Page 32 of Destined for the Devil
"She's been around for a while now. You fuck her yet?" he asked me, his eyes absolutely glued to her. I stayed silent, choosing to be the biggerman and not take the bait.
"She's really not your type, Roma. Cute. Innocent. She's girlfriend and wife material. Look at her. She’ll be loyal, raise good kids, take care of the house, spread her legs obediently. You're not into that shit; you can't hold a woman down." His mouth kept spewing bullshit, and I kept my arms crossed. My teeth hurt from how hard I clenched my jaw at his words.
"Shut the fuck up, Seryoga. What the fuck got into you?" I finally retorted something, minutes away from strangling him.
"Oohh...looks like Roma caught...feelings?" He turned to me, smiling like a complete psychopath. "And for a piece of trash too! That he picked up from the street!"
Before he pushed me over the edge of insanity, I turned and walked away. Fuck him; he riled me up like never before, and I knew I would have bashed his face in if I stayed beside him.
He watched her across the table during dinner too; I didn’t miss it. And at the end of the dinner, when he twirled her around the dance floor…something was happening between them. So when I saw his hand travel down her body—that was the absolute fucking limit. But he had already inflicted the damage before I got to them.
Isla looked petrified.
The silence in the car between us was deafening as I sped through the dark night, away from the venue. Isla sat in the passenger seat, immobile, barely breathing.
"You're a really good dancer." I finally spoke. "Did you take lessons?"
"Mm-hmm, yeah. I used to dance ballroom and Latin for, like, ten years,” she squeaked out, trying to make it sound light. Wow. What could have possibly happened between them?
I changed my mind right then and there. Instead of taking her home, I swerved off the path, the headlights of my Ferrari the only light ahead. Ipulled up to a small diner, which had great food but was a complete hole in the wall.
Isla asked no questions. Instead, before I could open her car door, she climbed out and waited for me to approach her.
"Isla? Are you okay?" I inquired as I came closer, her smile fake like I’d never seen before.
"Yes. I'm just tired. That's all."
"It's only ten thirty. Don't you usually go to bed past midnight?" I questioned her, knowing her sleeping schedule by heart. When she lived with me, she would sneak out of her room at exactly midnight and grab a glass of water in the kitchen before heading to bed.
"Are we getting burgers and milkshakes? What is this place?" She spoke with fake enthusiasm as she eyed the small place behind me, changing the subject quickly.
I led her inside, to the back of the place, where she slid into a booth, the red pleather seats a stark contrast to her polished look.
“Oh! You’re both looking sharp! What can I get ya, sweetie?” The older server addressed Isla with a wide smile.
“A strawberry milkshake, please”
Obviously. Like the beautiful, innocent girl she was, she preferred something super sweet and girly.
"So? Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" I launched right into it as soon as the server departed.
“N-nothing! Nothing is wrong. I had a great time.” She breathed out and fidgeted with her little purse. “Thank you for taking me out.”
Damn, she was nervous.
Anddamn, did she look sexy and seductive tonight. It was like she emanated sexual energy my way. Everything she did, every look, every movement, every sigh…called out to me. I was a desperate man. A sad, desperate man.
I wanted her. Iwantedher so badly; my mind was clouded, possessed. That dress was meant to be discarded on my bedroom floor. Her body, her soul, her mind—all of it was meant to connect with me. To be mine, mine,mine!
Moments of clarity would break through the Isla haze, and it would dawn on me how wrong I was for her. For thisAngel.
For all my ability to keep a cool head, when it came to Isla, I had not a lick of logical thought left inside me. I only thought with my heart.
We waited for the milkshake in silence while I stared at her and she looked at anything but me. She was angry about the whole Columbia thing; I got it. And I was in despair and agony about having to potentially let her go back to New York.
But that’s not what she was hiding from me. I shot for the bullseye. "What did Sergei say to you?"
Her gaze darted up to mine, fear lacing every one of her beautiful features. Oh fuck, what the fuck did he do? What the fuck was I going to kill him for?
