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Savage Hearts (Queens & Monsters #3)(22)

Author:J.T. Geissinger

Sloane snaps, “We don’t have time for this right now!”

She thinks I’m talking about our bet. “No, listen. He was in the restroom when I came out of the stall. He was really big, and sort of, I don’t know. Weird. You know, like dangerous weird.”

Declan does the exact same bristling thing that Spider did at the restaurant. He literally gets bigger, badder, and a thousand times more intense. His blue eyes flash with cold fire.

“What happened?” he growls, stepping closer. “What did he look like? What did he say? Did he hurt you?”

I’m a little put out that he waited until the last question to ask if I’m hurt, but whatever.

“I’m fine. He didn’t lay a finger on me, he just freaked me out. He said that I didn’t have to sell myself, and it wasn’t too late for me, and he could tell I still had hope left…”

I trail off, trying to remember more about the big beast.

Mostly what I remember is how gentle he was when he brushed his knuckles across my cheek, and how soft his voice was when he said my eyes were pretty.

And how gorgeous he was.

My god, that face. That mouth. Those pale, piercing green eyes. Paired against his brute masculinity, the fineness of his features was even more stunning.

He makes Declan look like Justin Bieber.

Infuriated, Sloane turns to Declan. “There was no guy. This is about a bet we made before we left for the restaurant.”

“No, Sloane, it’s not.”

She folds her arms over her chest. “Okay, so where did this weird, dangerous guy go after he propositioned you?”

I’m starting to get exasperated. My voice rises. “He didn’t proposition me. You’re not listening—”

“Spider!”

At the sound of Sloane’s sharp call, he snaps to attention and runs over. “Aye?”

Sloane gestures at me. “My sister claims a man accosted her in the ladies room at the restaurant. Would you like to tell us what you saw?”

He looks at me, frowning. “A man? In the ladies room?”

“You were with her, correct?”

He looks confused, and now I’m getting desperate.

“Aye. I was with her the entire time, standing right outside the door.”

“Did you see a man enter or leave?”

“No. No one went in or out except her.”

“When she came out, did she say anything about a man being inside?”

Spider glances at me. His expression is apologetic. “No.”

Sloane turns back to me, nostrils flared and lips flattened. “Jesus, Riley. For a singing bird box? If you needed money so badly, all you had to do was ask.”

“This isn’t about the bet, Sloane!”

“Game’s over. Spider, take her back to her room.”

Everyone in the room is now staring at me.

Me, in my stupid slutty dress, with my stupid bleached hair and my white-hot mortification at being called a liar.

By my own sister, the asshole who wanted me to come here in the first place.

Without waiting for Spider to humiliate me further by grabbing my wrist and dragging me away, I turn and walk out, keeping my head held high despite the rock in my throat and the water welling in my eyes.

So help me god, this is the last time I’ll ever speak to her again.

10

Mal

When I return to my perch in the belfry, Declan’s house is dark.

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.

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