Page 102 of Kissing the Villain

The Knights. They would do anything to protect their Queen. A weakness I would expose when this nightmare was over.

Drake stood behind me, his hand on my hip to steady me as Luca grabbed my arm. Pressing my thumbs to my eyelids, I forced back the tears and let them comfort me. Despite their guilt for Aiden’s disappearance, I needed them.

Until I found my brother, I could tolerate Luca’s fingers dipping beneath my sweat-soaked shirt. I could let him massage my back and whisper sweet shit into my ear. And I could let Drake hold me against his chest, his fingers grazing my stomach soothingly.

“Marcello will make it,” Luca assured me.

I sobbed, my lungs heavy as I took a few deep breaths and glanced up at Luca. “How do you know that?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You can’t kill the Devil, baby girl. Only a god can kill a demon. That asshole who shot Marcello is far from one.”

My eyes met his cold blue irises, which looked sadder than usual. He was so beautiful that my throat just about closed up.

“If he dies… I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much, Luca.”

Luca curved his arm around me and rested my head on his chest. “It’s okay, baby. Shhh…” He kissed my sweaty head, stroking his fingers through my hair. “Close your eyes, pretty girl. It will all be over soon.”

“No, it won’t. Those men will come back for me. This is only the beginning. Isn’t it?”

He nodded. “They will return. Next time, they’ll have more resources.” Luca swiped a tear from beneath my eye. “We will be ready.”

I glanced around the room. A worried Sonny shoved a hand through his messy blond hair, biting the inside of his cheek. Drake had tears in his eyes as he watched Pops operate. When he caught me looking, he turned and wiped his eyes.

Arlo waited outside the plastic curtain, arms crossed and with his back to us. His gaze hadn’t shifted from Marcello, not once. Bastian and Damian leaned into each other, speaking in hushed tones. Their faces were as cold and emotionless as marble. Like Luca, I couldn’t get a read on them. None of the Salvatores wore their emotions on their sleeves. They had learned from an early age how to bottle them up.

I recognized some men from the Midsummer Night’s Dream masquerade ball. They waited on the other side of the room, huddled around each other with their focus on Marcello, members of The Devil’s Knights.

The tallest of the bunch, Cole Marshall, had white-blond hair styled off his forehead. He was twenty-one, the youngest and newest Knight. He wore hunter-green fatigues and a fitted shirt that made his big biceps look more prominent. His family owned and ran a military academy for boys, where Cole had lived most of his life.

A man in his mid-twenties stood beside Cole, tugging on his tie. The other blond beside him shifted his weight from one foot to the other. They had light blond hair and sun-kissed skin. Sonny was the oldest of the Cormac boys. He had two legitimate brothers and a half-sister. I wasn’t sure which brother was older, Callum or Finn, but they resembled Sonny.

I closed my eyes, attempting to block out the beeping monitor. To forget about the man who held me at knifepoint. The bullet lodged into Marcello’s liver.

My grandfather yelled, “We’re losing him.”

With those words, I moved toward the curtain, following the sound of his voice. Luca shouted my name, but I couldn’t make out the rest of the words over the ringing in my ears. My pulse thumped in my neck, pounding so hard and fast it was ready to escape.

I stopped beside Arlo. He stood painfully still, his eyes on his dying son. Lights flashed before my eyes, Marcello’s name a whisper on my lips. More sounds penetrated the air, voices reaching a higher octave. My body felt weighed down, the gravity of the situation taking over.

Legs trembling, I pushed out my palm to steady my legs, but it was useless. Machines screeched in my ears. Pops yelled something, and as his face came into focus, someone moved behind me. They grabbed my arm, crushing me against a hard chest.

I squirmed, a scream ripping from my lips as someone jammed a needle into my arm. “No,” I slurred.

“He’s gone,” someone said from a distance.

Before I could process his words, I lost my footing, and the room swirled around me.

41

LUCA

I stood beside my father,who crossed his arms over his chest, watching the medical team work on my brother. We were the same height, six feet three inches, and had the same black hair and rugged features.

Most people hated my father, but they also respected him. It was difficult to look past his cruelty.

From an early age, I knew he was preparing me for the world’s harshness. Every scar was a lesson, a reminder of how tough I needed to become to survive. I remembered each one when I looked in the mirror. The scar on my shoulder was from his belt buckle and was a lesson in obedience.

I had a long, jagged scar on my back, the one Alex kissed the night we met. That was a lesson in selfishness. My actions had almost gotten my brother killed, and Dad whipped the shit out of me for it.

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