Page 23 of The Devil's Torment

Victoria’s gaze shifts in my direction at the nickname, but I ignore the unspoken question in her expression. We spend the hour-long drive to her house in silence, both of us on our phones the entire time. She’s probably updating her friends, or perhaps telling her parents what’s happened. I spend the time poring over a couple of emails Noir’s manager sent me, the first one confirming he’s located the security footage of the moment Victoria was punched in the face, the second email telling me that he thinks he knows the assailant.

Good. Saves me a few precious hours of running his image through face recognition software.

Sol pulls into the driveway of Victoria’s family home and cuts the engine. She’s out before Barron can exit and open the door for her. I follow her to the front door and enter the house without an invitation.

“You can go now,” she says. “I’m home.”

I ignore her, instead walking past her and into the living room where the TV is on, and Victoria’s parents are sitting together on the couch watching what looks like a crime drama.

“Laura, Phillip.” In unison, they glance over their shoulders, eyes flared in surprise.

“Oh.” Laura gets up, nudging Phillip with her foot when he stays seated. “What are you two doing here? I thought you were out with your friends, Vicky.”

“There’s been an incident,” I say. “An altercation at the club.” I raise my palms. “It’s fine. She’s fine. A little bruised and battered. I’ve had her checked out by a doctor, and there’s no permanent damage.”

“This talking for me has to stop.” Victoria pushes past me and flops into the chair closest to the front window. “It’s nothing. Some joke of a guy got a little handsy and didn’t like it when I told him no.”

A surge of rage floods my bloodstream. She’s being incredibly stoic about the incident, whereas I want to rip the guy’s head off his shoulders and put it on a stake at Oakleigh to warn others what happens when they touch what doesn’t belong to them. As far as I’m concerned, it’s all about sending a message that you don’t cross swords with my family. Whether it’s as serious as the perpetrator who blew up Elizabeth’s taxi or an over-sexed jerk chancing his arm.

“What happened?” Laura asks.

“Some random guy punched her,” I say.

Laura gasps. “Good God.” She takes a step in Victoria’s direction.

Her hands immediately come up. “I said I’m okay. Will you all just stop fussing?” She hauls herself out of the chair and heads for the stairs. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

Laura’s gaze follows her daughter while Phillip looks at me. “She’s finding all this a little challenging,” he explains. “She’ll come around.”

Yes, she will. With the right… encouragement.

“The doctor suggested keeping an eye on her for signs of concussion, although I would say he didn’t appear overly concerned at the prospect.”

“We’ll make sure she’s fine.” Phillip walks me out. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

“She’s my fiancée,” I point out. “What would you have had me do?”

He looks a little startled at my curt response, and his mouth opens and closes before saying, “Well, goodnight.”

I return to my car without a backward glance. As soon as I’m situated in the back, I give Sol the instruction to return to London. I’m anxious to view the security footage for myself and find out who this dead man walking is, then pay him a visit.

The manager is waiting for me in his office, his computer screen turned at an angle, the frame frozen on Victoria and her friends on the dance floor. I motion for him to play it for me.

A few seconds pass by as the three women dance. I note there’s no sign of Imogen or Saskia. Presumably they were using the bathroom, or sitting down, perhaps.

I find myself transfixed by how happy Victoria looks. During my entire courtship of Elizabeth—such that it was—I can’t remember a single time where Victoria smiled or laughed so freely. It changes everything about her, and a warmth spreads through my groin—the first sign of any kind of attraction toward my future wife.

Maybe being married to the little firecracker won’t be such a chore after all, although she’s going to need to curb that mouth on her. Every time she sasses me, the composure I take pride in threatens to snap. If I think about it, Victoria has always had that effect on me, and I don’t know why. Whatever the reason, it will have to stop. I despise how reckless and out of control she makes me feel.

One of the girls she’s dancing with leans in and says something. Victoria nods, and the three of them turn and file off the dance floor. Victoria is trailing behind when a guy grabs her arm. There’s a brief exchange, and I can tell by her expression that’s she’s giving him a piece of her mind. My lips twitch. Not just me, then.

Seconds later, he swings. His fist connects with her left cheek, and she goes down, hitting the floor with a hell of a thud. Andrew and Max lurch into action seconds too late, and while I’m fucking fuming at the fact they let it happen, I’m not sure what they could have done differently. The entire exchange happened in less than ten seconds.

Doesn’t mean I won’t make it abundantly clear what the consequences will be if theyeverallow anything like this to happen to Victoria again.

“Send a copy of that to my phone,” I say. “You mentioned in your email you think you know the guy.”

“Yes, I thought I recognized him, so I looked him up. He’s a regular. His name is James Ditchfield.”

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