Page 52 of Savage Roses
His thirst for blood.
Salvatore hates losing. He doesn’t like loose ends and unfinished business. The very fact that we aborted a mission feels like both.
I don’t bother hiding my study of him as he finishes in the weapons room. He bangs shut more cabinets and locks up the firearms, radioing one of his men to come down and do an official inventory later.
His bad mood has officially rubbed off on me. The longer he avoids looking in my direction the fouler it becomes.
Second to second I’m switching between irritation over how he’s acting and my desire to simply feel his body pressed against mine.
It’s been a long night, and after some of the things I learned and saw, the latter seems necessary. The former is more so an inconvenience at the wrong time.
I’m leaning against the counter opposite him, still making up my mind, when he does it for me.
He stops, looking over at me, and says, “If you’re waiting for an apology, it’s not coming. We had to leave.”
“I never said I was waiting for an apology. But Iwashoping you’d be less of an ass!”
“I’m an ass because I wasn’t joking with you and Francis about him getting the shit knocked out of him?” He grunts out a lone, rough chuckle as if to mock our earlier conversation.
My arms tighten around my chest and I stand up straighter. “Tell me what it is. Why you’re so pissed—and don’t say you’re not, because you are. What did I do? Was it talking to Mr. Thomas? Was it the elevator? Or that I had the audacity to want to stay behind an extra minute and take out my rapist?”
“Tonight was your idea.”
“And?”
“And it was a complete fucking shit show, Phi! What do you mean ‘and?’ Tonight was a fucking mistake that I won’t be letting happen again,” he explodes suddenly, his voice booming. It bounces off the walls at a rare volume for Salvatore. He’s normally not the type to yell. Even when angry, he’s the type to terrify with his calm and collected, quiet rage. Seconds later, he grits his teeth, catching himself, though the anger burns no less hot in his eyes. “Do you have any idea how bad tonight could’ve gone once shit went left?”
My skin warms, though I stand my ground. “You act like Stitches and I wanted things to go wrong. Things happen, Jon.Mistakeshappen.”
“Do you know how outnumbered we were? Do you know how fucked we would’ve been the second our cover was blown? And Francis is wandering off fetching fucking champagne like he’s a waiter and you’re riding elevators up and down like you’re on some fun amusement park ride. Neither of you stuck to the plan, and you screwed tonight up because of it!”
“I didn’t ask you to come with me. I told you about the party because I wanted to be honest with you. I would’ve been fine going alone—”
“That would’ve ended better for you, Phi,” he interrupts dryly. “You did so well winding up on that underground floor. About to be taken who knows where to do who knows what.”
A burst of anger crackles inside me like a sudden firework.
Glaring at him, I uncross my arms for a more defiant stance. “I foundhim, didn’t I? That’s more than you’ve ever been able to do in a year of searching. I would’ve taken him out myself, but you decided to stop me. Abandoning our mission and running away was more important.”
As soon as the words leave my lips, I know I’ve made a mistake. I’ve said the wrong thing.
Salvatore’s smoldering gaze darkens, and he takes a step toward me. If his face held tension before, it’s chiseled by it now as he looms tall and foreboding. I move to step away, in hopes I can still make my way to the exit, but he snatches me by the wrist to hold me in place.
My heart’s racing and the rest of my body stiffens as though pricked by pins and needles.
Shit.
I’m in trouble. Possibly deserved.
I dig my hole deeper anyway. I struggle to free myself, pulling at his hold on my wrist. He doesn’t let go. His grip tightens and I put up a fight despite his attempt to reel me closer. We’re both half successful—I manage to free my wrist while he manages to yank me toward him by the hips.
My body jerks and my ribs ache from earlier, though I refuse to give up. I slam my palm against his shoulder and wrangle myself out of his clutches as best as I can. Ironically, some of the techniques he’s shown me come in handy.
This sudden aggressive game between us takes another rough turn. I scramble free and make it to the other side of the table. A feat as far as I’m concerned, considering who I’m up against.
My escape is short-lived.
Salvatore captures me with the force of his hard, muscled body. His arm hooks around my waist and he whips me around, trapping me against the table.