Beautiful Devils (Filthy Wicked Psychos, #2)

by Eva Ashwood

“Shouldn’t have tried to run,” he mutters darkly. “Now you’ll have to pay for that.”

“Find her,” Malice snaps. “Fucking find her. Where the fuck did he take her?”

less of a shit about that. All my fear is for Willow. For the gorgeous angel who fell into our laps and then became so much more than a loose end. She’s stronger than she looks, I know that. But up against someone like Ilya… I’m not sure if it’s going to be enough.

“—says there was a big man … kidnapped.” “—a body, yeah. Upstairs. Big guy.” “… dead?” “Yeah. —burned up pretty bad. … trapped… make it out.” I suck in a sharp breath and then release it on a shaky exhale as I piece together what I’m hearing. They’re talking about Ilya. It has to be.

The doctor nods. “Well, luckily you don’t have a concussion, just a bump on the head. You were very lucky to get out of that with so few injuries. All things considered, you’re fine.” Funny. I don’t feel fine.

Hayes, your DNA was also flagged in our system.” A frown tugs at my lips. “What do you mean?” Is it something linking me to Ilya? Or the Voronin brothers? There shouldn’t be anything, but… “It was a match for a cold case. A little girl that went missing a long time ago. We had the DNA provided from one of her parents to try to use as a match if she was ever found, but she never turned up anywhere.” He takes a step farther into the room, lifting his brows slightly. “Until now.” For a second, all I can do is stare at him. Of all the things he could have said, that’s the last thing I was expecting.

It’s just another reminder that I’ve always been an outsider to them, never truly one of them. They have an entire silent language that I’ll never understand.

Your secret is still safe. All I want is for you to leave me alone. Please. Just leave me alone.”

My grandmother isn’t just rich. She’s fucking loaded.

Ransom doesn’t have an answer for that, but he glares at Malice anyway, fury burning in his green eyes. After a beat, he finally speaks again. “You’re kidding yourself, Mal,” he mutters. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

glance toward it, and my heart stops. Malice is standing in the middle of my living room.

“Your bruises are almost gone,” he says. His voice is rough, and he sounds almost… relieved. Like he actually cared that I was hurt.

“We did everything we could to find you. As soon as we realized you were fucking gone, we all lost our shit. Vic was scrubbing through footage, Ransom and I were trying to track you on foot. Don’t you know that we would have protected you if we could have? We were going out of our fucking minds trying to get to you before Ilya could hurt you.”

“Why the fuck did you leave?” he demands, his voice rising. “Why did you go where we couldn’t protect you? Why would you do that?” He sounds angry, which isn’t all that unusual for him. But there’s also something almost… desperate in his voice. Like

he needs to know what happened, like it’s tearing him up inside.

Calloused fingers slip under my chin, and I blink in surprise when Malice tilts my head up, making me look at him. There’s something almost gentle in his eyes, mixed in with the intensity, and it stops me in my tracks for a second—long enough for him to speak again.

“Why are you here?” I demand again, turning around to face him. “This thing between us is over, don’t you get it? Ilya is dead. There’s no reason for you to be here. There’s no fucking reason for you to be in my life anymore!” “You’re right.” Malice nods once, his gaze never leaving my face. “There’s no reason for me or my brothers to be in your life anymore. We shouldn’t be in your life.”

“There’s no reason for us to be in your life,” he repeats. “Except I can’t fucking stay away.”

“Willow…” Instead of the nickname he gave me all those weeks ago, he says my real name softly—and it snaps something inside me. “No!” I shout. “No! Don’t fucking do that!” All my emotions bubble up at once, spilling over until I can’t hold them back.

“Don’t say my name like you give a shit about me!” I shove at him, wanting him to move. Wanting him to crumble. Wanting him to… I don’t even know what. “Who the fuck do you think you are? I told you we were done. I told you I wanted you out of my life! Get out! Leave. Me. Alone!”

ME: One of the first things I bought when I stocked my new place was the good peanut butter. None of that crunchy bullshit in this house. I don’t admit that I thought of him when I bought it, or that I bought the exact same kind he used to have. VICTOR: Glad to hear it. And you don’t have to worry about anyone (Ransom) eating it out of the jar with a spoon. I think I might be jealous.

It’s pretty clear that Vic is falling back on old habits, letting his OCD tendencies hit a fever pitch because he’s coping with something. With the loss of Willow. This is how he shows that he misses her and her presence here.

“Everything about you is my business. It became my business when you begged for my cock. When you let me put my mark on you.”

“I… I’m your slut,” she finally whispers, sounding desperate and so fucking beautiful. “I’m your slut, and I want to come for you.” Approval roars through me the same way possessiveness did earlier. “Good girl,” I whisper and then plunge my fingers into her, fucking her hard and fast with them.

“Ya yeshche nikogo tak ne khotel, kak tebya,” I tell her, letting it slip off my tongue in Russian. I know she doesn’t understand the words, and maybe that’s for the best. I’m not sure I’m ready for her to know just how deep my feelings for her run.

My face gets hot all over again, and I want to turn away from Ransom, embarrassed that I let all of that out. But he just squeezes my knee gently. “Angel, look at me.”

“Listen to me. There’s nothing wrong with you,” he says emphatically. “You don’t have to believe anything else my brothers or I say, but believe that. If you want to be in this life, to be a part of this world, then they’d be fucking lucky to have you.” He hesitates for a second, shaking his head like he’s debating whether or not to say more. Finally, he continues on. “But you shouldn’t let anyone try to change you. You shouldn’t let anyone make you feel like you’re not already good enough. Because you are. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. And the sweetest. You’ve held onto your kindness, even when the world has no right to expect that from you. You’re already perfect.”

“What?” I ask. “Stay.”

“That’s my good girl.”

“Fucking hell.” Ransom groans, his head tipping back. “I would say you’re killing me, pretty girl, but I think I must’ve already died and gone to heaven.”

It’s from Vic, and it’s just two words. VICTOR: You’re beautiful.

“She didn’t want us there,” I say, and it comes out sounding bitter as fuck. “Or at least, she didn’t want me there. She’s made that perfectly fucking clear multiple times. She doesn’t want shit to do with me anymore.” Ransom chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s definitely why she spent the whole night sleeping by your side. Because she didn’t want you there.” That makes me pause. Fuck, I really must have been out of it, because I didn’t know that.

There was something appealing in that, in being the observer to it all, but it’s nothing compared to how this feels. This is for me. Just me and Willow and no one else. She’s so perfect.

“I’ve never done this for anyone before,” she admits. “No one but you.” Her words go straight to my cock, leaving it hard and throbbing. No one else has ever seen her touch herself like this before. She’s never run her hands over her scars for anyone else, and being the first, being the only in this case, hits me hard. I’m so affected by everything this gorgeous, ethereal woman does, and right now, I can’t fight it even a little.

“Goodnight, butterfly.”

Vic turns to look at me, and there’s something in his eyes that looks a hell of a lot like what I’m feeling right now. Pure, raw possessiveness.

“You’re not a pawn,” he tells me, his voice lowered. “You never have been. You’re a fucking queen. You’re the only person in this whole goddamned world who could bring me to my knees. The only person who’s ever crawled inside my soul.”

“Don’t go out there, Solnyshka,” he rasps. “Please. Don’t go with him.”

“Ya zhe govoril, chto ne otpushchu tebya,” he murmurs in Russian. “Ya ne mogu. Nikogda ne smogu.”

I hold his gaze, trailing my free hand over the scars on my own body that I no longer try to hide around him or his brothers. “Because I’m already broken. Remember?”

Ya ne mogu nalyubovat'sya toboy.”

Then he snorts and shakes his head. “Jesus. Only the two of you would have this much sexual tension while standing several feet apart, fully clothed.”

“You can have me,” I manage, nodding in answer to Ransom’s question. “I’m yours.” He sucks in a breath as my words reach his ears over the heavy din of the music. He pulls back to look into my eyes, and whatever he sees there seems to snap the last of his self-control. He picks me up, carrying me off the dance floor with Malice and Victor following close behind.

“Wrong answer, Solnyshka. That just means I’ll have to fuck you harder this time.”

“Bend over,” he says. “And grab your ankles.”

“Goodnight, butterfly,” I murmur softly, then end the call.

“I saw that you weren’t in Ransom’s room,” he murmurs. “I got worried.”

“I never wanted a woman to be mine before,” he murmurs gruffly. “Never wanted a woman to be ours. Until I met you.”

This man is X. He has to be.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “For coming for me.” “We always fucking will.”