Page 45 of Heart of a Devil

“Sorry you filmed those girls? Sorry you watched my woman come? Or just sorry you got caught?”

“No, all of it—I’m sorry for all of it. I’m ill, it’s a condition—I need help!”

“What would really help,” I say, looming over him, “would be if you couldn’t watch anymore. What good’s a peeping Tom if he can’t fucking see?”

I slam my fist into his eye socket so hard his body lifts off the chair. If he hadn’t been taped in, he would have flown. His head wobbles back down, and I hit him again and again and again. I think of that night with Lauren. I think of Chantal. I think of every other neatly labeled little file on his computer, and I keep hitting him.

Eventually, Taylor pulls me back. “You said not to kill him, Boss. If you’ve changed your mind I’m in, but…”

I whirl around, fist raised, my temper so high I almost punch him too. When I look back at Jimmy, I see that his face is mush with one eye is hanging out of the socket at an unrepairable angle. He’s gibbering away, lips trembling, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. Fuck. Taylor’s right. He can’t take much more.

“All right, Jimmy. I’ve left you one eye, so think yourself lucky. If you go to the police or so much as think about looking in the direction of another woman again, I’ll be back to take the other, and this time I’ll use a knife. Or maybe a spoon. And if that video of Lauren ever sees daylight, I’ll fucking well kill you, you understand?”

He nods, his damaged eye bouncing like a rubber ball. It’s not pretty, but I don’t feel a scrap of sympathy for the twat. He brought it all on himself.

Taylor strides over and snaps all of the fingers on Jimmy’s right hand, one by one. His screams are pathetic now, like he’s endured so much pain he’s given up. “Just to make sure he’s not back on a computer anytime soon, Boss. That was his wanking hand.”

We leave Jimmy to enjoy the sound of strangers climaxing in glorious surround sound. From the car, I call Kenny McIverson, holding the phone under my chin as I use alcohol wipes on my skinned and bleeding knuckles. Stings like a bastard, but it was worth it.

“Kenny, it’s Seb. Did you know your little brother was secretly filming the girls who work for you?”

“No, of fucking course I didn’t! Are you sure?”

“Yep, the proof is all over his laptop. He could do time for it, no doubt, but I’ve helped him out. I’ll keep that laptop safe for him. You’ll find him at his place, bit worse for wear. Looked like he was going into shock when we left, mate, so if I were you, I’d get there quick as you can. Or leave the prick to die—I don’t give a shit.”

I hang up and open the message that just came through from Lauren.

Did you kill him?

No. Might have been some maiming.

Perfect compromise.

I lock my phone and grin. I fucking love that woman.

Chapter

Twenty-Four

LAUREN

Iarranged to meet Patrick Galway at a pub after work. It’s not something I would normally do, but he explained that he works night shifts at a warehouse, and this is basically his breakfast time. Not ideal, but the poor man sounds like he really needs my help.

I told Seb where I plan to be and assured him that Samantha knows the man already and describes him as a lovely bloke. If he passes the Sam test, he said, then that’s fine by him. As usual, he did make sure I was packing my homemade anti-asshole kit before I left the office. The incident with Jimmy McIverson seemed to bother him more than me, putting him more on edge. Although at least one of our problems seems to have faded—Jax got in touch to let us know that Torres has moved on to Istanbul, and I’m relieved he’s no longer in the country.

He’s likely responsible for my brand-new BDSM subscription membership and the graphic photos of their products that get sent to me every week. Little does he know, instead of scaring me, it’s given me a few new ideas. If all Torres is going to do is prank me, I’m more than happy to ignore him.

I’ve got better things to do with my life than give assholes like him power over me anyway. It’s been three weeks since Seb and Imade it official, and it’s been quite the rollercoaster. It’s not like some magic wand has been waved and both of us are suddenly low-maintenance individuals who mesh together perfectly. There are still conflicts, still clashes. He can be overbearing and protective. I can be stupid and stubborn. We both have tempers that run hot, and our time together has not been free of shouting—but it has also not been free of make-up sex. Or in-the-middle-of-a-fight sex. Or sex that involves those toys he bought and late-night drives to secluded spots in the countryside.

Basically, there’s been a whole lot of sex, as well as shouting, tenderness, and joyful moments of relaxing into this new and exciting world we’re sharing.

This is my last meeting before the weekend, and I’m looking forward to going back to his place. Seb has been looking after Max all day while Samantha and Gabriel are busy, and I really enjoy that side of him. I love how easily he can slip between doting granddad and the man who effortlessly dominates my body. The man who ties me up and chases me and talks such a dirty game that my pussy gets wet from listening to him.

He holds me hostage to my own desires, desires that he completely understands and that I wholeheartedly trust him with. Yesterday at work, I had a butt plug up my ass all day. It was uncomfortable to start with but eventually exciting. He still hasn’t fucked me there, but he’s played around with me, torturing me, making me wait. He knows that the more he holds back, the more desperate I become.

One of these nights, he might “break in” to my apartment wearing a balaclava and carrying a bag of tricks. I’ll wake up to his gloved hand over my mouth, his knife to my throat, his knee between my legs. It’s so thrilling, and the thought of it makes me shudder. I’m completely past the stage of wondering whether I’m a sick pervert. As Sebastian says, as long as we both want it and we both enjoy it, nothing sick or pervertedis happening. Everyone has their kinks, and ours happen to perfectly complement each other.

When I arrive at the pub, I switch off thoughts of game-playing with Seb and make my way through the crowd to find my client. I recognize him from the photo of him and his kids that was included in his file, though he looks older and shakier than I expected. I’m surprised to see that his breakfast is in a pint glass, but to each their own. He said he hasn’t seen his children for almost two months now, and if he’s as loving a father as Sam says he is, that must be taking its toll. I’m glad I made time for him, even if it is delaying the start of my weekend.

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