Page 95 of Devil's Iris
I shut the door firmly behind me so Lady won’t follow me out, then cross my arms as I march towards the living room. My heart is already pounding, belly doing ridiculous little flips before Romero even comes into view.
But then he does, and I freeze like someone just dumped ice water over my head.
He’s wearing his usual charcoal-gray suit, tailored to fit him like a second skin. But that’s not what stops me cold or makes my breath catch in my throat.
It’s the blood.
Dark red splatters across the collar of his white undershirt. A faint smear along the side of his jaw, evidence of a hurried wipe that missed a spot. More drops dotting his jacket sleeve, forming a disturbing polka-dot pattern.
“Romero,” I breathe, my voice cracking. “Are you—are you hurt?”
He glances up, seeming almost startled for a second. Then that familiar mask slides back into place, making those green eyes go cold. “No,” he answers, gaze holding mine. “The blood isn’t mine.”
The pit in my stomach doesn’t ease. If anything, it opens wider as my mind starts racing.If it’s not his blood, then…Almost instinctively, I drift closer, my eyes raking over every inch of him. “Then whose blood is?—?”
“Leni.” The sharpness in his voice cuts through my question. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”
Speechless, I, watch him shrug off his jacket and drape it over his arm. Then he moves towards the stairs, clearly intending to walk right past me, and something inside me just—snaps.
It isn’t his blood. And I’m smart enough to realize thatmeans he hurt someone. Or worse. I’m not sure what scares me more—the thought of what he probably did tonight... or how badly I want to know every detail.
Without conscious thought, I grab his arm as he passes, gulping when he glances down at me with those cold eyes. “Iwantto know. What did you do?”
He raises a brow, a flicker of something there and gone before his face locks into stone. When he speaks, his voice is harder than concrete. “Some fool thought he could steal from me. I taught him better.”
Taught him better.My throat goes dry. “Did you—did you kill him?”
“Yes.” His stare sears mine, the air between us crackling with something electric and dangerous. “Right after I tortured him. I made him suffer so much he begged me to put him out of his misery.”
My lips part on a sharp inhale. I believe him. A shiver runs down my spine, but it’s not from fear. I know Romero now—he wouldn’t have done that unless he had a reason.
Right?
But something doesn’t add up.
Why is he suddenly volunteering information when getting a straight answer from him usually requires an act of Congress?
“Are you trying to make me scared of you? Pulling away from me didn’t work like you thought it would, so now you want to use scare tactics to put distance between us?” I hesitate for half a second, then drill my index finger into his chest. “Well, guess what, Romero? No matter what you say or do, I’m not scared of you. You’re making me thinkyouare the one who’s scared.”
Something seems to snap inside him—I can actually see the exact moment his control fractures. An unholy light flits through his gaze, and suddenly he’s closing the last breath of space between us, bringing with him the scent of colognetangled with anger and emotions I can’t read. “Do I look like I’m scared of you?”
“No.” My reply comes out a thready whisper.
His hand comes up to my throat, palm resting there lightly at first, his gaze searching mine. Then his grip clamps down, so tight I gasp as my air is cut off. “You should be fucking scared, Leni,” he threatens, his hand squeezing harder and harder until I’m choking, my head going light from the pressure.
Pressure blooms behind my eyes, dark spots dancing at the edges of my vision. My reflexive slaps against his wrist are useless—but I don’t panic. Insane as it is, Iknowhe wouldn’t hurt me. Not really.
“I’ve spent most of my adult life avoiding unnecessary human emotions. Then you—” His voice cracks slightly. “You show up and turn everything upside down, bring it all out in full force. You’re in my head when you shouldn’t be there. You’re in my veins, under my skin. You make me feel so out of control. I hate it, I?—”
Starved for oxygen, I crush my mouth against his, kissing him with a frantic hunger, trying to steal his air, to suck it from his sweet tongue.
He goes still. Then, slowly, his grip slackens—not all at once, but with a stunned hesitation—before he gives in and kisses me back, like he can’t stop himself.
This is our first kiss since the honeymoon. But I'm too busy trying not to pass out to properly enjoy it, forcing in sharp, desperate inhales through my nose as we kiss.
His hand lingers at my throat, but now it only cups, cradling instead of threatening, while his other arm bands around my waist, yanking me into him like he needs to feel my body against his. Suddenly it’s all fire and pressure and too much to take, and I tear my mouth from his with a loud gasp, chest heaving as oxygen rushes into my lungs.
“You’re fucking insane,” he breathes against my lips,pressing his forehead to mine. “You should be running from me.”
