Page 7 of The Devil's Torment

Imogen scowls at him, then shifts her attention to me. “You know where I am if you need me.”

One look at Alexander’s curled lip, and I know he’s going to do everything in his power to keep Imogen and me apart, which only makes me want to cling to her more. Besides, I can’t imagine Imogen taking kindly to Alexander cutting off one of the few friends she has in England. I clearly recall her waxing off his eyebrow the last time he got rid of one of her friends. Although that friend turned out to be anything but, it’s still funny as fuck.

“Thank you for being so kind.”

I make my way to the door and head toward the staircase, groaning when I spy Nicholas coming toward me. Wonderful. Ignoring him, I keep walking. He snaps out a hand, capturing my wrist.

“Hold on a second.”

I tug to break free, but it’s hopeless. “What for? I have nothing to say to you.”

“Well, I have plenty to say to you.” The corner of his eye twitches, and his jaw is locked up that tightly, he’s probably on the verge of cracking a tooth or two. “I am sick of repeating myself. I didnotkill Elizabeth. I had nothing to do with what happened to her.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Nicholas. Maybe you can convince yourself, but you’ll never convince me.”

His shoulders stiffen, and I’m pretty sure if he thought he could get away with it, I’d meet a grisly end.

“You are one of the most intractable women I’ve ever met. I pity the man you end up with.”

“And I pity the womanyouend up with. Although, next time, do her and her family a favor and try not to kill her before she’s walked down the aisle.”

His eyes flash with murderous intent. I give another sharp tug and finally free myself. I sweep past him, beelining for the stairs, the heat from his stare burning into my skull. I half expect him to stop me, but he doesn’t.

As if by magic, my parents appear as my feet hit the last step. My father’s face is pinched, the skin around his eyes bunched as it often does when he’s displeased. Mum is slightly more empathetic, but she’ll follow Dad’s lead. And something tells me, it’ll be quite a while before I’m given the freedom to move around at will.

If they think they’re sending me off to Aunt Sheila’s again like they did after Imogen’s kidnapping, they can think again. I won’t go.

With a firm grip at my elbow, my father propels me forward to where a member of the De Vil household has brought our car around to the front of the house. Dad waits for me to get in, then slams the door and climbs into the driver’s seat. Once Mum is settled on the passenger side, Dad fires up the engine and steers the car down the long driveway. We pass through the guarded gates and drive out onto the road before Mum speaks.

“Your father and I will discuss what you can do to make up for your appalling behavior today, Vicky, and once we have decided on the best course of action, we will inform you. Until then, you will remain in your room. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” I mutter sullenly. As soon as I get my business up and running and save some money, I’m out of here. Until then, I’ll have to live by my parents’ rules, even if a twenty-three-year-old accepting a grounding is lame.

“Good.” This time, it’s Dad wading in. “Because we need that family, and your actions have made life a lot more difficult for your mother and me.”

They both fall into silence while Dad navigates the narrow country lanes. And as the hedgerows speed by, my brain replays one question on a loop:

What can my family possibly need the De Vils for now that Beth is gone?

ChapterFour

NICHOLAS

The sketch artist delivered the drawing to me five days ago, and since then, I’ve distributed it widely, but no one has reported a single sighting. I’ve got the best people on this, but every single lead is a dud, and it’s driving me insane. Four weeks have passed since Elizabeth died. This case should be sewn up tightly by now, with the perpetrators in the fucking ground. After I’ve tortured them, that is, sending a clear message to anyone who thinks the De Vils are fair game.

I’m loath to bring in The Consortium. It smells too much like failure, and showing any kind of weakness in the circles we move in is a bad idea.

I’m not the most patient of men, but I’m going to have to dredge some up from somewhere. For all I know, it could take another month, six months, a year, or even longer to uncover the truth. I’ll have to find a way to make peace with this painful crawl toward an eventual conclusion. Itwillcome. It has to. I won’t rest until I get answers.

“Nicholas, a word.” My father beckons to me as I’m on my way out the door.

I have a meeting in London, and I’m already running behind. It’s Saturday, but that doesn’t mean a thing to me. When I tell him I’m late, he carries on toward the drawing room, leaving me little choice but to follow. I decline his offer of tea but take the seat he points to. Leaning forward, elbows on my knees, hands dangling between my legs, I wait for him to pour his tea, trying my best not to jiggle my foot in a clear sign of impatience.

“How’s the investigation coming along?”

“Slowly.” A fresh rush of irritation prickles beneath my skin like fire ants on the march. I scratch my forearms, shrugging. “But I’m doing all I can.”

“I know you are.” He leans back in his chair and takes a sip from the cup. “You may never find the truth about what happened to Elizabeth. Has that occurred to you?”

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