Page 49 of Deal with the Devil
He knows exactly what he’s doing telling me these things. Just like he knew what he was doing bringing me to that meeting.
I turn my back to him before showing any reaction. My arms rest across my chest as I try to keep myself in check, but the numbness is finally wearing off.
The rage has been building for hours. It’s been building for days.
Since the moment he revealed himself for who he truly was. Since I was taken. Every humiliation, every cryptic threat, every cold glare from behind that devil’s mask. My hatred for him moves through me like molten metal, scorching everything in its path, blinding in its heat. I feel it rising—up my spine, into my throat, burning behind my eyes. I can’t contain it another second.
I slide my hand into the pocket of my jeans. My fingers curl around the jagged edge of the glass I tucked there earlier.
And then I spin around and launch myself at him.
He’s still only a few steps away, standing as firmly as ever, awaiting a reaction from me. But something tells me he never expected one like this.
I charge with every ounce of fury in me, my feet pounding against the floor, arm raised and teeth clenched.
His hand shoots out, catching me at the wrist. We’re locked in a violent tangle as I twist and jerk to free myself from his grip, and he clamps down harder.
“Let go of me!” I scream, anguish entrenched in my voice. “I fucking hate you!”
I wrench one hand free as I thrash in his hold and he tries to subdue me all over again. But I’m a split second faster this time,plunging the glass deep into the first piece of him I can reach—jamming it straight into his left shoulder.
The roar he releases is instant, loud enough to rattle the room. It’s a guttural sound that’s pure fury and almost inhuman. His body jerks backward instinctively, and then he retaliates, flinging me to the ground so hard the air is knocked out of my lungs.
The walls spin around me, my spine aching from colliding with the floorboards so roughly. For a few seconds, I can’t even move as I blink and sputter out a breath.
Through fuzzy vision, I see him standing above me. He pulls the glass shard from his shoulder with a wet, slick sound. Blood streams freely down the front of his suit like crimson ink, though he doesn’t seem concerned it’s staining the fine fabric. His breathing is labored, the grotesque devil’s mask on his face only making him look that much more unhinged.
A sharp tremor of fear surfs down my spine.
Shit. This isn’t good.
I scramble back, but he’s already moving toward me. He reaches me in a couple quick strides, his hand seizing a fistful of my hair. I’m forced up with brutal force, my scalp prickling with pain. I cry out and claw at him defensively, but it’s no use.
He drags me to the bed, shoving me down onto the mattress like I weigh nothing. I’m barely able to writhe against the weight of his body before he’s pinning me in place and pressing a sharp object against my throat.
I go still as soon as I feel it.
He’s using the shard of glass against me.
I’m not even sure if he’s bothered to wipe his own blood off it. Probably not.
It’s more fun and demented that way.
The jagged edge bites into my skin, a simple cut away from slicing me open. He bows his head next to mine as he speaks, his voice slithering into my ear like snake venom.
“I could slit your throat right now, dolcezza. You must think I won’t. You must think you’re still dealing with Rafael.”
I roll my lips together to keep the cry from bubbling out of me. Tears slide down my cheeks anyway.
It’s a word I haven’t heard since that night we had dinner. I’d never imagined it would be the last time I’d hear it from him, or that it would be used as a taunt from a man like Il Diavolo.
“Hewould never hurt you. ButIam not him.”
The glass digs deeper. I wince as a single bead of blood leaks from my neck.
“Don’t fucking test me,” he growls. “Because I will have you bleeding out on the floor. I will hurt you and think nothing of it.”
Every part of me is sick with disgust. I can sense the grin behind his mask and hear the amusement in his voice. He enjoys these sorts of moments.
