Heathens (Depraved Sinners 2)

The wolf seems to glare at me, not thrilled with my lack of obedience, though how can I give in to his demands when I have absolutely no idea what the fucker wants? It’s like trying to work out what the DeAngelis brothers’ ulterior motive is with me—it’s useless. I’m pretty fucking certain they don’t even know themselves.

I glare straight back at the big ball of fluff, almost daring it to make a move. If the fucker wants to be a stubborn asshole, then I’m more than happy to sit here all night. “I’m waiting,” I tell him. “Explain your bitch ass.”

A soft growl rumbles through his chest and I blanch, my eyes widening in horror, wondering if the fucker somehow knows that I’m being a spiteful bitch. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, and doesn’t make another damn sound until I finally give in and make my move.

I throw my blanket back and painstakingly lift myself into a sitting position, hating the way my muscles scream for revenge deep inside my stomach. Twisting around, my feet drop to the soft carpet and my toes instantly squish into the welcome softness beneath them.

As I raise myself up off the bed and grab my silk dressing gown, the wolf stands and makes his way to the door, glancing back at me to make sure I understand to follow him. Letting out a sigh, I pull my gown around me and follow the big wolf.

He struts with his head held high, way too proud of himself for so easily being able to manipulate me into doing his bidding. We step out into the long hallway and he goes slow, somehow knowing that I’m still not at full speed yet.

“So …” I say, glancing down and meeting his jet-black stare. “Have you got a Mrs. Wolf? Pups? Maybe a side piece? I know that’s frowned upon, but I know how you dirty-minded little freaks like to get down, mounting every she-wolf you come across. I bet Marcus taught you everything he knows.”

The wolf huffs and turns back to look down the hallway, having absolutely no desire to spill all the juicy details, but if I had to take a guess, I’d say this guy here is a lady-killer.

The furball leads me right down the hallway and finally comes to a stop outside Marcus’ bedroom door. He looks up at me with a smug expression before prancing into Marcus’ room and collecting a treat right out of the fucker’s hand.

I prop myself against the doorframe, looking in at Marcus as he sits up in his bed, his wide, tattooed chest on display with his wound exposed to the world. My lips press into a tight line, and as the wolf turns and bolts back out the door, his mission complete, I’m left staring in wonder at the man I still can’t believe is right in front of me.

“You know, there are more practical ways of getting a girl’s attention than sending a messenger dog to come and get her.”

Marcus scoffs. “If he knew you referred to him as a messenger dog, he would have torn your throat right out.”

“Oh really?” I grin, crossing my arms over my chest, the amusement building like rapid fire in my chest. “He didn’t seem to mind when I called him the wolf version of a kinky whore.”

Marcus raises a brow, arching it high as his lips pull into a devilish smirk. “Come here.”

I grin right back at him. “Now why the hell would I want to do something like that?”

“Don’t tempt me, Shayne,” he says, his eyes darkening with hunger. “You know damn well that I’ll get out of this fucking bed and drag your ass over here. Do as you’re told.”

“Ahhhh, so that’s how it’s going to be, huh?” I question, my eyes shimmering with silent laughter. “You know, with that big gaping hole in the middle of your chest, I bet now is probably the only time I could outrun you.”

Marcus narrows his eyes on me and in an instant, he throws his blankets back. “Don’t count on it.”

My eyes widen like saucers. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I shriek, running toward him and pushing my hands down over his shoulders to keep his stupid ass in bed, not giving a shit if the sound of my cries wakes up the other two devils who reside in this castle. “Are you stupid? You were shot two days ago. You need to stay in bed.”

Marcus laughs and snaps his arm around my waist with a speed I wasn’t prepared for, lowering me down over him, his hard cock pressed firmly against my pussy.

He doesn’t say a damn word, just looks at me with those deadly eyes, a silent message passing between us—his plan worked flawlessly. “You’re an asshole,” I mutter, unable to be mad at him.