Page 13 of The Devil's Torment

ChapterSix

VICKY

Dark circles look like violent bruises beneath my eyes, the lids red, and the whites so bloodshot it looks as though I’ve spent a night on the booze. If only. Instead, I spent equal parts of the night staring at the ceiling and crying, which only infuriated me because it showed weakness. And if I’m to stand a chance of surviving this ridiculous marriage—one I’ll be trapped in for all of eternity—then a tough outer shell is a must.

Along with feelings of hopelessness and defeat, anger also burns.

Anger at my parents for putting me in this position, and at myself for being so indoctrinated into this way of life that I didn’t have it in me to refuse. Anger at Nicholas for agreeing to it, and yes, at Beth, too, for dying. If she were still alive, she’d already be a De Vil. And even though my turn to marry would have come eventually, it wouldn’t have been to one ofthem.

God, that family is well named. Fucking devils—every single one of them. Okay, maybe not all. Tobias isn’t too bad, and the uncle, George, seems genial and far less intimidating than his brother. But Nicholas… that man is a monster.

I slide my arms into a thick, woolen dressing gown and stuff my feet into my fluffy pink slippers. The house is deathly quiet as I trudge downstairs. Hardly surprising considering it isn’t quite eight-thirty on a Sunday morning and my parents always lie-in on Sundays. The heating only came on a few minutes ago. It’s chilly, but it’ll warm up soon. I can’t be bothered to go to the trouble of lighting a fire.

As one foot hits the bottom stair, the front doorbell chimes.Who’s that at this time of the morning?It can’t be the postman. We don’t get mail at weekends. I peer through the full-length pane of glass to the right of the door and groan.

Wonderful—my fiancé.What the hell is he doing here?

The first drops of an autumn shower hit the ground. It won’t be long before it’s pouring down, and I’mthis closeto leaving him out there in the rain. If he hadn’t chosen that moment to turn his head and see me standing there, I would have too. Just my luck. Heaving a sigh, I slide the bolts back and unlock the ancient door. It creaks as it opens.

“What do you want?”

“To stand here getting wet. What do you think?”

“Well, since you asked, I think with an attitude like that, getting soaked is precisely what’s going to happen.”

With a sigh, he takes a step forward. “I didn’t come here to argue, Victoria. I came to talk.”

“You started it with your sarcastic response to a perfectly legitimate question.”

Spinning on my heel, I head for the kitchen, leaving the door wide open. There’s a dull thud as it closes.

Standing on tiptoes, I reach to the back of the cupboard, my fingertips closing around the handle on the coffee pot. I set it on the counter and flick on the kettle.

“Black, two sugars,” Nicholas says, lounging against the doorframe like he owns the place. Fortunately, as I’ve fallen on the sword my parents held up for me,theystill own it.

I think they owe me far more gratitude than they’ve shown me this far. Then again, I’ve always been second best, and nothing’s changed even though I’ve saved their arses. They’re happy for me to give up my life if it means continuing with theirs. Beth knew about Dad’s company, and she was happy to marry Nicholas. But I’m not. That’s the difference.

“Is this how it’s to be?” I open the fridge door and remove the half-used packet of fresh coffee. Normally, I’m lazy and make instant, but this is my Sunday morning treat. Shame it’s been ruined by my betrothed turning up unannounced.

“How what’s to be?”

“You bossing me around.”

A faint smile tugs at his too-perfect lips, and a blanket of shame coats me once more. To think I once believed I loved this man. His dark and dangerous good looks aside, there’s nothing lovable about him, and if I ever find myself weakening, all I’ll have to do is remember that he played a part in the death of my sister, and the hate will come flooding right back.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Good luck with that strategy.”

I spoon four heaped tablespoons of coffee into the pot and pour on the boiled water. The silent menace emanating from Nicholas is one of the most uncomfortable atmospheres I’ve ever been in, but I refuse to fill it with small talk.

Once the coffee has brewed, I gradually press on the plunger until it hits the bottom. I make the coffee and, because I’m feeling petty as fuck, I add six sugars and a slosh of milk to his. Leaving his mug on the counter, I pick mine up and saunter into the living room. He follows, his brows arrowed ominously low, his pupils dilated, eclipsing the majority of his dark brown eyes. He unzips his casual jacket and tosses it over the back of the chair nearest to the fire and sits down, setting his mug on the table next to him.

“Look, let’s clear the air once and for all, and then we can find a way forward.”

“Clear the air with what?” If he thinks I plan to make this easy for him, tough luck.

A muscle feathers along his jaw, a sign of his growing impatience. Good. Let’s see if I can twang a few more nerves, just for shits and giggles.

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