Page 169 of The Devil We Crave
Once she’s asleep, I dim my phone before I tap on the group chat with the rest of the guys.
Me
I’m putting this as clearly as I can: Kyle Santoro is a fucking dead man.
Lochlan
Heard. You still in the city? I can be at his front door in town in 5.
Drago
Race you there. You want knives, bullets, or something messier.
Ronan
Fuck yes. Whatever it is, I’m in.
Me
No one make any moves. He's fucking mine. Just wanted you all to know that he’s a corpse.
I turn to brush my lips over the top of Yelena’s sleeping head.
She doesn’t need my pity or sympathy.
But she’s going to get the full weight of my vengeance coming down like a sledgehammer on that motherfucker’s head.
33
YELENA
TellingAchilles is like letting out a breath I’ve been holding for too long, or cutting open a festering wound and bleeding out the poison.
But when I wake up in the morning I get an overwhelming rush of second thoughts.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything and just kept it buried.
Will this change things, or the way he sees me?
Does baring my soul to him make me a broken toy in his eyes now? A victim? Something for him to have to take care of, topity?
Will he even want to be rough with me now? Worse, will he look at my kinks in the context of my past and think they’re a clear sign that I need psychiatric help?
All these new fears and insecurities screaming in my head are genuinely overwhelming, and I don’t realize I’m huddled in the guestroom bed, my knees to my chest and my eyes wide andstaring at the wall in front of me, until I feel his presence in the doorway.
I turn slowly and let my gaze drag to his, waiting for the punch of reality.
The other shoe to drop.
The look ofpityor disgust that says he's no longer interested.
“Whatever the fuck thoughts are in that pretty head of yours,” he growls, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him, “you should delete them from your consciousness.”
I purse my lips.
“I…you don’t have to?—”
“Don’t have to what,” he murmurs, peeling off his t-shirt. I try not to focus on the sculpted muscles of his chest, or his ridiculous abs, or the grooved v-lines of his hips delving into his waist.
