Page 44 of The Hellkeeper

“Watch me.”

He’s so annoying.

“Now, tell me what’s wrong with you,” he grunts.

I fold my arms across my chest. “You’re a liar.”

“I’ve never lied to you. And I never will.” His voice is softer now, but there’s steel underneath it. “Tell me what’s got you so angry. Let me prove to you that your man will never displease you.”

I suck in a breath, my resolve teetering. But the jealousy surges again.

“You told me I was the only woman you ever chased. The only one you were obsessed with.”

“You are.”

“Well, that’s interesting, because I just had a very enlightening conversation with a woman who thinks otherwise.”

“Who?” That singular word comes out of his mouth like a death sentence.

“Linda.” I nearly spit her name. “She told me you killed for her.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “That bitch.”

“Seriously?”

“Don’t believe a word she said.”

I shake my head. “Did. You. Kill. For. Her?”

“I did.”

I reach for the door handle, but Damien is faster. He grabs my wrist and yanks me over until I’m straddling his thighs, his arms locking me in place. His scent invades my senses, cologne, leather, and something purely him.

“It was a job. A hit her father paid me for,” he growls. “She was nothing. It meant nothing.”

Maybe I should’ve realized, the moment I felt relief over the fact that he killed because it was business, not love, that it was the moment I lost my mind.

At that instant, I didn’t care that Damien kills people for money. All I cared about was that he didn’t kill because he lovedLinda.

My nails dig into his shoulders, frustration boiling over.

“But me? You obsess over me?”

His grip tightens, his fingers bruising against my waist.

“I’d kill someone for just looking at you wrong.”

His voice drops lower, rough with something almost feral.

“And if that bitch wasn’t a woman, she wouldn’t be breathing right now.”

His words settle into my bones. Violent. Possessive. Unshaken. I believe him. But it doesn’t erase the jealousy clawing through my veins.

I glower at him.Mine. Mine. Mine.

“Still angry, little flower?”

I don’t answer.

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