Page 38 of Ruined By a Devil

I release her and step back.

For the next twenty minutes, I push her. I make her throw strike after strike, stepping into her space, blocking every attempt effortlessly, forcing her to reset her stance again and again. Every time she slumps her shoulders, my hands are back on her body, fixing her waist, pulling her chin up, holding her wrists firmly until muscle memory takes over.

By the end, she’s completely covered in sweat, her high braid slightly undone, her chest rising and falling heavily as she stands in front of me, flushed and exhausted. She looks fierce, beautiful, and thoroughly tested.

“That's enough for today,” I say, wiping my hands on a towel and stepping toward the door.

Jade stands her ground on the mat, breathing through her nose, staring at me with pure, stubborn pride. “I didn't land a single hit.”

“You're a beginner, Jade,” I say, stopping at the threshold and looking back at her. “You weren't supposed to. But tomorrow, it’ll be a little easier.”

Her lips press into a thin line, but she doesn't talk back. I let my gaze linger over her flushed skin for one heartbeat longer than I should, letting her know that despite the training, despite the discipline, I haven't forgotten a single second of how she felt under my touch today.

“Get some rest,” I tell her, turning out the gym lights. “We have a long way to go.”

I leave her for a quick shower, before I head to meeting with my brothers. The silence in the house feels heavier tonight, charged with the lingering memory of her hands against my chest and the flushed heat of her skin. As I step into the hallway, I pause in front of her door, listening for just a second without knocking, the faint sound of water running in her bathroom, before heading down the stairs and out.

Milo is on babysitting duties again tonight and the thought of leaving him in charge of Jade while I’m away makes leaving her a little easier.

An hour later, I step into the private, dimly lit back room of Eden. The bass from the main floor hums through the floorboards, mixed with the sharp smell of top-shelf whiskey, cigar smoke, and expensive leather.

“Look who decided to show up,” Levi says, his eyes locking onto me as I slide into the booth opposite Zeke. “The groom himself. We were starting to think you got lost in a bridal shop.”

I don't bother looking at him, signaling the bartender for a neat scotch. “We had business to take care of.”

“Right, business,” Levi scoffs with a quiet laugh. “Is that what you call missing two strategy meetings to carry shopping bags for a Moretti princess?”

“I don't carry bags,” I say coldly, taking a sip of the strong liquid. “I secure assets.”

“Right,” Zeke cuts in, leaning forward, resting his thick forearms on the polished dark wood. “You've been distracted, Malachi. You skipped the shipment briefing yesterday morning. I hear you're personally preparing her coffee order and hand-picking her wedding dress.”

“Sounds less like an asset and more like a leash,” Cain lets out a low, rough sound from the corner, his scarred face unreadable.

“Nolan Devlin is hunting for a weakness,” I say, keeping my tone completely unaffected by their provocation. “Jade is the wedge that tears the Moretti alliance out from under his boots. If I make her look like an untouchable queen instead of a hostage, Nolan looks like a fool who lost his prize. Everything I’m doing with her is calculated.”

Levi snorts, taking a drag from his glass. “You can drop the strategist act with us, brother. You look at that girl like you want to lock her in a room and ruin her. You aren't just playing chess when it comes to her.

“He’s right,” Elijah places his glass on the table. “You're itching to put your hands on her.”

“She’s an Italian mafia princess raised by wolves,” I reply, my voice dropping into a quiet register. “She’s stubborn, arrogant, and testing my patience. This is how I keep her in line.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Zeke says, raising his glass in a silent toast. “Just make sure that when you fuck her, you don't forget who the real enemy is.”

“Nolan is already dead,” I say, setting my glass down with a loud thud. “He just hasn't realized it yet.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Jade

I stand in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. My dark hair is drenched, hanging in heavy, tangled ropes over my bare shoulders, dripping water down the center of my back and pooling at the small of my spine. I’m wearing nothing but a black lace thong.

My skin is still flushed, hot from the shower, but underneath that, there’s a deeper, restless heat hiding right beneath the surface. My muscles ache in a quiet, satisfying way from the training session down in the basement, from Malachi’s heavy hands fixing my stance, digging into my hips, holding my wrists tight enough to leave phantom warmth behind.

I raise my right hand, my fingers trembling slightly as I press them against the base of my throat. I drag my own hand slowly down my chest, between my breasts, over the flat plane of my stomach. It feels like nothing, it’s just my own cold fingers on my own warm skin. It doesn't have that warm, suffocating weight, nor does it carry the spark that flooded my entire body when Malachi pressed his thumb into the crease of my thigh in the kitchen, or when he ground his rock-hard length against my back in that crowded fitting room.

My hand moves lower, slipping past my navel, hovering right above the narrow lace band of my thong. I hook two fingers under the fabric and pull it lower. The cool air of the bathroom hits my swollen, aching center, making me gasp softly.

I’m dripping wet.