Devil You Hate (The Diavolo Crime Family 1)

I sit down on the mattress and tuck my legs underneath me to cover as much as possible with my short slip. At some point, I undressed before they kidnapped me, or did they undress me when they kidnapped me? Shit. The answers are becoming as bad as the questions.

I rake my brain for the memories. We ate dinner, I walked Marco out… I think. Then I went to my room. Didn’t I?

Why can’t I remember?

The lock on the door ticks, and I scurry back to the corner, shoving my slip around my ass as I move. The same man from before with the steel-edged eyes and a blood-coated body saunters into my room, rubbing his hands together.

I glimpse briefly an Asian man closing the door behind him. And then it’s just me alone with the man who will probably end my life.

He walks around the room casually, inspecting the walls and floor, before landing those intense eyes on me.

I meet his gaze head on, even if every inch of my body is recoiling with fear, preparing to shoot a fight-or-flight response to my system and send my adrenaline into overdrive. Fuck. How’s all that psychology reading helping now, Celia?

He stalks toward me and then crouches down in front of the mattress and studies me. Despite my fear, I do the same to him. His hair is wet, slicked away from his face. Inky black tattoos cover his arms and swirl up his neck at the fringes of his shirt. He’s showered, and the scent of woodsy soap wafts off him in waves.

He cocks his head to the side and flicks up the corner of his full pink lips. “You don’t have to huddle away from me, stellina. I’m not going to hurt you—yet.”

I swallow heavily and maintain my position, scooting as far away from him as I can. He shrugs like it doesn’t matter to him and folds his hulking frame on the edge of the mattress.

Shit. He draws his knees up and rests his elbows on top of them. His shiny shoes gleam in the low light. Which seems absurd, considering the amount of blood he had splattered on him only a short time ago.

“You must have one hell of a dry cleaning bill,” I say.

Obviously, my shocked brain has a death wish engaging this creature.

The slight smile he sports grows the tiniest fragment. “Why dry clean when I can just buy a new shirt?”

“I’m sure your tailor appreciates it then.” There is no doubt in my mind he has one with shirts that fit him like that.

He continues studying me and then abruptly stands. I jerk back into my corner as he extends his hand. “Stand up, stellina.”

Can I refuse him? It seems unwise for such a small request. I ignore his hand and ease upright, the mattress buckling under my weight at the corner.

He crooks his finger and points to the floor right in front of him. “Come to me.”

Another easy enough task. Why anger him unnecessarily? I position myself exactly where he points. Now only inches from him, the scent of his soap is stronger, as is the heat rolling off his muscular body.

“Good girl,” he purrs. I feel the deep, husky scratch of it in my belly.

He circles me like a shark, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

I hold my chin up, staring off across the room, ignoring him in the hope he might not.

No such luck.

“Take your clothes off,” he whispers in that same husky, deep grate.

This time, the flutter in my stomach is nothing but fear. I swallow and look back at where he stands behind me. Slowly, I reach up and grip the strap on my shoulder. But for him, my movements aren’t quick enough. He shoves his hands into the back of my slip and rips the silk clean down the middle.

His rough knuckles graze the length of my spine as the material parts, and I bite back a gasp. I shiver and hold the silk to my naked chest. When he comes around to the front, he wags his finger at me to drop the material. So, I do. What else can I do at this point if he’s going to rip my only clothing to shreds?

“Do you want to take your panties off too, or should I give them the same treatment? I promise you’ll be in here naked until I feel like giving you something to wear. I’m not a patient man, so don’t make me wait again.”

Before he even finishes speaking, I shuck my panties down my legs and gently kick them to the side of the mattress.

“Good girl,” he repeats. “You’re a fast learner. Keep it up, and we’ll get along just fine.”

I don’t want to get along with him. I want to bash his skull open and make a run for it. That’s a fantasy since I can barely reach the top of his head. But hey, a girl can dream, right?