Page 18 of The Devil's Torment

My winnings rise and fall as the night draws on, and I’m about breaking even when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Distracted, I take it out while playing my next hand, only glancing down to read the preview.

What the fuck?

I get up that fast, my chair tumbles over. Grabbing my jacket, I race for the exit.

“Nicholas!” Xan yells. I have no doubt that he’s right behind me.

I burst through the casino doors. Barron sees me coming and wrenches open the rear door before I throw myself inside.

“Valley Forge Hospital,” I holler at Sol as Xan pitches through the front doors. There’s no time to wait for him. “Now!”

ChapterEight

VICKY

Earlier that night…

“This is such a bad idea.”

“Oh, shush.” Imogen digs her elbow into my side as the SUV reverses in the driveway, then heads out onto the road. “You’re only getting married once. I didn’t have a bachelorette party, so consider it a favor to me.”

You’re only getting married once.I force a swallow down my dry throat. My only chance at being someone’s everything, and father dearest offers me up as a De Vil sacrifice. Nicholas made it plain to me he doesn’t believe in love, and from what I witnessed during his time with Beth, he meant it.

Not good enough yet again.

The stray and frankly ridiculous thought about making him fall in love with me to prove I can withered a few hours after his visit last Sunday. My future is about survival and making the best life possible. That means working alongside Nicholas to find out who murdered Beth, and building a business that’s mine and mine alone.

Besides, I’m getting bored with my own whining. It is what it is. I can’t change the past, and I have no control over what lies ahead.

If Beth were here now, none of this would be happening.

A sharp pain stabs at my chest—the same one I get every time I think of my sister. She didn’t deserve what happened to her, just as I don’t deserve what’s happening to me.

Life fucking sucks.

“Some party,” I grumble. “No offense, Imogen, but two people is the lamest excuse for a party ever.”

When my friends told me they couldn’t make it due to prior commitments, I’d lost all interest in the idea of a hen do, or bachelorette party, as Imogen calls it.

Not that I was hugely into the idea in the first place. A hen party is a chance for a blushing bride-to-be to have one last blast with her closest friends, usually involving lots of alcohol, dancing, and maybe a stripper or two. I can’t see me and Imogen doing any of that. For one thing, she’s pregnant, which means even a glass of prosecco is off the table. For another, I can’t see her whooping and hollering and stuffing five-pound notes in the G-string of some oiled, overly muscled stripper.

I know she’s trying to do her best by me. She understands my griefandmy struggle to come to terms with marrying my sister’s fiancé. It’s a lot to deal with, and I can’t say I’m anywhere close to processing the shift in direction my life has taken.

A quiet dinner at a hotel in London isn’t exactly seeing me off in style, though, is it? Still, she’d pleaded with me to come, and here I am. Maybe I’ll enjoy myself once I’m there. Beth would hate to think of me in a constant state of mourning. She’d want me to live my life to its fullest, and despite being forced into an arranged marriage, I’m determined to throw myself into every moment as though it were my last. It’s the least I owe Beth.

I expect our driver to stop outside one of the classy London hotels: Claridge’s, The Dorchester, or The Savoy, maybe. Instead, we pull into the VIP parking area of Noir Mayfair. I turn to her with a frown.

“I thought we were going for dinner.”

“Who said that?” She winks and gets out of the car, her bodyguard Max waiting to shadow her wherever she goes.

I rise from the other side. “You did.”

“No, I didn’t. You said that, and I didn’t disagree.” She tilts her head. “Come on. Don’t worry, there’s food.”

Andrew, the bodyguard the De Vils have assigned to me, drops back a foot off my right shoulder. I’m not used to being watched wherever I go, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that this is my life now. One more element of my freedom stripped away from me.

My enthusiasm is in the toilet as I trudge into the club after Imogen. The last thing I feel like is dancing, especially in Noir. This isn’t the same nightclub as the one where Beth died, but it’s still De Vil property. I’d kind of hoped I could have one night where I wouldn’t have to think about them and what my life will become in a little over one week’s time.

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