her. But there’s something about her that’s got me curious and I can’t quite put my finger on it.
I look her over. Even in the bloody, destroyed wedding dress, she’s gorgeous. A fuck should take care of it. Sink my cock into her warm pussy and then I’ll be over my curiosity. Be rid of her.
“Fucking brute,” she mutters, stumbling when the soldier releases her. He did have a pretty firm grip but I’m sure it was because she asked for it. She seems like a woman who’d ask for it.
He looks at me, waits for my nod, then goes. He’ll be outside. Not that I need him to manage her. I can handle Scarlett De La Cruz with one hand tied behind my back.
We study each other and for a moment, I see her on her knees at my feet again begging me to spare her brother. Not a word about herself.
She’s out of breath from the haul up the stairs or from her fight with the soldier. Not very smart if she wasted her energy on that.
I continue to strip off my clothes, undoing my cuffs and two buttons on the front before pulling it off over my head. I follow her eyes as they take me in, her eyebrows knitting together momentarily, forehead wrinkling. Not sure if it’s at that tattoos or the scars, but either way I stand there and let her have a good look. While she does, I do the same. I study her because there’s something in those honey-colored eyes I don’t understand. Something that goes against everything I have learned is true.
But fuck that shit.
Pretty girls are a dime a dozen. There’s nothing special about this one. She makes my dick hard. That’s all I have to worry about.
“Take off your dress,” I tell her.
Her eyes narrow and she cocks her head to the side. She’s petulant. A pain in the ass.
But a nagging voice tells me there’s more than those things. It’d be simple if she were just those things. And I know exactly what it is. She’s loyal. A trait not easily come by in my line of work. She humiliated herself, threw herself at my feet to save her brother.
It’s too bad she’s loyal to the wrong side.
“Are you hard of hearing?” I ask.
She just glares.
I gesture to the gown. “It’s dirty. You’re covered in blood and brains. Not to mention it’s fucking ugly. I don’t want you to dirty my things.”
Her eyebrows rise on her forehead. “You don’t want me to dirty your things?”
“Correct.”
“I want my veil. Your goon wouldn’t let me get my veil before he dragged me out of there.”
I snort at that, take off my shoes and socks, undo my belt and pants. I turn and walk toward the bathroom, stopping at the door to look back at her momentarily.
“I thought you were forced to marry Rinaldi. Isn’t that what you said? Or was it a lie to save your neck? So why in hell would you want any remembrance of the supposedly forced nuptials I interrupted.”
Her gaze drops to the unzipped crotch of my pants and she’s not quick enough to turn her head away as she clears her throat.
I was right. Just a dirty girl thinking dirty thoughts. Good. Dirty is good.
“It has nothing to do with him. The veil is my mother’s.” She stops, gives a shake of her head. “It was my mother’s. And I want it back.”
I watch her face. Watch her try to mask her emotions. “She’s been dead a long time. Why would it matter?”
“You don’t forget people you love. Unless you’re some kind of monster, of course.”
Her words hit their mark.
I grit my teeth.
She doesn’t know. She’s just throwing words at me. Just words. She lost her mother weeks before I lost mine. Parents killed by those two assholes lying with half their faces blown off downstairs.
I turn into the bathroom and strip off the rest of my things, then switch on the shower and step under the flow.
“Hey!” She’s at the door.
I look at her.
She glances down then quickly away as her neck and cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“I want my veil. I mean it.”
“I haven’t even decided how long you’ll live yet, and you want a stupid veil from a wedding you were forced into?”
“I told you, it belonged to my mother.”
“It’s got your brothers’ brains all over it. Ruined. Like the dress. Get it off and get in the shower.” I switch off the water