22. Nyx
Chapter 22
Nyx
“Bella. Bella!”
I sit up in a rush, shoving a hand under my pillow for the gun I keep there…if this had been the Happy Earth Motel, circa: before shit got fucked up .
Instead, I have nothing but my arms to defend myself with as an enormous black beast lunges at me, teeth bared and saliva spraying like it can already taste the marrow of my bones.
The mattress boughs under the creature’s hefty weight, nails scratching me through the sheets as it jumps onto the bed and crashes into me.
“Bella! What did I say about jumping on the bed? Down!”
But Bella’s too busy slapping her tongue over my face. “God, Savage, get it off!” I’m too scared to grab the dog and try to haul it off me in case those enthusiastic licks become flesh-rending chomps.
I saw Bella’s teeth.
Don’t Rottweilers have jaws as strong as sharks or alligators?
There’s the rattle of a collar, then Bella’s off me.
My husband’s wearing black sweatpants…and nothing else. Barefoot, bare chested, hair still tousled from sleep. The hand grabbing Bella’s collar full of veins and tattoos and strong enough that I’m wondering how I can piss him off so he’ll want to choke me.
He’s so fucking delicious, I’m the one salivating now.
It should be fucked up that I have sex on the brain, but if I’d been shitty at compartmentalizing, I’d never have made it past Mom’s death. So much shit has happened in my life that I quickly learned to lock it up and swallow the key.
There’s so many of them, I should jingle like a fucking tambourine when I walk.
I’ve been through worse than what happened last night.
But I’ve never been as powerless to stop it.
Savage guides the dog a few steps away from the bed, then releases her and snaps his fingers. She sits with her back to me, tail swishing furiously on the carpet, and darts a desperate little peek over her shoulder before Savage can correct her with another snap of his fingers.
“You behave,” he says. “Only reason I’m even allowing you inside is because Sergio isn’t here and Dad’s confined to his room.”
“You talking to me or your canine death machine?” I mutter, wiping dog spit off my face with Savage’s bedsheets.
“Both.” Savage points to the floor and snaps his fingers again. Bella drops to her tummy, then whines as she puts her head down on her paws. As soon as Savage walks past her, she inches her head around to follow him. He goes back to the door and fetches something off the coffee table in the lounge area of his room.
When I look down at the dog again, her big brown eyes are locked with mine. She’s contorted herself into a croissant so she can look at me without getting off her belly where her master told her to stay.
Bella might have been cute, if she was like half the size. I prefer befriending animals that can’t rip out my throat if I’m late with their chow.
I glare at Savage as he stops beside the bed with a tray.
“The fuck is this?” At this angle, I can’t see what’s on the tray. Could be food, could be torture implements.
He arches an eyebrow at my tone. “Your fucking breakfast.”
I make a face, and then drag my hands over my face, rubbing my eyes. “Need coffee.”
“Only if you promise not to go on a killing spree.”
I peek at him between my fingers. “I’m struggling to talk. Killing will have to wait until the caffeine has hit my brain.”
“Maybe I should get you some decaf.”
“I’ll scoop out your eyeballs with my bare hands, Papi.”
He scoffs, waiting for me to wriggle into position before setting the tray over my lap. My stomach grumbles in appreciation at the crispy bacon, the heap of scrambled eggs, the bagel smeared with cream cheese, and the small bowl of fruit.
But I grab the black coffee first, inhaling its rich scent like outdoorsy people would smell a rose. “Fuck, yeah.”
Savage climbs in beside me, and leans over to steal one of my blueberries. I’d be mad, if I was going to eat it.
He tosses it to Bella. The sound her fucking mouth makes when she snaps down on that tiny morsel will stay with me for the rest of my life.
When he aims for a strip of bacon, I bat him away with a feral growl.
“Sacrifice your own breakfast to the beast.”
“I already ate.”
“God, what time did you get up?” I look around, but there’s no way to tell time inside this room. No clocks, no alarms, and my cellphone has magically disappeared again.
“About an hour ago.” He plucks a strawberry out of the bowl and tosses it to Bella.
Smack!
“How will O’Brien know the job is done?”
I take a sip of coffee. Try to get my head straight.
“Photos. I have to drop them off with a bartender at The Foundry.”
“Photos can be faked.”
I shrug, keeping my eyes on my plate. “If I screw him over, he’ll just slap a price tag on my sisters and call it a day.”
Savage is quiet for so long that I have to look at him. When I do, his eyes narrow ever so slightly. I really wish he’d put a fucking shirt on. His corded muscles, the multitude of dark tattoos swirling over his tanned skin, the way I can see his heart beating under his pec…it’s making my mouth water, and not for bacon and eggs.
“Did you really think I’d just go along with it?”
“No,” I snort. “But you know I don’t have a choice.” My words echo back what Sullivan said to me.
They don’t have a choice but to play along.
Even if you play rough.
Even when they know you’re going to break them.
He looks away. “We always have a choice.”
I drop the rest of the bacon strip I’d been about to shove into my mouth, and it lands on the plate with a soft tap. “Sure. I can choose not to take the job, and never see Phoebe or Athena again. Or is there another choice available, and I’m just too dumb to figure it out?”
But he just inhales, sighs, looks down at his hands. “I can’t answer that yet, Angel.”
“Well I can’t sit on my hands until you do.”
There’s a beep from his pocket, and he shifts to the edge of the bed to fish his phone out. I study the mural of black ink on his back. It must have taken forever to ink.
Especially the jaguar. I don’t know how the tattoo artist could have created such a realistic image in multiple sittings. The jaguar is half-hidden in the dappled shadows of jungle vegetation that form the border of the mural, its massive paw pinning down a writing python that’s coiling around its other muscular leg.
It would only take one look at the jaguar’s fierce snarl and deadly teeth to figure out my husband’s nickname.
Or maybe he’s the snake, its fangs sunk deep into the jaguar’s muscular shoulder, drawing blood as it injects its poison.
Both are equally savage.
When I reach out to trace the curve of the jaguar’s back, Caesar flinches and turns to look at me over his shoulder. I pretend I’d been trying to read his phone. But he’s already frowning before we even lock eyes.
“What is it?”
“I need to go see Vito.”
“So go,” I say, my words muffled around a bite of bagel. “I’ll find you.”
He huffs, tosses his phone to the foot of the bed, smooths his hands over his thick black hair. It dried in erratic waves after our shower last night, curling sexy as fuck over his ears and neck.
When he faces me, the intensity in his eyes turns my stomach. I force a swallow, and then take a sip of coffee when that doesn’t dislodge the sudden knot in my throat.
“You don’t do anything without my permission, understand?”
I blink at him. “In that case, I need to go pee in about ten minutes. That okay with you?”
Darkness floods his eyes. “Promise me, Nyx.”
“I’ll be good,” I say sweetly. “I promise.”
“You’ve already planned his assassination, haven’t you?”
“You don’t trust me?” Bees could collect my nectar for honey.
He has the nerve to scoff at me.
“Fine!”
I jump off the bed and invade his closet, pulling out a dozen or so sweatpants, trying to find one that might fit me. I land on a pair of black joggers that probably hit him mid-calf, and tug them on.
“Then there’s a simple solution,” I tell him as I scoop out his vests and shirts onto the floor. I rifle through them, kicking away those that don’t inspire me. There’s a faded red vest that looks smaller than the rest. I yank it over my head and knot it just below my breasts.
“And that is?” he asks dryly, shoving a piece of melon into his mouth as he watches my Oscar-winning performance.
“I won’t leave your side, my dear, sweet husband.” I crawl over the bed to him, brushing our noses together because he’s too stubborn to draw back.
He tries to grab my hair, but I dart back and scramble off the bed.
“Uh, uh,” I tut, waggling a finger. “Play nice.”
Savage slides off the bed, oozing malevolence as he makes his way over to the pile of clothes I left discarded on the floor. He dons a shirt and swaps his sweats out for a pair of jeans. As soon as he heads for the door, I rush to his side, slipping my hand into his.
“Hubby.”
He tugs like he wants to pull away, and then tightens the grip instead. Then he brings his hand up and kisses my knuckle.
“Wifey.”
I glare at him, but he just gives me a grim smile and clicks his fingers. Bella’s collar clatters as she leaps up and races after us. Another click of his fingers, and she falls in line like a dutiful soldier, ears pricked like she’ll be the first to alert him of enemies in the hallway.
I’m scowling, but I refuse to let go of his hand. And he grips me just as tight, refusing to release me.
It’s kinda sweet, but also toxic as fuck.
Like cyanide.