Page 55 of Revenge Saints
Roman might have taken my weapons, but he didn’t take my brain.
I need a plan.
Shoulder throbbing. Muscles tight. Rage simmering just under the surface.
I force it all down. Knox will come. I know him.
He’ll find a way without blowing the whole fucking place apart.
If I were him, I’d hit the fence behind the base, dense trees, tall grass, natural cover. Perfect for a silent extraction.
The real problem?Getting myself there.
Not by force. I’m outnumbered, injured, cornered.
But Bryn? She thinks she still has a hold on me.
That fake sweetness, that delusion of loyalty she’s trying to sell?
Maybe it’s time I play along. Feed her the lies she’s dying to hear, because there’s no fucking way I’m touching her.
I crack my neck, the tension riding every muscle tight as a fucking noose.
Then I sit back on the bed.
She’ll come.
She’s not done with me yet.
And that’s the only reason I’m still breathing.
It’s late. The sky outside the little window has bled into night.
The door clicks open, and Bryn walks in.
I spot the marks on her neck immediately. Red, raw fingerprints where I’m sure Roman choked her.
The whimpers I heard earlier make more sense now. She fucking enjoyed it.
“You look better,” she says, arms crossing tight over her chest.
Her eyes rake over me, slow, greedy.
I smirk, dragging my gaze up and down her body, and her cheeks flush instantly.
Caught.
“I guess I have you to thank for that, huh?” I don’t move from the bed.
I let my eyes drift away from hers.
She rolls her eyes, biting out, “I’m not stupid, Dante. Don’t pretend you see me as some fucking savior now. Don’t insult us both.”
I chuckle, dark and lazy. “Oh, Bryn.”
I rise slowly, stepping toward her.
Her body tenses, but she holds her ground.
