Page 15 of Cruel Devil

“You playing fucking Candy Crush or something?” I snap, wishing my voice didn’t shake as much as it did.

“Quiet, Angel. Papi’s reading.”

My breath huffs out as I inch my way toward the corner.

Savage shoots again. The bullet lodges into the wall less than an inch from my shoulder. My jaw bunches, my teeth grinding together. I want to kick my feet and scream and call him an asshole.

But instead I stay where I am like a good little girl.

“Done yet?”

His mouth pulls into a grim line as he slides his phone into the pocket of his dark jeans. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Are you shitting me?” I yell.

He shakes his head, pawing the air with his other hand, telling me to keep it down. I guess the last thing he wants is everyone in the restaurant realizing there’s a gunman out here.

It could cause a stampede.

I wish I had the guts to scream. But I’m so far down Shit Creek not even a fucking powerboat could help me right now.

Instead, I rush forward and stab a finger right into the firm, perfectly contoured pectoral muscle Savage’s white t-shirt is straining over. I keep poking him, punctuating every important fact.

“I told Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Fucking-Dee to call you like a billion times, but you were too fucking busy with your cartel bullshit to give a single fuck about your wife’s. Kidnapped. Sisters!”

I puff at a chunk of hair that’s fallen in my face and decide poking the bear might not be an option worth pursuing. It’s as if his pec is getting harder the longer I go on.

“They didn’t even know about my sisters, Savage. You were off doing God knows what. Can you really blame me for taking matters into my own hands?”

“Are you done?” I swear he’s holding back a smile. It makes me want to knee him in the groin, but I’m just as aware that the barrel of that fucking gun is gaping in my direction.

“For now,” I mutter.

“Good.” He shoves the Beretta behind his back, and I relax.

Finally, he’s starting to see things my way. Maybe now he’ll understand why?—

“Run.”

“Wh…?” I flash him an uneasy smile. Clear my throat. “Run?”

He throws out his hands like he’s shooing a horse out of its stall.

“Yeah, Angel. Run.”

I back up, stopping only when I hit the wall again. “I don’t…what are you..?”

It takes him two strides to reach me.

He grabs a fistful of my hair, drags me away from the wall, and shoves me so hard I nearly land face-first in the weeds. I scramble up in a rush, dusting my palms as I spin to glare at him.

“Do what you’re so fucking good at.” He grins carnivorously. “I’ll even give you a five-second head start.”

I stumble back a step.

Most people look better when they smile. Joy makes their eyes sparkle. Happiness deepens the creases in their cheeks. They even get cute little crow’s feet.

Not Savage.