Heathens (Depraved Sinners 2) - Page 105
The four of us walk around the Escalade, moving toward Giovanni who stands fifteen feet away.
Twelve feet.
Ten feet.
Nine. Eight. Seven.
Without warning or even a chance to scream, every single fucking trigger is pulled and the sharp metal prongs of the tasers dig into my skin. In an instant, I drop to the ground, my body spasming in pain as I scream out, the agony too much to bear.
Hot tears sting my eyes but the pain only lasts a few seconds before it fades away, leaving me numb and gasping for breath. Marcus hovers beside me, on his knees with his tight fists pressed against the driveway and it only takes me a moment to realize I wasn’t the only one taken down by the brutal shock—all four of us were. As I raise my head off the ground, I find Giovanni standing right in front of us. “It was so nice of you to join us.”
What a fucking asshole.
Anger pulses through my body. Where the fuck does he get off pulling fucked-up stunts like that?
Roman is the first to recover, getting to his feet as he grabs hold of the metal prongs and pulls them off his skin, though I’m not surprised. A guy like Roman probably spends his day tasering himself just to build up some kind of resistance to the shock, training himself for moments just like this. The fucker probably gets off on it.
Marcus’ hand skims over my bare waist as he gets to his feet, but that’s all I get from him. He’s willing me to stand on my own, determined not to show how much he cares for me in front of his father.
The boys don’t say a word to their father, just silently stare as I get up on shaky feet, wishing I had stayed hidden in the back of the Escalade with Jasmine.
“Start talking,” Giovanni spits, looking over his sons like they’re the scum of the earth. “Where the hell have you been? You are on strict orders to remain in the castle, so imagine my surprise when I get a call telling me my fucking moronic sons were arrested by the FBI.”
A smirk pulls at the corner of Roman’s mouth, more than pleased with himself for calling it. “Business,” he says, not offering any more than that.
“Business?” Giovanni roars. “The only fucking business you have is mine. What the fuck were you doing at that party? Who were you meeting?”
Marcus grins and I know he’s about to shit all over the limitations Roman just put on him. I can all but hear Roman’s defeated sigh. “Why?” Marcus questions, his eyes sparkling with that usual I’m up to no good gleam. “There were some big names at that party. Which one of them has you shaking in your boots?”
Marcus gets hit with another fucking taser and I almost cry out as he drops to his knees beside me, but instead, I just stand tall, trying not to let my emotions show as he curses in pain at my feet.
Giovanni grins, Marcus’ show of pain doing nothing but getting him off. “When will you learn, son?” he mutters, crouching down to meet Marcus’ heated stare. “You will never beat me. Surrender. Tell me what I want to know.”
Marcus tears the prongs off his skin as a clammy sweat begins taking over. “You’re a fucking bitch,” he tells him, pronouncing each word like gospel.
Giovanni’s hand cracks out, breaking across Marcus’ skin with a loud slap.
“Enough,” I growl, pushing myself between Marcus and Giovanni and being careful not to touch him despite my hand flinching at my side. I feel Marcus stand behind me, his big body hovering way over mine. “You call your sons moronic, yet you have them locked up in this ridiculous castle and they still manage to defy you. How many times are you going to hurt them before learning that it only makes them stronger and fuels their desire to destroy you?”
Giovanni glares at me and just as I expected, his hand comes hurtling toward my face. I flinch back just in time as Roman’s hand snaps out, catching his father’s wrist, just like he had that night many weeks ago. Without a moment of pause, Roman shoves his father’s hand back into his chest with such force that he stumbles back a few steps, each of his henchmen flinching with the hit.
“You are out of line, girl,” Giovanni spits, barely looking at me as his foul stare slices toward Roman’s, who I have no doubt is silently brooding at my idiocy to step in his father’s line of sight while on a witch hunt.
Roman steps toward his father and I grin at the way his eyes tighten, fear pulsing through his veins. “Tell me, Father,” Roman muses, enjoying this way more than he will ever admit. “How did those agents know about that party?”
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