Savage Hearts (Queens & Monsters #3)(20)

The only lights that remain burning are the landscape floodlights and in lamps in three rooms on the first floor.

One of those rooms is a bedroom.

I can’t see much from this angle, but I can see French doors with curtains drawn over. There’s a small, private patio off the room, decorated with pots of blooming flowers.

An armed guard passes by the patio, rifle at the ready.

They’re crawling all over the property, these guards.

As if it makes a difference.

I don’t know if Declan and his entourage have already gone to bed, or if they went somewhere else after I left the restaurant, because I didn’t come straight here. I drove around the island, thinking. Trying to clear my head.

Of her.

The waif.

I’m angry with myself that I frightened her.

I’m even more angry that I care that I frightened her.

I never care about scaring anyone. No matter their gender. I’ve been the recipient of people’s fear for so long, it no longer means anything to me.

But hers did.

I hate that.

When I close my eyes to draw a breath, an image of her terrified face pops up against my eyelids. I allow myself to sit with it for a moment, taking pleasure in the details.

Everything about this girl is in the details.

She’s not tall, like Declan’s woman. She’s not flashy, or curvy, or sexy, or anything obvious that would catch a man’s eye.

She’s like a little bird that looks plain at first glance. Only when you focus your attention can you see the incredible intricacy of her feathers.

The ring of gold around her pupils.

The flecks of it all through her sweet brown eyes.

The fine arch of her brows.

The perfect bow of her upper lip.

The way the small bump on the bridge of her nose makes her glasses sit slightly askew.

The way light reflects off her poreless skin, making it glow.

The way she looked at my mouth and made me feel like a wild animal.

I open my eyes, and she disappears. I exhale, breathing easier.

Until she reappears again, this time on the patio of the bedroom on the first floor.

She’s still with him. She didn’t take the money and leave.

My heart starts to pound so hard, I have to grip the rifle with both hands to steady myself. I stare through the sights at her magnified image and watch as she walks slowly to the edge of the patio.

She picks up one of the flower pots and hurls it over the balustrade.

The pot lands intact on the grass on the other side and rolls a few feet before stopping.

She picks up another pot. This time, she hurls it against the patio itself, jumping back to avoid the jagged shards of clay as the pot smashes against the stone and disintegrates.

Then she starts to pace.

It appears she’s talking to herself.

Angrily.

Anger rises in me, too, as burning hot as the midday sun on this hideous island. Not because of the money I gave her. Money means nothing to me.

Because the longer she stays with him, the more danger she’s in from his sick appetites.

And what the fuck has he done to her?

That she’s enraged is obvious. Is she also hurt? Has he beaten her? Raped her? Savaged her in some way only a man like him could?

I might be a killer with a reputation to match the level of my skill, but a man like Declan O’Donnell is a worse thing even than me.

Every person who’s felt my rifle’s bite has earned it. They had blood on their hands. They were more vicious than rabid wolves, to a one.

They weren’t innocent.

Though she sells herself, this girl is still an innocent. She’s a doe, not a wolf. I saw it in her eyes.

She’s a little bird caught in a lion’s trap.

And if I don’t do something, if I don’t try something else, she’ll be devoured.

She isn’t your problem, Malek. She isn’t why you’re here. You already tried to help her. Forget the waif. Focus.

No. I can’t focus until I know she’s safe.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

I don’t know.

Something, though. This isn’t like you. You’ve never done this before. What’s wrong with your head?

It’s filled with her.

Abandoning the argument with myself, I stand and make my way down the belfry stairs, sighing heavily.

It’s time to do something stupid and dangerous again.





11





Riley





Smashing flower pots isn’t nearly as cathartic as I hoped it would be.

I go back inside the bedroom, closing and locking the patio doors and drawing the curtains over them again. I’m starving, having only had a dinner roll and some candy for supper, but I’ll be damned if I’ll call down on the stupid house phone for food.

I don’t want to speak to another Irishman for the rest of my life. The whole lot of them are arrogant bastards!

Okay, fine, they’re all really nice.

The truth is that I’m too embarrassed.

It seems more reasonable to starve to death than to have to face the disappointed, condescending looks of Declan’s staff when they bring food up to Sloane’s lying little sister.

I have no doubt whatsoever that they’ve all been gossiping about me since I left the room earlier in such disgrace.