Chapter 85 - EIGHTY FIVE

Chapter 85: Chapter EIGHTY FIVE

ANGEL

Every eye in the restaurant followed us out, looking horrified.

The cool night air hit my skin. Vincenzo didn’t slow down. His strides were long and hard and I had to half-jog to keep up. His hand was locked around the back of my neck and the grip wasn’t protective — it was possessive.

"Slow down! My heels are hurting!" I complained when I nearly tripped once.

His grip tightened. Nothing else.

He opened the car door and his hand moved from my neck to my waist where he picked me up — both hands.

He set me in the backseat the way you’d set down something you wanted to throw against a wall.

He spoke to his driver and his second in command in a low tone. The man nodded once and went back into the restaurant, to clean up the place, I guess. The mess I’d made.

The driver roared the car to life and Vincenzo got in.

He slammed the door so hard the car rocked. I pouted, staring at my nails. I didn’t even take it too far, why was he so mad? I wanted him mad, but it didn’t mean that it felt good. His anger was supposed to be the crowbar that pried open the door he kept locked. But sitting next to it — next to him vibrating with a fury that filled the entire car — I wasn’t sure the door was the kind that opened. It might be the kind that exploded.

He was seated as far from me as the seat allowed. My eyes fell on the blood drying on his knuckles. Then I looked up at the vein pulsing in his temple.

I scooted closer to him. He said nothing. I slid an inch closer, watching his rigid face.

He didn’t react until I let my head tip against his shoulder. He smelled like blood and cologne and sweat. The combination made something low in my belly tighten.

"Don’t!" He growled warningly.

I stayed where I was, my head against his shoulder. This time I snuggled against his neck and my hand found his thigh. The muscle beneath my palm turned to even more stiff.

"Thank you for protecting me, Daddy," I murmured against his shoulder, letting my fingers trace a small circle on his thigh.

"Take your hand off me." His voice was barely above a breath.

I buried my face deeper into his shoulder, pressing my lips against his salty skin.

His hand ripped my wrist off his thigh and he held it in the air between us.

"I said don’t fucking touch me!"

I looked at him. His face in the passing streetlights was beyond furious.

"Okay, Daddy," I whispered, hurt making my voice tremble as a wave of disappointment crushed my chest.

Okay, maybe I did take things too far. He’d never been this angry at me before.

The car stopped and Vincenzo was out before the engine died.

He came around and opened my door. His hand closed around my upper arm and he hauled me out.

"That hurts!" I yelled.

He didn’t ease up. His fingers dug into my bicep and he dragged me toward the house with strides so long I stumbled. My heel caught on gravel and I pitched sideways.

"Okay, fine, maybe I shouldn’t have done that—" I huffed out a breath.

"Maybe?" He stopped to look at me. Something moved behind his eyes — a darkness that made my veins melt in an orgasm of their own.

He dragged me inside the house and kicked the door shut. Then he shoved me on the couch. I bounced. My dress around my waist. My hair flying everywhere. But I didn’t try to fix it.

He stood over me. Bloody shirt. Torn knuckles. Black hair across his forehead.

And his eyes — his eyes were not his anymore. Something had come loose within them. Something that made my breath catch. The father was gone. The man I’d been poking and prodding and grinding against for weeks — he was finally looking back at me. And he was hungry.

"What the fuck were you DOING, Angel?" His calm completely gone. "You pulled your dress open in a public restaurant. You gave a stranger a cherry. You let him follow you into a bathroom with his COCK OUT—"

"He followed me, I didn’t follow—"

His hand slammed the armrest beside my head on either side of me, caging me in.

"It DOESN’T matter!" His face inches from mine. Blood on his cheek. Fury in his eyes.

I didn’t flinch. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, and if he did... I would welcome it.

With everything in me.

"You already know why I did it. It’s because of this!" I spread my legs on the couch. Slow.

His gaze lowered. I wanted him to see the dark patch on my underwear.

"Because I needed to know if you’d come. And you did. You always come for me." I tilted my head, watching him with the same frustrated look he wore. "But you never finish, do you, Daddy? You come running. Break faces. Carry me home. And then you take a shower and jerk off thinking about me while I lie in your bed wet and empty."

Vincenzo stared down at me. His arms were trembling on the armrests. His breathing was ragged. His eyes were black and wild.

"I’ll keep finding them," I said, glaring at him. "Every night. Men who’ll follow me into bathrooms. Men who’ll pull their cocks out when I ask. And one of these nights you’ll be too slow. One of them is going to get inside me before you break the door down." I leaned forward to stab a finger against his chest. "And that’ll be your fault. Because you could have fucked me but you were too busy pretending to be a good man. Just the way you should have claimed me before Damien did!"

I watched his sharp inhale and torturous look.

"I am your father!" He roared.