Page 9 of Devil’s Promise

“Then trust me when I say the goods are the part I care the least about.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” one of the men at the table grunts. “That is one sweet piece of ass, and if you’re not going to taste it⁠—”

Angel bangs his free hand on the table hard enough that I jump.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my father start as well. Does Angel scare him too? That almost makes me like the man behind me more. Or less. Maybe I should just be worrying about myself.

“She stays!” Angel roars. “And no one but me touches her.” And then he squeezes me tighter.

“Don’t forget your promises,” my father says, raising a finger, but I can see the fear in his eyes. “I hear you’re a man that keeps them, which is why I’ve brought this opportunity to you. But I want your word that all you’ve agreed to, you will uphold.”

“You have mine. Don’t forget yours, Don,” Angel rumbles.

My father gives a stiff nod before he turns to me, his lip curling into a sneer. “Good luck, Promise.”

Luck? Is that what I’m going to need?

He turns to leave as Angel’s other hand wraps around my body. I’d shrink away but there is nowhere to go. “Everyone out.”

A new wave of fear crashes over me, as my father disappears through the doorway, the other men slowly stand from the table.

My first impression was correct. They are all as large as Angel and Rock, each covered in various tattoos.

Other than that, they each look completely different. Except for one detail. They all have the same amber-colored eyes which look unnatural and frightening as hell.

Each gives me a long look as he passes. Are they studying me or the way Angel is holding me?

The last of them finally clears out, leaving us alone in the room. My one consolation? The door is still open.

Angel has not loosened his grip.

He holds my back to his front, both his arms wrapped around me like I might escape if he doesn’t hold me tight.

Which is ridiculous. He’s big enough that he could probably hold me in place with one finger.

“Promise? What kind of fucking name is that?”

His words make me jump, I’d lost myself in my thoughts. I wish I had a pen and paper. Because…Rock? Angel? These are better names than Promise?

But it’s better that I don’t. Now is hardly the time for snark. I’ve been living with my father too long and I’m always looking for the angle to argue.

“Did you decide not to talk or are you just broken?”

Broken. Not a bad word for me, honestly. But why he keeps asking a mute girl questions makes me wonder about his mental stability.

He is the Devil of New York. What kind of name is that?

Naturally I don’t answer, and he doesn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t mind. In fact, I really prefer that I don’t have to listen to your fucking yapping.”

I don’t yap. I’ve never yapped.

“In fact, the smaller you could make yourself, the better,” he grits out near my ear. “Because the truth, princess. I don’t want you. I don’t want to be married, and I fucking hate your father.”

That makes two of us.

“But you’re useful to me, so behave, and this might just go all right.”