Page 51 of Cruel Devil

“Look, just because you’re obsessed with me, doesn’t mean you have to drag my sisters into this. You got my attention. I’m here, aren’t I? Stop with the games and just tell me what the fuck you want.”

“Obsessed?”

I throw my hands into the air. “You’ve been keeping track of me for years. Kidnapped my sisters. Killed two of your men. God knows what else. All to get your hands on me. How the hell do you explain all of that without using the word obsessed?”

“Savage.”

My blood congeals in my veins.

Patrick ordered Liam to follow me around before I ever met Sullivan at The Foundry. I don’t know exactly which day Athena and Phoebe were kidnapped. Was it after I’d nearly been sniped next to the food truck? After I took off with Savage and hid out at their safe house? From the outside looking in, I was in cahoots with the cartel.

Like I’d been working for them all along.

This might not be as personal as I think. Sullivan could be using me and my sisters to send a message.

“That’s what this is about? The fucking Domingos?”

Sullivan’s eyelids are at half mast like he’s really enjoying our little chat. “You’re one of them now.”

“I’m a fucking Gray!” My hands clench into fists. “And you’re batshit delulu if you think kidnapping my sisters hurts anyone but me. Savage doesn’t give a fuck about me, or them. He wouldn’t even blink if you killed them.”

“Your husband went to considerable effort to find those girls.” Sullivan tilts his head. “Like a dog with a bone.”

“Bullshit,” I mutter. “If he’d put in so much effort, he’d have found them.”

“You underestimate me, Mrs. Domingo. No one comes into my room and steals my toys, no matter how hard they try. And hell, did he try.”

Another teasing half-smile just to grind it in, and I’m losing my fucking mind. I’ve never been one for games. I don’t have the patience for that shit.

“Then why don’t you just fucking kill me already?” It’s nearly a shriek, the last of my patience evaporating. I’m cold, hurting, desperate, confused. I don’t need this asshat evading every question with a slimy comeback.

I want my fucking babies back.

He takes another sip of his drink, and then carefully sets his glass down on one of the desks near the wall of monitors. This office is so gloomy, I hadn’t even noticed they were there. They’re fitted above the large windows overlooking the floor below, but I can’t even begin to guess their purpose. Everything in the warehouse below is clearly visible through the wall of glass. Maybe they’re for security cameras outside of the building?

Then he reaches into the pocket of his suit. I swear to God, if it’s a finger, even a lock of hair, I’m going to attack him with my bare fucking teeth.

He pulls out a small remote control, points, and clicks.

I jerk in shock as the row of monitors come to life. Their pale light coats everything in a sickly glare. When I turn to face them, Sullivan comes up behind me. I don’t react to him, because if he wanted to attack me, he had ample opportunity. I’m more concerned with what’s visible on the screens.

From the decor and furnishings, it’s obvious all fifteen of the screens are recording from the same house.

Or, should I say, mansion, judging from all the marble and gold.

All except two of the rooms are empty. In one, the faint glow of a night light shines on the back of Phoebe’s head. In the other, Athena is sitting on a white bed, legs propped up, reading a book. I can’t see what it is, but there’s an instant burst of relief inside me when I realize they’re not bound and chained to a radiator in a dirty basement, like I thought they’d be.

In fact, they look…calm. Comfortable, even.

Whatever prison this is, it’s a shit ton better than any of the places we’ve ever lived in, even when Mom was still alive.

“When was this taken?” There’s a tremble in my voice. I wouldn’t put it past him to negotiate on pre recorded videos when my sisters are already decomposing in a shallow grave somewhere.

My chest is so tight, I can barely breathe.

“It’s a live feed.” Sullivan puts a hand on my shoulder. It should be icy cold, to go with his fucking arctic heart and black soul, but it’s warm. Almost reassuring.

“Livestock is more valuable alive than dead.”

---