Page 17 of Tempting Devil

Gideon

I killed the ignition on my Jaguar, but didn’t make any move to get out, my gaze fixated on the shoreline in the distance. The sun had just begun to rise behind the mountains, casting a glow over the surfers bobbing up and down on the ocean waves.

Was Imogene out there?

I needed to stop thinking about her.

Obsessing over her.

Tonight confirmed everything Henry tried to warn me about.

I hated essentially gaslighting her like I did, making her feel like a shitty person for accusing me of being her long-lost love.

Which I was.

But like Henry told me, I was in too deep. It was only a matter of time before she learned the truth. She was already suspicious. I needed to either come clean or walk away.

I needed to choose between revenge or love.

I chose revenge.

Until James and Liam paid for their sins, I would always choose revenge. It wasn’t even a choice, though. I was a slave to my revenge. It was my master and I was merely a puppet, allowing this desperate need to control me.

To consume me.

It didn’t make walking away from Imogene any easier, though, even if I knew it was for the best. Which was why I’d spent the past few hours driving aimlessly around San Diego, trying to convince myself I did the right thing.

I’d seen firsthand how much Samuel’s death still haunted her. It was selfish of me to pursue something with her when I had no plans for a future. When I was willing to sacrifice myself in order to fulfill my vendetta.

She already lost me once.

I would be a complete asshole if I allowed her to mourn me twice.

With the weight of everything bearing down on me, I opened the door and stepped out of my car. The world was peaceful in the predawn hours, only the faint squawk of seagulls breaking through the sound of the nearby ocean waves.

I slowly made my way up the front steps of my house and slipped inside, expecting it to be quiet.

I should have known better.

As I entered the kitchen, I found Henry by the one-cup brewer, still wearing the same t-shirt and shorts he wore when I left last night.

“Did you sleep in your clothes?” I asked, moving toward him and grabbing a mug from the cabinet.

“That would require sleep.”

“You haven’t slept?” I arched a brow.

“It doesn’t look like you have, either.” He gestured to my disheveled appearance, my shirt still unbuttoned and pants crumpled.

“You know I don’t sleep well in an actual bed.”

After spending four years sleeping on a cold, cement floor, my body had grown accustomed to that. It wasn’t until I spent the night with Imogene last weekend that I’d finally found comfort in a real bed again.

Shouldn’t that have been enough of a reason for me to realize what was important? To forget about this desperate need for revenge and focus only on the future? I was given a second chance in life. Was I just throwing it away?

“I think it’s more than that.”

Sometimes I hated how well Henry could read me. It was why he was the only person I trusted to help me carry out my plan. He could anticipate my needs without me having to say a single word.

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