Page 1 of The Devil's Torment

ChapterOne

VICKY

My heart pummels my ribcage as I prepare to deliver the opening line of the eulogy at my sister’s funeral. I’ll pay dearly for what I’m about to do, but I don’t care. I’m not scared of the De Vilsormy parents.

Throughout my entire life, I’ve always been second best in their eyes. I may as well live up to the great fucking disappointment they’ve always believed me to be.

I draw in a deep breath, and out it comes.

“There isn’t a single doubt in my mind that my sister would still be alive today if Nicholas De Vil hadn’t come for her.”

A collective gasp rises from the congregation, followed by a deathly hush. I purposely avoid my father’s gaze, too busy drilling Nicholas with my hate-filled glare. I said what I said, and I’d say it again over and over until everyone knows that my baby sister—the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful soul in the world—is dead because Nicholas decided he needed a wife, and she was the poor, unfortunate victim he chose.

Once, I’d believed I was in love with him, but whatever I felt died along with my sister.

He stares right back at me, unapologetic, uncaring about the lives shattered by an enemy of the De Vils. He can play the innocent card all he likes, but I know he said something—or did something—that made Beth leave the club that night. That drove her to get into a cab instead of one of the armored cars that had taken us to Noir—one of many clubs owned by the De Vil family. He’s denied it, several times in fact, but I know he’s lying. He’s so self-absorbed, he probably doesn’t understand that words and actions have the power to hurt, to destroy.

She was socombative,so unlike herself,that night. It was as clear to me then as it’s clear to me now that she was desperate to get away from Nicholas. Desperate enough for her to refuse my offer to accompany her home.

If she had… if she had… she’d still be alive, because there’s no way I’d have let her get into a cab when we had far safer transport a few steps away.

As much as I never wanted her to marry Nicholas, I’d take that over not having her in my life at all. I feel empty without her.

Lost.

Cold.

So cold.

As her elder sister, it was my job to protect her, and because of the man belligerently staring at me without an ounce of guilt marring his too-handsome face, I lost her.

A fresh deluge of rage bubbles up inside me at the decision to lay my beloved sister to rest on the De Vil estate. She wasn’t a De Vil when she died, yet even in death, they’ve stolen her. Oh, I argued with my parents. Boy, did I, but ultimately, it was their choice, and they made it. I don’t understand it, and I never will.

My wrist throbs, and I rub it. The force of the blast that knocked me unconscious could have resulted in far worse injuries than a sprained wrist and various cuts and bruises, most of which have already healed. Unlike my heart, which I’m not sure I’ll ever piece back together.

Nicholas’s injuries have healed, too. From this angle, the only sign he was hurt at all is a thin, red line above his left eyebrow, where a shard of glass sliced through his skin.

Shame it wasn’t his throat.

I pull my gaze away from his and glance down at my cards. I know my speech by heart, having practiced it many times, but public speaking isn’t something I’m all that proficient in. Having them to refer to gives me comfort.

Lifting my chin, I jut it forward, sending another clear message that this family doesn’t scare me, even if many crammed into the pews are probably expecting them to send me to the gallows for daring to challenge them, toaccuseone of their own of being responsible for my sister’s death. I’ve no doubt the De Vils are responsible for many deaths, and Beth’s is one in a long line of casualties that leave this family’s hands blood-stained.

The congregation is agape, waiting for me to throw more grenades at a dynasty powerful enough that even the police don’t interfere in their activities, legal or otherwise. Except I don’t care what they do to me. They can’t destroy me any more than I already am. Let them do their worst.

“You’re probably expecting a regular eulogy, for me to regale you with fond memories of my sister so you can all nod along as though you knew her. In that case, prepare for disappointment.”

I glance down at my cards, then up again. The faces before me register a gamut of emotions from shock at my boldness to spellbound and fascinated at what I might say next. I’m sure they’ve never attended an event at Oakleigh quite like this one. At the last moment, I change my mind. I have no use for the carefully prepared speech. I know exactly what I want to say. I stare straight ahead, my attention on no one in particular.

“My sister was kind, thoughtful, and considerate of others. Everything this family isn’t. She accepted her future as Nicholas’s wife with fatalistic assent, and I know she’d have done her best to conform to what he needed, to fit in, to submit. Unfortunately, that stoic compliance is what got her killed.”

Another round of gasps fills the chapel. At any moment, I expect my father to race to the pulpit, and drag me away before I can do any more harm. My gaze drifts to Imogen, Alexander’s wife, and someone I’ve grown close to. I envisage her anger, her fury, but instead, her expression is steeped in empathy, her head tilted to the side, her dazzling green eyes sending a message of support. Her husband, on the other hand, does not share Imogen’s emotions. Alexander glowers, the hand that isn’t holding his wife’s clenched tight, his knuckles almost translucent.

My gaze sweeps across the front row. Charles De Vil, the head of the family, is looking at me with pity in his eyes, which only makes me madder. I don’t want his pity. I want… I want…

I’m not sure what I want other than a way to bring my sister back, which even he, with all his power and influence, can’t make happen.

Finally, my eyes land on Nicholas once more. His nostrils flare, his body almost vibrating as he struggles to keep his seething rage under control.

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