Page 87 of The Devil's Torment

They let me go without argument. I head down to the gym and, for lack of a change of athletic gear, I strip down to my boxers and take my rage out on the punch bag. After fifteen minutes, my skin is broken and blistered, and I’m dripping with sweat, but I feel marginally calmer. I head back upstairs, throwing an apologetic smile at a couple of staff members who give me the side-eye as I streak past them in my underwear, soaked in perspiration.

I beeline for the bedroom. The bed’s empty, but there’s running water in the bathroom. I peel off my sweaty boxers and get under the spray with my wife.

Encircling her waist, I hold her against me, her back to my front, and we stand there getting pelted by the rain shower, saying nothing. I figure ten or fifteen minutes must pass where she lets me hold her before she leans forward and turns off the water.

Twisting in my arms, she brushes wet hair off my forehead. “I don’t know what to do, Nicholas.”

Her lost, distraught expression cracks my chest wide open. I want to fix this for her, but my solution is to whisk her away from here, lock her up if I have to, until Elizabeth is out of our lives. I don’t feel a shred of guilt for feeling that way, either. I couldn’t give two shits about Elizabeth Montague. She deserves every ounce of my wrath and more. Empathy’s never been my strong suit, but with her it’s plunged straight into the negative.

“You don’t have to do anything right now. A good night’s sleep is what you need.” I grab a towel off the heated rail and wrap her in it. Drying myself off quickly, I turn my attention to her, and once she’s dry, I drop a nightgown over her head, sit her in front of her dressing table, and pick up a brush.

She chuckles softly. “If your business associates could see you now, they’d think you’d gone soft.”

“You think I care? All I care about is you.”

I separate a lock of her hair and run the brush through it until all the tangles are gone, then I start on the next section until it’s smooth and knot free. Picking up the hairdryer, I turn it on, using my fingers instead of the brush, massaging her skull at the same time. She lets out a soft groan and closes her eyes.

“That feels good. I don’t think I have the strength to lift my arms and dry it myself.”

“Good thing I’m here, then.”

Once her hair is dry, I blast my own, then call down to the kitchen to bring us some food. When it arrives, I’m relieved to see Victoria eat something. After we’re done, I turn down the bed, and we climb in. It’s only nine o’clock, but I can hardly keep my eyes open. I tuck her into my side and turn out the light.

“Nicholas?”

“Yeah, Half-pint?” Her smile against my skin conjures one of my own.

“Thank you.”

I’m not sure what she’s thanking me for, but her gratitude sends a blast of heat through my chest. I kiss her freshly-washed hair. “Go to sleep.”

I drift off, but sleep fitfully. A sound rouses me, and I crane my neck to check the time. Eleven o’clock. Victoria has rolled away from me, her hair splayed over the pillow, her breathing steady. I climb out of bed and go into the bathroom to take a leak. As I return to the bedroom, a gentle knock sounds on the outer door to the apartment.

“Nicholas?” Dad’s voice comes through the door. “You awake?”

Closing the bedroom door behind me, I cross the living room and open the main door. “Dad? What’s up?”

He grimaces. “Victoria’s parents are here and they’re demanding to see her.”

ChapterThirty

VICKY

The sound of hushed, angry voices rouses me from sleep. I rub my eyes and check the clock on Nicholas’s bedside table. Five past eleven. Shoving at the covers, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and pad across the bedroom. It’s Nicholas who’s speaking, but I can’t make out who he’s talking to.

I grab a robe from the bathroom, slip it on, then open the bedroom door. “What’s going on?” Nicholas glances over his shoulder, a grim expression on his face. His dad is standing on the threshold looking equally wretched. “Oh, Charles, hi.” I rub my eyes again, still half asleep. “Is everything all right?”

“It’s fine,” Nicholas snaps. “Go back to bed.”

“Nicholas.” Charles’s voice is tinged with a warning.

I frown and walk up to the two men. “It’s late. That means it’s important.”

“Your parents are here,” Charles says.

“Dad. For fuck’s sake. I told you. Not tonight.”

Charles carries on as if Nicholas hasn’t spoken. “They want to talk to you.”

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