Page 193 of Boy of Ruin
Jeremiah’s triceps are flexed as he holds tight to Lucifer’s throat, but some of the tension seems to leave his body as Lucifer speaks.
“You fucking hurt her, and you made me watch.” Lucifer’s voice breaks, but he doesn’t look away from Jeremiah. Not for a second. “You’re a fucking piece of—”
Jeremiah knocks Lucifer’s head back against the wall with a thud, then he angles the knife so the sharp side grazes my husband’s skin.
I force myself to move then, to close the distance between us as I stand to the side of them, staring at Jeremiah.
His eyes don’t leave Lucifer’s.
“Please don’t,” I beg him, my fingers going to his arm, feeling his hot skin beneath my own. “Please don’t—”
“He doesn’t deserve you,” Jeremiah repeats his earlier words without looking at me. “I fucking do, baby.” He finally turns his head, his green gaze on mine, his brows creased. “I fucking do, Sid,” he’s pleading with me, his voice cracking. “I deserve you. I’ve done everything for you. Fucking everything. I fucking…I love you, and he’s done nothing but fuck you over.” He glances at the scar on my brow, his jaw clenching. He turns away from me. “You hurt her, too. You did that, didn’t you—”
A growl leaves Lucifer’s throat, and all he says is, “Stop fucking touching him, baby girl,” before he grabs the blade against his ribs and yanks it from Jeremiah’s grip, tossing it to the floor with a clatter. With his bleeding hand, he curls his fingers into a fist and launches it into Jeremiah’s face.
Jeremiah barely reacts except to laugh again, then shoves Lucifer back against the wall, and he swings before I can even breathe.
I hear something crack.
See blood pouring from Lucifer’s nose, down over his lips as he holds his hands up to his face on instinct.
“You fucking coke head, piece of shit,” Jeremiah growls, cocking his fist back again. “You left me in that fucking cage. You fucking left me. Fuck. You.”
But before he can hit him again, I come between them, holding up my hands.
Jeremiah stops launching his fist toward my face at the last second, his bloody knuckles grazing my cheekbone, but not hurting me.
“Get out of my way, Sid,” he growls, and Lucifer’s hands come to my shoulders, trying to shove me away.
I back up against my husband, feel his warmth behind me.
His surprise.
His hands are still on my shoulders, but he doesn’t try to move me.
“Don’t hurt him,” I tell Jeremiah, forced to crane my neck back to meet his gaze. His fist is still raised, my husband’s blood over it. His jaw is clenched, and his eyes go to Lucifer’s fingers against my shoulders. “Don’t fucking hurt him.”
“Baby girl, I don’t need you to—”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snarl to Lucifer at my back without looking at him.
His fingers dig in a little more against my skin, but I don’t give a fuck.
Jeremiah glances up at the ceiling, looking as if he’s begging for patience. I take the opportunity to plant my hands against his chest and shove.
But he’s like a fucking wall and he doesn’t move.
Instead, his bloody hand goes to my throat.
Lucifer’s hand darts out to Jeremiah’s wrist, trying to yank him off. “Get your fucking hands off of her,” he snarls, and I’m caught between them as Jeremiah steps closer.
J laughs, and he’s not holding me hard enough to hurt, but he bites his lip as he steps even closer, then says, “Why would I do that? That’s the exact opposite of what I want to do to her.”
The look in his eyes as he stares down at me makes my thighs clench, and I want to hate it. I want to hate him. Both of them.
But I don’t.
I just fucking don’t.
