Page 221 of Safe Word

At the base of the stairs, I shoved the shoes on—

And suddenly heard a creak of leather to my left.

I didn’t jump, but the way the sound sliced through the quiet had my instincts baring their teeth.

I looked over.

Matteo stood there – a slab of muscle and menace, built like he’d crawled out of some underground fighting ring that had no rules or referees, just blood and broken bones.

His dark-blond buzz had deliberate claw-like slashes shaved into the sides, as if he wanted to look like he’d been mauled by a fucking bear.

Thick, black ink curled up his sinewy neck, disappearing beneath a black T-shirt that didn’t do much to hide the fact that his body might as well be used as a battering ram.

That was a statement, if I’d ever seen one.

I hadn’t really stood this close to him until now. And just because he was nearly my size, I somehow wondered if everyone else saw me the same way.

And when my gaze met his, I nearly flinched.

Because I’d been staring at a near-identical pair of eyes just minutes ago, right before I’d fucked her into oblivion.

Only these were looking at me like they already knew too much, and I almost recoiled.

A memory plopped into my mind: of Paula calling her brothers good boys.

Good boys, my arse.

This one looked like he came out of the womb tattooed and carrying a fucking switchblade. And judging by the look on his face, it seemed he took the first flight here just for the pleasure of sizing me up.

I squared my shoulders, spine straightening instinctively as the little hairs rose on the back of my neck.

‘Which one are you?’ I asked, locking eyes with him. ‘The oldest?’

The corner of his mouth twitched – not a smile. More like the slow pull of a trigger.

‘The one who does the cutting.’

His voice was like the kind you heard in movies when the killer called from inside the house.

I let out a sharp puff of air. ‘What do the rest do then?’

‘One has a green thumb, the other is wicked with a mop.’

Threat received. Message clearly fucking delivered.

We stared at each other.

I reached for the door handle, fully prepared to step into the night and let my darkness do the talking – but then… He tutted.

He. Fucking. Tutted at me.

Like a schoolteacher catching some delinquent sneaking out for a smoke break.

I turned my head very slowly, my fingers tightening around the handle as I glanced back at the bastard.

‘Now where might you be going at this time of night, Hollywood?’

I couldn’t help the wicked grin that took over the side of my face. It usually made people either back the fuck off or get reckless enough to try their luck.