allies very soon.

22

Luna

I wake up groggy, my eyelids sealed shut in a way that tells me I slept like the dead. My face is buried in a pillow that smells disappointingly like fabric softener. I take a deep breath, searching for that deliciously rugged scent I woke up to yesterday morning.

Nope. Nothing but laundered cotton. And . . . coffee.

He obviously doesn’t sleep here.

“You’re such a buzzkill, Cade Quinn,” I mumble into the pillow, my mind already replaying reminders of his scent . . . his taste . . . the feel of that long, thick finger working me to a fever . . . the skill and utter dominance in his touch.

No one, absolutely no one who kisses like that should be wrapped in such a callous package. Delilah would have a field day if she knew—

I freeze as pain slices through me. Her betrayal is a wound too fresh to fully process. I trusted her while she served me up for a fateworse than death. My stomach twists to think how many other women she’s done this to. Which only makes me more grateful that Cade went out of his way to help me.

Not that it means shit now, considering he’s likely jetted off to fucking Siberia, and left me to fend for myself until his ‘so-called’ help arrives. Apparently, wrapping that stupid rosary around Antonov’s neck is more important than . . .

Me.

“Ugh, Luna, get a grip,” I mumble. “You don’t mean anything to him. The sooner you get that into your stupid head, the better.”

Uncle Jacques is the safe choice. He’s wealthy and powerful enough to protect me. It makes sense to go to him. The last twenty-four hours have been the most insanely terrifying in my entire life. I should be grateful to leave it all behind.

But there it is again—that jolt low in my belly.

I like being terrified.

I bury my head under the pillow and groan. “Cade Quinn is a whole fucking parade of red flags. Good riddance to him.”

“Stop it. You’re hurting my feelings.” Cade’s deep baritone cuts through my grogginess.

I yank the pillow off and whip around to find him sprawled in the chair across the room, one leg casually draped over the other knee. He’s holding a steaming mug of coffee in one hand while a chunky tablet sits in his lap. His tight white T-shirt shows off two full sleeves of ink and corded muscles.

“Cade! You’re still here!” My face splits into a stupid grin, my voice embarrassingly breathy with relief.

“I leave in forty-five minutes.”

And just like that, the warmth in my chest evaporates. “Great.” I force my voice into something approaching nonchalance. “Well. How long have you been sitting there?”

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