Page 2 of The Devil's Torment

Good.Good.

I’ve got to him.

It’s exactly what I aimed for when I took my position at the pulpit.

“There isn’t much more to say, other than the world lost a treasured soul when my sister left this Earth.” I glance upward and force a smile. “I love you, Beth. And I will miss you for eternity.”

Gathering up my cards, most of which I haven’t used in the end, I step down from the raised platform. My knees tremble as I make my way back to the pew, where my parents are staring at me with a mixture of utter shock and unbridled fury. Whatever punishment they decide upon, it’ll be worth it. If I had my time all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Let them punish me, ground me, lock me up. Let them do their worst. I don’t care anymore.

A quiet hush settles over the five hundred people who are here not for my sister, but because they received an invite from the De Vil family, and only someone with a death wish would refuse to attend.

My father leans toward me, his warm breath feathering my ear. “We will talk later, young lady.”

A threat laces his tone, but if he means to put the fear of God into me, he’s failed. On his other side, Mum doesn’t even look at me. She’s fidgeting with a lace handkerchief—one of those useless scraps of material that are for show rather than something to blow your nose on. It’s funny, but I haven’t seen my parents shed a single tear over Beth.

Maybe they’re putting on a front for me, and once they’re in the privacy of their bedroom they let it all out. While I understand grief hits everyone differently, I’d have expected some tears at herfuneral,for God’s sake. I’ve been crying all morning, only pulling myself together long enough to show Nicholas how much I despise him and his family.

The minister fluffs his first few lines but soon gets into the swing of his closing words. I tune him out, staring at my feet, praying for this day to end. I knew it would be bad, but my emotions are teetering on the edge of a full-blown breakdown. I’ll have to hold on for a little while longer, though. First, we have the burial, which I’m dreading, then the wake, and after that, the funeral car will take us back to our house—straight into my parents’ interrogation.

Why did you do that, Vicky?

Because I fuckinghatehim. Because hekilledBeth.

What else is there to say?

The sound of shuffling feet brings my head up. Four suited men are in the process of lifting Beth’s coffin onto their shoulders. Pallbearers, I realize, noting that Nicholas isn’t among them. In fact, I’m sure that’s the funeral home employees. My eyes narrow. Yet one more thing he can’t be arsed doing. Too beneath him to carry the coffin of a woman whose body was so utterly destroyed, the coroner advised us not to see her, which we didn’t, and to have a closed casket, which we did.

Hot tears prick the backs of my eyes, like tiny needles stabbing me over and over. I blink rapidly, refusing to allow one single person here to see how destroyed I am at losing my sister. There’s a time and a place to break down, and it isn’t in this cold chapel, with the De Vil family looking on. Nicholas would revel in my tears, soak up my agony, and use it against me when the right opportunity arises.

My father grips my elbow and propels me to my feet. His fingers dig into me, a silent warning that he’s furious. I struggle to keep up with his angry strides, having to put in the odd skip to avoid stumbling. Being five-foot two in my stocking feet never bothered me before, but right now, I wish I was tall like Imogen.

The wind has picked up during the forty-five-minute-long service, and my hair blows around my face, momentarily blinding me. I dig a hairclip out of my coat pocket with my free hand and attempt to tame it. While shivering in the chilly autumn breeze, I follow my father and mother around the rear of the chapel, where the De Vil family bury their dead. It infuriates me that Nicholas is at the front, leading my parents and me to Beth’s final resting place. She never married him. She was ours, not his.

She’ll always be ours. Our beautiful, quiet, funny, compassionate Beth.

A sob crawls into my throat, but if I make a sound, the crisp wind holds my secret and carries it away.

As we gather around the hole in the ground, waiting for the pallbearers to lower Beth’s coffin, I realize it’s just us and the De Vils. The rest of the invited guests aren’t here. I’m sorry they’re not. Even though the majority are strangers to me, they provided a buffer of sorts. Now it’s only the twelve of us, my anger reaches new heights. I catch the eye of George De Vil, Nicholas’s uncle, and he gives me a kind smile. I dip my chin an inch in acknowledgement. Of all the De Vils, George is probably the best of a bad bunch. But he’s still a De Vil. Still touched by that superiority complex, that intrinsic belief he’s above everyone else. That we’re all pawns they can play with, moving us to meet whatever nefarious purpose they’ve chosen that week.

Once again, my eyes are drawn to Nicholas standing on the other side from my parents and me. Dad still has my elbow in a death grip, but he can’t control where I look. I search Nicholas’s face for an ounce of grief, but I find none. That would take a strength of emotion he’s incapable of. He never made any secret of the fact he didn’t love my sister. She was a means to an end, an arrangement, a mother for his kids and a wife to fuck while he carried on his life exactly as before.

As Beth’s coffin is lowered, Mum dabs at her eyes with that useless handkerchief. It’s the first public sign of emotion she’s shown since she received the news about Beth. Dad releases me to comfort her, and I rub my elbow as I seek out Nicholas once more. This time, he’s looking straight at me. My gaze radiates vitriol and revulsion.

Someday, somehow, I’ll get the truth out of Nicholas De Vil—a confession that he’s responsible for what happened to Beth.

And I won’t rest until I do.

ChapterTwo

NICHOLAS

VictoriafuckingMontague.

If looks could kill, I’d be well on my way to joining Elizabeth in the cold, damp ground. Victoria is the kind of woman whose emotions are written all over her face, and she makes no attempt to hide her hatred of me. In her mind, I sent Elizabeth to her death that night.

Screw. Her.

I know the truth, and I’m not to blame. The bastard who planted the bomb is the one at fault, but Victoria doesn’t care about that. Having lost my own sister, I understand where she’s coming from. She’s hurting so badly, she’s desperate to put all that pain somewhere. But if she thinks I’m going to sit here and take her hostility without fighting back, she’s about to learn a painful lesson.

---