Page 2 of Ravage God
I scoffed. “Didn’t look like fun from where I was standing.”
I turned briefly back to Isa, who was taking everything in with wide eyes.
The fucker let out a nervous chuckle when I looked back at him.
“Go home. If you stay here, I’ll come for you. And trust me, you won’t like it when that happens.”
He opened his mouth, as if to say something to me. All I got were incoherent words that had me debating whether it would be worth the trouble to bury a body tonight.
Lucky for him, he turned around and hightailed out of there.
I closed my eyes, trying to calm down the anger I could feel rising.
A hard tap on my back disrupted that.
The little brat.
I turned and took her in.
She was glaring at me, arms crossed over her chest. She was about as frightening as a kitten when she looked like this.
I resisted the urge to smile.
Fucking hell.
I had been angry at her. Still was. This wasn’t the time to find her amusing.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I think the better question is, what areyoudoing here?”
“What does it look like? I’m here at a house party with people my age. I think you might be a little old to be here.”
I took a step closer to her. She moved one step back. We kept going until her back was pressed up against the railing, and she had nowhere else to go.
“Do you really think I came here to hang out with a bunch of high schoolers?”
She shrugged. “Well, I don’t know. You can be into some pretty creepy things.”
“What a brat,” I mumbled under my breath. Since when did she start talking back?
Maybe when she became a teenager? I didn’t fucking know, but I never thought I’d miss the days when she would follow Valentino and me around, like our own little shadow. That had been annoying, but at least it was better than whatever the hellthiswas.
Her outfit registered in my mind for the first time.
“I am not a brat,” she said at the same time I said, “What the fuck are you wearing?”
“What?” She looked down at herself. She was in a tiny black dress, held together by nothing but strings that weren't wider than her pinkie finger.
And it was short. Too fucking short, stopping at mid-thigh. If she bent over even a little, people would see more than they should.
I shook my head. She was going to give Valentino an aneurysm if he caught her in this. I pulled off my jacket and wrapped it around her. She tried to fight me.
I shot her a stern look and zipped the jacket all the way up to her neck.
“It’s just a dress,” she said.
“A dress? I’ve seen a one-piece bathing suit that covers more than this fucking dress.”
