Page 14 of Savage Empire
Well, I don’t need any fucking room to argue.
“Why the hell would I do that? What’s wrong with this shirt?”
Apollo’s jaw ticks. “It’shis.”
“So, what? It’s a fucking T-shirt. Yordan is wearing his clothes too!”
“A married man’s T-shirt,” Apollo corrects, crossing his arms with a glare. “You want Cleo to see you wearing that tomorrow? Yordan is a teenage boy, you are not.”
A nagging sort of discomfort tugs at my stomach.
Is Cleo the jealous sort? Is that why he seems so offended by the shirt? Is he trying to avoid drama, or is this just some kind of controlling asshole move to make me feel guilty?
“Why would he give it to me if it was going to be a problem?”
“Husbands are notoriously dumb.”
“Are you calling your own brother dumb?”
“Rayna,” he snaps. “Change. The. Shirt.”
“Fuck. You,” I growl, bending down to pick up what he’s thrown toward me. I chuck it back at him, sneering. “I’d rather go nude than wear anything that comes from you, you entitledjerk.”
“Okay.” He folds his arms, looking me up and down. “Go nude, then.”
The urge to slap him hits me like a truck.
“Why are you so infuriating?”
“Why are you so eager to wear Leon’s shirt to bed? You want a shot at him? Are married men your thing?”
The cutting comment makes me want to puke.
“You know what?” I try not to croak. “Screw you and screw this fucking shirt nonsense.” Storming toward Apollo, I rip Leon’s shirt over my head and throw it right in his face.
Ignoring the fact that I’m only wearing a bra and loose sweatpants in front of the fucking heir to The Outfit, I resist the opportunity to punch him in the nuts. Picking up the black shirt he originally offered off the floor, I tug it on and push my hair back out of my face.
“Married men are not my fucking type,” I say darkly, hands fisted at my sides. “I’ve never been afforded the luxury of discovering my type. I’ve been bought, sold, and shackled to menfor my entire life. The only male I concern myself with is my little brother, Iknowyou know that. And for you to imply otherwise is fucking low, Apollo.”
He has the decency to wince. It’s only slight, but I damn-well see it.
“And for the record, when I have the opportunity to discover my type, I can promise you that cocky asshole mafia heirs will not be it. I’m now under the firm assumption that every woman who’s ever wanted you has never heard you open your mouth before, youprick.”
I’m still fuming when I storm back into my room, breathing hard. Yordan blinks owlishly at me.
“Did you change?” he asks, mouth hanging agape.
“I will not be discussing it,” I warn, flicking off the light and aggressively climbing into bed.
He clears his throat awkwardly. “So…how’d your talk go?”
“I hope a wild animal breaks through his window and bites his dick off.”
“Ah, so good, then.”
“Go to sleep, Yordan.”
A moment of silence and then:
