Page 3 of Cruel Devil

“Oh, right.” I give her an awkward pat on the knee. God, I forgot about her daughter, how they don’t talk to each other anymore.

I’m a hard ass, but I know what it feels like to get the cold shoulder. It hasn’t always been smooth sailing in the Gray household. We went through hell and back after Mom died, specifically because I struggled to keep it together for a while.

By the time I found my feet and my recent trauma had been distilled into good ole PTSD, Athena and Phoebe had already formed the Newly Orphaned Coalition—a group I was vehemently denied membership to. The sizzling slopes of Hell turned into World War Gray, which only recently simmered down into a cold war.

I’m still not sure whose side I’m on.

“You two get in a fight or something?” I ask reluctantly, if only so Viv won’t think I’m a complete asshole. The last thing I need is her deciding she doesn’t want to have lunch with me and turning this hearse of a car around. Then I’d be stuck at the Domingo cartel’s villa-cum-prison, a pair of bodyguards surgically attached to my body while my husband is off flaying faces.

Viv starts fidgeting with her chunky gold necklace that could probably pay my rent for a year or two if I hawked it at the right pawn shop.

“We were on our own since her father ran off to California with some hussy. I tried to keep my nose clean, but things were tough back then. She was so smart. Got a job after school to pay for the rent and food.”

I’m liking Viv’s daughter more and more.

Maybe because she sounds like the kind of go-getter I was back at her age. But I dropped out of school. What the fuck was the point when I already had a job paying more than minimum wage?

“She sounds smart.”

“She’s a freakin’ genius.” Viv shakes her head. “Straight A’s in school. Even got herself a scholarship for college. She always wanted to be a nurse.”

A smart go-getter who doesn’t mind some gore? Viv’s daughter sounds like a catch. But I can already see the problem. How frustrating for someone like that having to deal with a junkie mom who, let’s be honest, would probably have become a prostitute to support her habit if her daughter wasn’t supporting them both?

“She was a year into her nursing degree when I got involved with some really bad men, and some even worse drugs.”

Viv purses her lips and then moves them up and down a few times, like she’s chewing on her words.

“Those assholes took Andy from me when I couldn’t pay for my drugs. I was so doped up, I didn’t even know what was happening until they’d snatched her right out of college.” Viv digs in her purse and plucks out a linen handkerchief, dabbing it futilely at the trickle of tears making their way down her creased cheeks. It’s the first time I notice just how much makeup she’s wearing. She went especially hardcore with her blush and lipstick.

I give her another pat, but I’m not sure if it’s for comfort or to encourage her to finish the story. Even Matt’s gone quiet, watching us almost reverentially in the rearview mirror instead of putting a crick in his neck like before.

“They put her through hell, my poor little dolly. To this day, she’s never told me what happened to her. But I can imagine. I’ve heard stories.”

“Holy crap.” My stomach twists up at Viv’s story. That’s exactly what could be happening to my sisters right now. How can Savage not fucking realize what they’re going through?

“But my smart girl, she got herself out of there. And by then I’d managed to sober up. We moved across the state, got a fresh start.” Viv’s eyebrows twitch up. “That felt like the last of it. It was so good…for a while. Andy even went back to school for a couple of months. But then I fell in love with a Bogota man, and down the rabbit hole I went again.” She lowers her voice to a hush. “Bogota men are cruel, doll.”

I wince at the nickname, but say nothing. Viv nods as if I was sympathizing with her. “She knew I was in trouble. I couldn’t get out, no matter how hard I tried. So Andy…” Viv again drops her voice to a whisper. “My sweet girl killed a man for me.”

Matty huffs out a quiet, “¡Qué embarrada!”

I pat Viv’s shoulder, not even a little surprised to find a shoulder pad under there. Her outfit—like her—can only be described as high-end mob wife with her burgundy pencil skirt, cream-colored blouse, and ivory blazer with its flashy gold buttons.

“Now she won’t talk to me.”

“She can’t stay mad at you forever, can she? I’m sure it’ll blow over.”

“She can’t practice nursing anymore, because of what she did for me,” Viv murmurs, as if to herself.

My jaw clenches, and an uneasy silence filters through the Rolls.

“Shit, Viv, I’m sorr?—”

“No, see, it’s fine. I fixed it!” She gives me a trembling smile. “I found her a job. A nursing job. I’m sure she’s already hired.”

She sounds so fucking hopeful, it’s devastating.

Because if her daughter had gotten the job, she’d have called Viv already to thank her. Which means things went sour. Viv doesn’t seem to be the brightest bulb in the chandelier, so I’m guessing the poor woman hasn’t put two and two together yet.

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