He held up the bowl of eggs. “Sorry, did you want some?”
I shot Wyatt a smile and grabbed a muffin, which was on a plate closest to me. “I’d rather have something sweet.”
“Oh, yeah?” His gaze dipped down. “I bet you’ve got plenty of sweet things.”
The prick wasn’t even attempting to hide the fact that he was staring at my cleavage.
“Hey!” I snapped my fingers. “My eyes are up here.”
“Don’t get mad at him.” Devlin popped a grape in his mouth and muttered, “You’re the one who came down here looking like a slut.”
I coughed, barely managing to choke down my first bite. “Excuse me?”
It wasn’t like I was prancing around in a mini skirt and crop top.
He waved his hand at me and growled, “Go wash that shit off your face.”
Mr. High and Mighty had his head shoved so far up his own ass that the only thing he could taste was his own shit. And he had the gall to judge me. Hell no.
“I don’t take orders from you,” I sang with a big smile while taking a bite of my muffin.
There was a sudden change in the air. A heaviness settled in around us so thickly that it smothered the sweetness in my mouth. The blueberries had a sudden sour tang that coursed through my veins in waves of uncomfortable tingles. It was so weird.
I rolled the food around my tongue, waiting for the taste to improve. It didn’t. If I wasn’t so busy glaring back at the lethal expression Devlin was giving me, I might’ve stopped to inspect my muffin.
The rage coming off him sent a shiver down my spine. I tried to suppress it. I managed to hold on to some composure until Magnus’s chair screeched along the floor. The loud sound echoed through the cloud of doom closing in on me.
“I’m not in the mood for this shit,” Magnus grumbled and left.
My mind screamed at me to follow him. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t. Maybe it was pride, or a lack of self-preservation. Either way, I stayed where I was, glued to my seat as Devlin braced his elbows on the table and leaned forward.
“Wash that shit off your face, or I will.”
Despite the cold spike of fear setting off warning bells in my head, I couldn’t back down. Guys like Devlin would take an inch and turn it into a mile.
“No.”
“Last chance,Bréagán.” His eyes darkened along with his voice. “Wash. It. Off.”
The smart thing to do would’ve been to comply. But like Sister Anne said at Saint Jude’s Group Home for girls, That mouth is going to get you into trouble, child.”
“Bite m—”
Everything on the table clattered as Devlin shot across it and seized a fistful of my hair. Next thing I knew, I was being dragged through the spilled breakfast food, kicking and screaming.
My fight ceased the instant my body flopped off the table and slammed onto the floor. A sharp stab radiated over my tailbone and up my spine, stealing my breath.
My torment didn’t end there.
I was left unable to do anything but clutch at his forearm as he pulled me across the room. If the ache crawling up my back wasn’t enough to remind me how useless fighting him would be, then the hard muscle flexing under my hands was.
All I could think as I was slammed down on the island’s hard countertop was how Sister Anne was probably staring down at me from heaven right now, laughing her ass off.
Screw you, you mean old bat.
When Devlin was busy turning on the faucet, I did manage to wriggle around enough to kick him in the side. That gave me a modicum of satisfaction.
His response did not.
