Page 103 of Reaper's Desire

One is lights, moving in our direction.

The other is one of my shoes, kicked off in our rush to get back here, at the edge of the hedge hiding us.

"Lachlan," I whisper, my hands clutching at him. "Lachlan, we?—"

"Over here!" A voice yells, and before either of us can come to our senses fully or move, I see the flashlight beams illuminate my shoe, and then…

Three of my father's men round the hedge and freeze at the sight of their boss's daughter on her back in a dark corner of the garden, a nobody boy on top of her with his jeans pulled down around his hips. And behind them, his face set in harsh, angry lines, is my father.

Giovanni Santoro.

The world explodes into chaos. Lachlan jerks away from me, scrambling backward, his hands fumbling to pull up his jeans. I'm frozen for a heartbeat before my body catches up to my brain and I yank my dress down, my hands shaking so badly I can barely grip the fabric.

No. No, no, no?—

"Get away from her!" One of the men lunges forward, grabbing Lachlan by the arm and wrenching him to his feet. Lachlan stumbles, still trying to fasten his jeans, and the man's fist connects with his jaw with a sickening crack that makes my stomach lurch.

"Stop!" The word tears out of my throat, raw and desperate. "Stop, please?—"

But no one's listening. Another man has Lachlan now, twisting his arm behind his back, and Lachlan grunts in pain, hisface contorting. The third man moves toward me, and I scramble backward on my hands, my bare feet slipping on the damp grass.

"Don't touch her." My father's voice cuts through the chaos, cold and even, and it's so much worse than shouting.

The man freezes. Everyone freezes.

Giovanni Santoro steps forward, his shoes crunching on the gravel path, and the sound is deafening in the sudden silence. He's wearing a perfectly tailored suit without a wrinkle on it, not a hair out of place, perfectly composed despite what he's just come upon. He looks at me the way someone might look at a dead animal on the side of the road—something distasteful.

Something ruined.

"Get up."

My legs won't work. I try to push myself up on trembling arms, but my knees buckle and I collapse back onto the grass. Tears are streaming down my face, hot and humiliating, and I can't make them stop.

"I said get up, Adriana."

This time I manage it, but barely. I stand on shaking legs, my dress twisted and grass-stained, my hair a tangled mess around my shoulders. I can feel the wetness between my thighs, Lachlan's cum and my arousal and virgin blood—the evidence of what we've done. Shame burns through me so hot and fierce I think I might be sick.

My father's eyes move over me slowly. "Cover yourself," he says finally, his voice flat.

I look down and realize my dress is still bunched up around my hips on one side, showing my stained silk underwear, and I yank the fabric down with numb fingers, my face burning.

"Papa, I?—"

"Quiet."

The word is a slap. I flinch, my mouth snapping shut.

Giovanni turns his attention to Lachlan, who's still held between two of his men, blood trickling from his split lip. Lachlan's eyes find mine across the space between us, and I can see the fear and defiance there in his expression… but I also see how much he loves me. So much that it makes my chest ache, tears spilling down my cheeks. I don't know what will happen to me, but to him…

We've always known that. And we did it anyway.God, this was stupid. So stupid…

But I can't entirely regret it. Not when Lachlan is looking at me like he wants to make sure I'm the last thing on this earth he sees before he dies, not when I can still feel his hands on me, making me his the way we both always wanted me to be.

"Do you know who this is?" My father gestures at me almost casually, like he's pointing out a piece of furniture. "This is my daughter. Myonlydaughter. Do you understand what that means?"

Lachlan says nothing. His expression is hard, his shoulders squared despite the hands gripping his arms.

"It means," Giovanni continues, his voice dropping lower, "that she was worth something. She had value. A virgin daughter of Giovanni Santoro—do you know how many alliances I could have made with her? How many deals I could have sealed?"