Page 37 of Heart of a Devil

I unzip my little red dress from its dry-cleaning wrapper and hold it up against my body in the mirror before heading into one of the cubicles to change. “You shouldn’t worry, Sam. He already moved on to some trampy little blond. No, I take that back—that was bitchy. She is probably perfectly lovely, and anyway, we didn’t make each other any promises. I was more reluctant than he was to make it anything bigger, so I have no right to complain now. It’ll be fine, honest.”

I walk out of the cubicle, and she gapes at me. “Lauren. That dress is indecent on you. Frankly, I’d fuck you, never mind your date.”

I study myself in the mirror and have to admit she’s right. As dresses go, there’s not much of it, and what there is, is covered in sequins. I turn around and admire my rear view. After I do my hair, add the makeup, and slip into my pumps, I’ll be ready for my close-up.

“All this effort for a maths teacher?” Sam says, giving me a dubious look. “I’m sorry—he might breed the best bloody guinea pigs in the known universe, but I’m not buying it.”

Chapter

Nineteen

SEBASTIAN

I’m wearing a tie, and as usual, I feel like someone’s strangling the life out of me. They’ve never made any sense to me, ties. It’s like providing your enemies with a ready-made killing tool—or maybe, as Sam says, I’m overthinking it.

The tie, the new suit, the freshly trimmed beard, it should all be making me feel better. It all fits in with my developing image as a legitimate businessman, club owner, hotelier, and now restaurateur. I’ve never bought into that shit about the clothes making the man, though, and beneath the designer duds and fancy shoes, I’m the same old Seb. The body of a thug and the heart of a devil. I’m not really in the mood for this shit, but it needs to be done. People need to know that the deal has gone through, that we got what we went after. It’s important in our world to look as tough as you are.

We’re holding the shindig in the location nearest to Archangel, which is on a busy high street packed with bougie little bars and places that sell you Spanish chorizo for the same price as a whole pig in the old-school meat market. Like ourselves, the area has gone upscale in the last few years. We invited the McIversons, giving them the opportunity to save face and make it look like they chose to sell rather than the reality—that they sold to avoid the loss of life or limb at the hands of the Carney brothers. Only Kenny has turned up, and I can’t say I’m upset at his fuckwit little brother giving the proceedings a miss. Kenny can be useful, and I get the feeling he’s still invested in the business and wants it to succeed. Gabriel and I have discussed it, and we might give him a job as a manager—his name is still on the front door, after all.

The place is packed mostly with locals, along with all the Archangel staff and their other halves if they have them. Not many do. I guess it’s not exactly the most stable of industries, and Gabriel is the exception, not the rule.

Taylor Grant is here, as ever his eyes glued to me from the other side of the room. I’m waiting for our former detective buddy to see what he can find on the kid. He makes me uncomfortable. Maybe I wasn’t far off the mark when I called him my boyfriend that time we went to see Frankie. The boy could have a crush on me—in which case I’m flattered, but not interested. It’s possible that something deeper is warning me about him, a gut instinct that I’ve learned not to ignore. He’s hiding something for sure, which isn’t necessarily a problem. We all are. But secrets make me nervous, and I hate feeling nervous.

Sasha has turned up, accompanied by Elizabeth and Carla again. The latter looks a little sheepish when she walks in, so I go over for a chat to put her at ease. After our reckless vodka session, she ended up spending the night in my spare room. She tried it on in the morning, though, crawling naked under my covers, looking for action. She’s a nice enough girl, and I told her not to take it personally when I explained I wasn’t interested.

I chat to them for a while, make sure the drinks are flowing, and then start to circulate. Samantha is here with the gang from the office, and from the looks of them, they got an early start at O’Malley’s, the pub nearest to the firm. I had one of the ladsin there, keeping an eye on things, making sure nobody got into any trouble.

The meeting with Caroline today was fucking upsetting for everyone, and it made me and Gabriel edgy. Abused women and kids are a sore spot for both of us, and although I couldn’t be prouder of Sam for the work she does, I sometimes wish she had a boring job, like working in a library or writing fucking instructions for vacuum cleaners or some shit. But what she does is part of who she is, and I love who she is, so I suppose I’ll have to deal with it. She’s safe enough with Gabriel, I know. Unlike Lauren.

As soon as her name pops into my mind, I frown. What the hell am I going to do about her? Since that night in her apartment, I’ve tried to shut down all thoughts of her. She might think I have a thick skull, but her message has well and truly sunk in. She’s not interested in anything more serious, and that’s fine. That’s good. That’s absolutely fucking fantastic. Except, of course, that it’s not.

I keep sneaking peeks at her on the surveillance system, which is on permanently but only sends us an alert when the motion sensors are triggered. I’ve seen her cooking, working out, lying on her couch and using her phone. Most days, she gives the cameras a little wave when she gets back from work, a kind of “Hi honey, I’m home,” thing, and it makes me smile every time. I tell myself I’m looking out for her safety, that I’d do the same for any client, but I know different. It’s because I can’t get her out of this thick skull of mine, and it makes me feel like a voyeur. I never watch for more than a minute or two, and I’m damn glad she banned us from installing devices in her bedroom. I’d be walking around with a stiff dick twenty-four seven.

Today was the first time I’ve seen or spoken to her in person since I walked out on her to meet Sasha. If she’d contacted me, maybe I’d feel different about it all. We were both angry thatnight, both lashing out, but it was nothing we couldn’t figure out together. Figuring shit out, though, requires two willing participants, and she clearly wasn’t willing.

So we blanked each other like a pair of kids for a whole week. I was in a foul mood for the lot of it. I’m not used to feeling like this, and I can’t say that I like it. Finding women has never been a problem for me—sticking to one has been the problem. Now I go and finally meet the one I want to stick with, and she’s more of a fucking psycho about relationships than I am. Go figure.

It was tough seeing her earlier. She looked so damn beautiful in one of her little black business outfits. She was as polite as I was, both of us setting aside our personal feelings while we concentrated on Caroline. Afterward, though? Afterward, I went back to Archangel, got out of my fine new suit, and punched the shit out of an innocent hanging bag. That poor bag will never play the violin again, and neither will I—I didn’t bother with gloves, and my knuckles are paying the price.

It was what I needed. A little good old-fashioned physical pain to deal with. Now I’m here, and I’m working this room and doing everything a good host should do—but the only person I want to see isn’t here yet. She said she was coming, but it’s possible she changed her mind. Maybe she went home or went out for the night. I hate the thought of her wandering around the city without protection and hope she’s at least carrying the pepper spray I left for her.

I pick up a bottle of Bud from the bar and approvingly note that the staff are all being attentive and polite. Gabriel grins at me from the other side of the room, and I raise the bottle in acknowledgment. It might have taken a bit of a push but we got here in the end, and I know he’s thrilled about it. It seems like a very long time ago when it was just the two of us against the world, scrapping our way to the top with our little security firm.

Things seem to be entering a new phase, and it’s one we both feel is better for Samantha, Max, and any future kids they might have. Still, I can’t help wondering what might be next for me. Truth be told, I find the business stuff boring. I like the rough and tumble. I like the conflict, the push, getting my hands dirty. Could be I branch out, start something new. Something a bit less… civilized.

I’ve been watching the door since I arrived, which is partly habit and partly because of Lauren. When she finally deigns to make an appearance, I clock her immediately. My first reaction isfucking hell!

She looks stunning. Red is most definitely her color, and the tiny scrap of a dress she’s wearing emphasizes her tan skin and breathtaking curves. Her hair cascades over one bare shoulder, and her legs end in the same high-heeled red shoes she was wearing the first night we met. The ones she was still wearing when I fucked her. All of this registers in a split second, and my dick goes hard right away.

The next thing I notice is the man who walks through the door behind her. He’s staring right at her ass, and why the fuck wouldn’t he. It’s the best ass on the planet. He trails behind her, and she waves at her friends before settling on a table for two. My blood starts to boil as I realize that she has in fact brought a date. She brought a date to my fucking restaurant launch. Not only is that enough to make me want to rip this guy’s bollocks off and shove them down his throat, it’s just plain rude. I stay where I am, trying to calm my breathing, telling myself that I can handle this. That we’re not a couple. She’s a free agent and can do whatever the hell she likes with whoever the hell she likes, even a prick like this with his little glasses and his floppy Hugh Grant hair and his stupid athletic-looking build. What a cunt.

She looks up unexpectedly, instinct telling her I’m watching. I want to do more than watch. I want to chase her, capture her,pin her down, and screw her. Show her she belongs to me and nobody else. She nods once, her face showing signs of anger I don’t understand, and goes back to her date.

I fully intend to walk away. To get her out of my line of sight and out of my head. I might need to leave the building to do it, but so what? I’ve showed my face; I’ve played nice. Now I feel like fighting, and I know plenty of places where that isn’t hard to come by. I’m sick of pretending to be a man I’m not, sick of swallowing down my instincts. If I stay, I’ll say or do something that we all regret, and I don’t want to spoil the night for Gabriel.

I glug down the rest of my beer and fasten my jacket, ready to slip away. It’s a good plan, but it all goes to shit when I glance at Lauren’s table. The dickwad she’s with is holding her hand and has got her fingers spread out. It looks like he’s reading her palm or some such crap. She laughs, throwing her head back in a way I’m achingly familiar with. The sight of her laughing with him stabs as deep as him touching her, and the fucker doesn’t let go of her hand. He keeps it in his, and I know exactly what he’s thinking. He’s thinking he’s on a promise. He’s thinking he’s in. He’s thinking about getting his mouth on her tits, his hands on that ass, about spreading those luscious legs of hers.

I slam the bottle down and try to count to ten. I get as far as two before my phone is in my hand.

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