Page 167 of Wicked Savage

Conall swallows hard, his gaze flicking to me for a split second.

Wrong move.

Cillian snaps. His fist collides with Conall’s stomach so fast I barely see it. Conall chokes on a gasp, doubling over, but Cillian isn’t done. He shoves him back again, his knuckles white from the force of his grip.

“You like looking at things that don’t belong to you? Or were you stupid enough to think you could actually touch her?”

“N-n-no, boss, I swear?—”

Another punch to his kidneys comes harder, and I gasp.

Cillian’s grip tightens. “You weren’twhat?” he growls. “Gonna do something? Gonna try something?”

Conall shakes his head frantically, but it doesn’t matter. Cillian’s fist flies, and the sickening crunch of bone against flesh sends a shiver through me. Conall’s head snaps to the side, blood already trickling from his nose as he stumbles, gasping, but Cillian doesn’t let go. He grabs him by his shirt and drags him by the edge of the pool, and my eyes grow.

“Get on your knees!” He shoves him on the ground. “Get on your fucking knees and apologize to my wife for making her uncomfortable. Then you beg for my forgiveness for disrespecting me.”

Conall rises on his knees, clasping his hands together, choking on a cry as he stares at me. “Please, Mrs. Quinn.” He peers at me from his right. “I’m sorry. I was an idiot. I promise I’ll never, ever look at you again.”

“That’s right; you won’t.” Cillian kicks him in the jaw, and a tooth flies out.

“Please, sir. I’m sorry. I-I messed up. I’ll never do that again.”

“Of course you won’t.”

What is he gonna do?

The hairs on my arms stand up.

“Now you’re gonna find out what happens when you fuck with my wife.”

In one swift, brutal motion, he drags him into the pool and shoves his face into the water, holding it there. Conall struggles, but Cillian is stronger. Faster. Angrier.

“P-p-please!” Conall chokes out when he pulls his head back. “I swear I?—”

Cillian doesn’t let him finish. He thrusts his face into the water again.

A violent splash echoes as Conall’s body jerks, his arms flailing. Cillian holds him down without a word, his eyes on mine, his grip unyielding, unmoved by the frantic thrashing beneath him.

“Stop!” I get to my feet, rushing toward him.

But his eyes are distant, clouded with too much anger to calm down.

“You don’t have to do this.”

His mouth twitches. Not in a smile, but something colder. Darker. And it excites me.

“Let me make something clear, Dinara.” His tone is low, but it cuts through the air like a blade. “You’re my wife.” He says it with unwavering certainty, a vow carved in stone. “And I will protect you with my life.” His grip tightens, his expression hardening. “Anyone who hurts you will meet the same fate.”

A shiver runs through me—not from fear, but from the undeniable sense of security he gives me. With him, I know I’m safe.

Bubbles continue to rise to the surface. Then fewer. Then none.

After a long moment, Cillian finally lets go, watching as Conall’s lifeless form sinks, disappearing beneath the rippling surface.

He steps out, water cascading down his body, eyes fixed on the dead man as if he’s just taken out the trash. Then, without hesitation, he stalks closer, gripping the back of my neck with a firm, possessive hold. His body presses into me, heat radiating between us, his hardness unmistakable.

“You’re mine, Dinara Quinn.” His voice is dark, absolute.

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