Bloody Heart (Brutal Birthright #4) - Sophie Lark Page 0,79

hits the guard in the mouth, blood spatters sideways, landing wetly on my arm and Kenwood’s shoe.

Dante hits the guard twice more, then picks him up and throws him. The guard is a big man, but Dante flings him across the room like a discus. He crashes against the wall, then goes slumping down on the sofa, groaning and only half-conscious.

Kenwood looks terrified. He’s madly punching the call button set into the bar, but it’s too late. In three steps, Dante’s picked him up by the throat, lifting his feet off the floor. Dante’s thick fingers sink into Kenwood’s throat. Kenwood’s face turns red and then almost purple, his eyes bulging and spit flying from his lips as he tries to form words. He claws at Dante’s hand and arm, but they might as well be made of stone for all Dante seems to feel it. Kenwood’s feet kick helplessly in the air.

I think Dante’s just releasing his aggression, but as Kenwood’s eyes start to roll back, I realize Dante might actually kill him.

“Dante, stop!” I cry. “He didn’t do anything to me!”

It’s like he can’t even hear me. Kenwood is going limp now, as Dante’s fingers sink deeper and deeper into his throat. I think he’s going to break the man’s neck.

“Dante!” I shriek. “STOP!”

My voice cuts through his rage. He turns to look at me, and maybe the terror on my face snaps him the rest of the way out of it. He lets go of Kenwood, who goes crashing down to the floor, unable to catch himself. He’s still alive, though—I can hear his rasping breaths.

“He hit his panic button,” I tell Dante. “We’ve got to get out of here before the rest of his goons show up. Or the cops.”

Dante still looks dazed, like his anger put him in an entirely different state. One that he can’t come back from so easily.

But he does hear me. He grabs my hand and says, “Come on.”

The feeling of his warm fingers enclosing mine sends a jolt of electricity up my arm. I let Dante pull me along, back through the painting he destroyed, back through the empty room, and then down the hallway.

I hear feet thudding up the staircase—two or three men at least. Dante yanks me into the nearest doorway, pressing me against the wall with his bulk to keep me safe and out of sight. We’re closer now than we were when we danced. My face is pressed against his huge chest, and his arms pin me against the wall. His body is hotter than a furnace, still inflamed by his anger at Kenwood. I can feel his heart thundering away by my cheek. His chest rises rapidly with each breath.

As we wait for the footsteps to go by, I look up at Dante’s face.

For once, he’s looking back down at me. His eyes are black and gleaming like wet stone. His expression is ferocious.

I open my mouth to say something. Instead his lips come slamming down on mine. He crushes me in his arms, attacking me with his mouth. He kisses me like he’s been waiting nine years to do it.

His stubble is rough. It scrapes my face. But his mouth . . . oh my god, he tastes so good. I’ve been starving for that taste. His scent makes me dizzy and weak.

I cling to him. I melt into him. I whimper from how badly I want him.

And then he stops.

“We better get out of here,” he growls.

I completely forgot we were in the middle of escaping.

Dante pulls me out in the hallway. He pauses to listen, then, hearing nothing but the pounding music from below, we sprint down the dark hall, all the way to the stairs, then down to the main level. Dante shoves through the press of guests—the party is more packed than ever now. He steals the Ferrari’s keys from the valet stand, and soon we’re roaring back toward the gates.

One of the guards steps forward, hand outstretched like he’s going to stop us. But Dante doesn’t take his foot off the gas even a little. The gates are already open. The guard has to leap out of the way as we roar past him, missing him by an inch. We speed down the dark road, away from the gaudy mansion.

I let my breath out in a long sigh.

“My god,” I say. “That was insane.”

My heart is still racing. I’ve never actually witnessed a fist-fight before. I’m not used to