Page 62 of Forsaken Devotion: Part 2
“Fine,” I spat and lashed my fist out, connecting with his nose. Duane’s head jerked back, and he straightened again, lifting his chin.
“Why did you send Lucian to Gideon Drake’s land?”
“Is he dead?” Duane jolted and looked at me, eyes wide. “Did he kill him?” I wasn’t sure if there was more concern or bitterness in his tone.
“Is that why you sent him there, to break pack law?”
“I didn’t think he’d trespass . . .” Duane’s mouth pinched. He shook his head, and his eyes kept flicking like nothing made sense to him. “For a fucking worthless girl, he turned his back on everything.”
He sounded personally offended. His words also confirmed that he had offered Alex the information and thought Lucian would leave me to die at Drake’s hand.
“Why would he want you?” Duane sounded almost lost.
I needed to get this back on track.
“Where is Cierra?”
He took a moment, eyes lowered. Finally, resolve entered them.
“I’m fucked anyway. I’m not talking. You may as well kill me.” Duane looked over my shoulder at Alex.
“No,” I said, lifting my chin. “You’re not dying. Yet. You need to pay for what you did to Lucian.”
I slapped my palm on the back of his chair and leaned forward, hovering over his face.
“You caused my mate a lot of agony,” I whispered. His nostrils flared, and his eyes flitted to the side.
With my hand gripping the back of the seat, I pulled back my other arm and threw it into his temple.
Again.
And again.
He jolted with each connection.
“Josephine,” Lucian bellowed. I whirled to look at him, standing framed in the doorjamb.
He came in without his crutch, a slight limp to his gait.
And he lookedpissedthe fuck off.
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Istepped back, balling my bloody hands and putting them behind my back.
“Lucian, what are you doing walking around without your crutch?” I chastised. He approached, his gaze not moving from mine as he limped toward me. He moved gingerly, taking extra care with every step, and I hated that. Bruno entered behind him, but he hung back.
My heart thundered in my ears with each step he took closer.
He finally came to a stop in front of me. He seemed calmer than he probably was. His hand lifted to my cheek, and his thumb swiped across my jaw, taking with it a smear of blood. He didn’t seem angry.
I rolled my shoulders.Not that him being angry scared me. I dropped my arms from where I was trying to hide them, and he grabbed my wrist, lifting my hand.
His eyes narrowed as he fixated on my knuckles, rubbing the blood off my hand to expose the split skin. Now, he looked angry.
I cleared my throat and tried to pull my arm away, but to no avail. He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the split knuckles.
“Get back to the house.” His soft order was full of quiet rage.
