Page 78 of Deadly Wrath

I don’t have a weak stomach, but the bastard’s fingers were liquefied all over the place. Liv’s dress wasn’t spared either. It wasn’t exactly how I planned to introduce her to my crew. I wanted her to fit in, not walk out covered in some guy’s shattered palm. But she didn’t flinch, didn’t scream, and didn’t cry. She obeyed me in front of my men, which had to be hard for her when I know she wanted to throw some sarcastic shit my way.

I already know she’s in her room. The door’s slightly open, maybe she’s waiting for me to walk through it, or maybe she just forgot to close it all the way. Either way, I take it as an invitation and step inside without knocking.

We’re engaged, but we keep separate bedrooms. It’s an old-school tradition, at least until the wedding.

Something I never thought I’d even entertain after Bria. I told myself this was to protect Liv, a necessary move. But lately, it’s not just about keeping her safe from Antonio.

It’s the way she looks at me like I’m not already halfway to hell. The way she mouths off like I won’t bend her over the nearest surface and fuck the attitude right out of her. She gets under my skin and crawls into every part of me I swore I locked up. And I love every goddamn second of it.

Somewhere between trying to keep her safe, digging for answers, and wanting her like a fucking addiction, the lines started to blur.

Her bedroomlight is off, but the bathroom light spills into the room, and I can see steam seeping from the open crack of her bathroom door. I push it open, stripping off my clothes on the way, my jacket hitting the floor first. My shirt’s clinging to my back with sweat, but I yank it off and let it drop. My shoes thud against the tile when Ikick them aside, and then my pants and boxer-briefs slide down and pool at my feet. I step out of them without slowing down, slide the glass shower door open, and step in.

Jesus Christ.

The water’s fucking brutally hot. Scalding water hits me in the face. I curse under my breath, she always showers like she’s trying to peel her damn skin off. But I don’t complain, not when she’s standing in front of me like this, water sliding down her round ass, hair soaked and sticking to her back. Her skin glistens as water droplets run over her shoulders, following every curve.

“Well!” she says, turning around just enough to give me a playful grin, one I can’t ignore. “That’s one way to announce our engagement. At least it went off with a bang!”

A laugh slips out before I can stop it.Smartass.Even after everything downstairs, she’s still throwing jokes like nothing happened.

I don’t answer. Instead, I look at her, really look at her. Her make-up’s already washed off, not that she needs any of that shit. Gorgeous doesn’t even cover it, but I don’t tell her that. I’m watching her, waiting to see if there’s a crack in her calm.

This won’t be the last time she sees something like tonight. Honestly, that was mild compared to the shit I’ve been involved in.

She tilts her head. Water runs down her face, trailing along her jaw. “Did you kill him?”

“No,” I say simply.

She pauses for a second, then sighs and turns away, reaching for the shampoo in the shower niche. “Good,” she says, twisting the cap. “He owes me a new dress.”

That’s my girl.A fearless fucking wildcat. Not a shred of fear, not even a tremor in her voice. And it makes me want her even more.

I reach out, take the shampoo from her, and pull her against me, her back is flush against my chest. My fingers slide into her hair, working the soap through her strands and massaging her scalp. The way she leans into me makes something primal snap in my chest.

“I’ll make sure he pays for it,” I whisper in her ear. “And if he doesn’t, I’ll take his other fucking hand.”

She giggles softly, turning under the showerhead to rinse out the foam. “You really don’t do subtle, do you?”

“Subtle doesn’t get shit done,” I fire back.

She turns in my arms. “Next time, maybe aim away from me. Blood’s a bitch to get out.”

A growl rumbles from my throat, sounding more possessive than I expect. Suddenly, I bend just enough to hook my hands under her thighs, hoisting her up. Her wet legs grip my waist, like she’s been waiting for me to lose whatever ounce of restraint I had left. Her arms loop around my neck as I press her back against the tile.

Our mouths crash together, rough and hungry. There’s nothing gentle about it. My hands clamp down on her ass, pulling her against me as I line my cock up at her pussy and thrust in, not giving her a second to adjust. Liv’s head falls back, a moan slipping from her lips, but I don’t slow down. My fingers dig into her skin as I fuck her harder.

I need to remind her that she belongs to me. And no one fucks with what’s mine.

WithSatana’sopening tonight and the engagement dinner going to shit, I figured bringing Liv would be a decent way to end the week on a better note. Let her get dressed up. Maybe finish the night without her wearing someone else’s insides unlessthey’re mine.

The place looks fucking phenomenal.Walking up toSatanais like stepping onto the Strip in Vegas. Thebuilding glows and reflects every speck of light like a goddamn jewel. Bright spotlights sweep over the entrance, illuminating the towering glass doors. It’s got that sleek, upscale vibe. Polished and expensive enough to make people second-guess walking in, if they don’t have the cash to play.

The valet line stretches down the block: Bentleys, Ferraris, a few vintage cars for guys trying too hard. The entrance is lined with trimmed hedges and glowing planters, the kind of shit that screams money.

Crazy to think how far this place has come. When I took over, the placewas a dump and smelled like stale smoke and failure. The carpets were a hideous red-orange, stained beyond saving. Half the slot machines were busted, and there was a whorehouse running in the back.

Now, every inch screams high class.The floors are polished natural stone, black and white with gold inlays that catch the overhead lights. Massive crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Dealers in tailored uniforms man the high-stakes tables, cards flicking and chips clinking, a sound that’s pure money.

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