Page 15 of Cruel Deception
Violence always triggers it, the healing tissue screaming under stress. “Stop!” I gasp, tears stinging my eyes, but Nico doesn’t care.
He’s feral, his hands tearing at my jacket, trying to yank it off as I sag against the shed, pain radiating through me.
“Quit pretending,” he pants, forcing me upright, slamming me against the splintered wood. “Bend over, babe, you know you want it.” His fingers fumble with his zipper, the sound obscene in the quiet yard.
My vision blurs with pain and panic.
I claw at his arms, desperate, my chest throbbing.
I need to stop him, now, or he’ll— A roar splits the air, a motorcycle tearing into the yard at breakneck speed, tires kicking up dirt like a storm.
The rider’s clad in black leather, a sleek jacket studded with silver rivets, tight pants hugging powerful legs, and a full-face helmet with a tinted visor that hides their identity.
The bike—a gleaming beast of chrome and black—screeches to a halt, and the rider swings off, their movements fluid, lethal, like a predator stepping into a fight.
Nico freezes, his hands still on me, but his eyes dart to the newcomer. My heart races, pain and fear colliding. Who the hell is this? And why does that bike look so damn familiar?
The biker strides toward us, each step a thunderclap against the gravel, and before I can blink, he yanks Nico off me with a force that sends him sprawling.
A swift kick to Nico’s ribs drops him to the dirt, his groan swallowed by the dusk.
“Engaged to my brother, yet sneaking around with this filth?” The voice is unmistakable—low, molten, and laced with venom. Cassian.
He rips off his helmet, revealing that face—sharp cheekbones, a jaw carved from stone, and those searing blue eyes that cut through me like a blade.
His dark hair is tousled from the ride, the faint scar on his temple glinting under the fading light.
He’s a storm in human form, clad in black leather studded with silver rivets, his jacket hugging his broad shoulders, his pants tight against powerful thighs.
My chest burns, not just from fear but from the sharp, tearing pain where my surgery scars lie.
I collapse to my knees, clutching my ribs, gasping as the agony spikes, a white-hot blade twisting inside me. The stitches—did they tear? I can barely breathe, each inhale a fresh wave of torment.
Nico scrambles to his feet, dusting off his jacket, his smirk faltering. “Charlotte and I go way back, Mr. Cassian,” he says, his voice oily, trying to play it cool. “Old flames, you know.”
Cassian’s eyes darken, his stride eating the distance between them.
Nico fumbles for his gun, pointing it with a trembling hand. “I got a right to defend myself, Mr. Moretti. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“He was forcing me,” I choke out, my voice raw, barely audible over the pain.
I’m curled on the ground, dirt smudging my jeans, my hands pressed tight to my chest as if I can hold the pain in.
Cassian’s gaze flicks to me, cold and unyielding, disbelief etched into every line of his face. He doesn’t buy it. Why would he? To him, I’m just a thief, a liar who stole his bike and kissed him to escape.
I whimper, the pain surging, my vision blurring as I clutch myself tighter, praying the stitches hold.
In a flash, Cassian moves—faster than should be possible.
He knocks the gun from Nico’s hand with a brutal swipe, the metal clattering against the shed.
Before Nico can react, Cassian’s on him, slamming him to the ground, his knee driving into the back of Nico’s neck. “Mr. Cassian, I can’t brea—” Nico gasps, his eyes locking onto mine, wide with panic.
Cassian leans down, his voice a low, deadly purr. “In your next life, you stay the fuck away from anything that belongs to the Morettis.” With a sickening crack, he twists Nico’s neck.
Nico’s body goes limp, his head lolling at an unnatural angle, eyes blank, lifeless.
A scream lodges in my throat, but I choke it back, turning away, my stomach churning. I’ve seen violence—fights in alleys, blood on pavement—but this is different. Cold. Final. Like death is Cassian’s native tongue.
