Page 6 of The Devil's Torment

“Where?” I ask, although I follow her anyway.

“I think you could do with a bit of peace and quiet, a stiff drink, and a shoulder to lean on considering I haven’t seen your parents offer you a crumb of comfort all day.”

My vision blurs, the tears I’ve promised to hold onto edging closer to falling. I blink them away as Imogen leads me up several flights of stairs and into a library. A roaring fire glows in the grate, and the smell of old books hangs in the air.

“This is gorgeous.” I trail a fingertip over the beautiful spines. Knowing the De Vils, these are probably all first editions.

“It’s one of my favorite rooms in the house.” She crosses the polished parquet flooring to a drinks cabinet nestled in the corner and pours a dark amber liquid into a cut crystal glass. Returning to me, she raises the glass in the air. “To Beth.”

Those damn tears rush to the surface again. I duck my head while I try like hell to regain control of myself until Imogen says, “Let it go, Vicky,” and the floodgates open. She sets the glass down on an end table, then hugs me again.

This time, I cling to her, balling my hands into the soft wool of her dress. I sob and sob while Imogen strokes my hair and whispers the kind of comforting words I didn’t realize I craved.

Gently guiding me to the couch, she sits me down and passes me the glass she poured a few minutes earlier. I take a sniff, recoiling, and wrinkle my nose. “Not a fan of brandy.”

“Me, either, but it’ll help. Plus, it’s Alexander’s favorite, and he doesn’t like to share.” She grins. “If that helps it go down a little smoother.”

“You know, I think it will.” Knocking back the whole thing in one greedy gulp, I wince as the strength of the liquor burns my esophagus. “Good God, Alexander’s insides must have rotted if this is what he drinks.”

“But do you feel less murderous?” She rubs my forearm and winks, and somehow coaxes a one-note laugh out of me.

“Toward Nicholas, not even a little bit.”

“You loved him once.”

Grief, remorse, and guilt hit me like a tsunami. I had no right to feel anything for Nicholas. He was Beth’s. I’m glad she never found out I had feelings for him. It’s a shred of comfort I’m probably not entitled to but I’ll take. Right now, I’ll take anything to fill the gaping hole her absence has left in my life.

“I’m not sure I did. I think it was more like infatuation. After all, how could I have ever loved a man I don’t even know? A man who sent my sister to her death.”

Holding my hand, she gives a wry smile. “Don’t hate me for this, but if Nicholas says he didn’t say anything to her that would make her leave, then he’s telling the truth.”

Yeah, his version of it.

“Then, why did she, Imogen? Why would she get into a stranger’s cab? She wasn’t stupid. She knew the risks of being attached to a De Vil.”

“I don’t know. I wish I had the answers for you. But Nicholas is doing everything he can to find out what happened.”

A snort bursts out of me. “He’s not doing that for Beth; he’s doing it for him. For his family. No one takes on the De Vils, not if they want to keep breathing. He’s only searching this hard for the culprit—or culprits—to allow him to make an example out of them.”

“I’m sure that’s not the only reason.”

“It’s themainreason, and you know it.”

My gaze turns to the fire, and we fall into silence, the two of us watching the flames flicker, spit, and crackle. It’s pretty symbolic of how I feel. Every morning, I wake up, and there’s this rage inside me that burns hotter each day. They say that love and hate are two sides of the same coin, and perhaps they’re right, whoever “they” are. I thought I loved Nicholas, unabashedly and fiercely, even if I’d long ago accepted nothing could ever come of it. But when Beth died, that coin flipped, and it turns out the tails side of that coin has a ferocious need for vengeance. Against Nicholas, against whoever planted that bomb, against the whole fucking world.

Burn it all down. I don’t care anymore.

“There you are.”

Simultaneously, Imogen and I glance over our shoulders, and I groan. So much for a bit of peace. Alexander strolls across the library, leaning over the couch to kiss his wife on the top of her head. A bite of envy curls in my gut. Imogen had a tough time settling into her new life here, far away from her family and friends in California, yet the hollowness in my chest spreads at the way her whole face lights up at the sight of her husband.

“Your parents are looking for you, Victoria.” Alexander glares at me, looking as if he’s swallowed something particularly unpleasant as he delivers the message.

“You don’t have to go,” Imogen says. “If you need more time.”

“No, it’s for the best.” I stand, and she does the same. “I have to face the music some time or other. May as well be now.”

“We all have to face the consequences of our actions,” Alexander says stiffly.

---