Page 51 of Heart of a Devil

“Nothing to say?” I ask, tilting my head to one side. “You were full of talk earlier. What was it you said—that you weregoing to go after Samantha and her baby? You do know that’s his daughter, don’t you?”

He pales, and his eyes shoot to the door. He’s right to look concerned—I’ve never seen Seb so angry. He’s working hard at containing it, at keeping the monster under control, but it could escape at any moment. “I wouldn’t have done that,” he says quickly. “That was just to scare you. They’re not Montoyas. It was you I wanted.”

“Because you had some kind of sick crush on me when you were young?”

“Because of that, and because of your blood. Your family was responsible for the death of my father, and you were the only one I could get to in the flesh. You’re not surrounded by an army like the rest of them.”

“Well, that’s where you were wrong, isn’t it, Diego? I am my own army of one, and that was all I needed to kick your pathetic ass. You know, I actually feel sorry for you. Your piece-of-shit dad made you think the things he did were normal. You grew up seeing the world, seeing women, through his sick lens. But then again, a lot of people had crappy childhoods, and they didn’t all grow up to be scumbags. I guess it must be genetic—apples, trees, that kind of thing. Out of curiosity, what doyouthink we should do with you?”

He blinks his sore eyes and spits blood from his mouth. “Kill me. Let me go. I don’t care.”

He’s aiming for bravado, but the tremor in his voice makes him fall short. His eyes dart behind me.

“Just got ahold of Alejandro on video,” Sebastian says as he comes into the room. He ignores the bleeding man on the chair and focuses all his attention on me. “Fuck, he’s a good-looking bastard, isn’t he? Made me feel a bit like one of those trolls that lives under a bridge.”

“Aw, but you’re my troll, honey. What did my cousin say?”

“He said he’d understand if I wanted to finish things myself, as long as I kept you out of it, but his preferred option would be for this sack of shit to be sent back to LA. I didn’t get the impression that particular trip is going to end in a visit to Disneyland for Mr. Torres here.”

“No!” Diego shouts, struggling against his ties and kicking his feet but achieving nothing at all for his efforts. “No, don’t send me back to that crazy bastard. You can’t do that to me.”

Seb strides over to him, grabs him around the throat, and lifts him up, chair and all. “You laid hands on the love of my life. You threatened my daughter and grandchild. You manipulated fuck knows how many innocent people as part of your twisted game. You have no clue what a crazy bastard is, you shitbag.” He shakes him by the throat, and Diego’s eyes start to bulge, his lips turning blue.

“He’s not worth it,” I say, placing a calming hand on Seb’s bulging bicep. “Plus, if you kill him now, Alejandro won’t get to playhisgame, and knowing my cousin like I do, his game will involve a lot more pain for our friend here.”

Seb’s eyes are locked on Diego’s mottling face, and for a second, I don’t think he’ll come back to me. Without a word, he throws him, and Diego crashes to the floor, the chair leg breaking underneath him and sending him sprawling.

“You’re right. Alejandro promised me as much. I said we could get him to a private airfield outside the city. And by ‘we,’ I mean me and Gabriel or me and one of the other lads—I want you to get some rest and to stay as far removed from this shady bullshit as possible.”

“Why?” I frown. “Because I’m such a delicate woman?”

He snorts out laughter as he drags Diego up by his hair, which is extremely satisfying to watch. He screams more than I did. “I think we have living proof right here that there is nothing delicate about you, Lauren Hayes, and I fucking love you for it.But you’re a lawyer. And you’ve been trying to escape this family legacy for the whole of your life.”

“Well, maybe I can’t escape it, Seb. Maybe it’s part of who I am—and I’m sick of running. Is it wrong that part of me wants to get on the plane with him and give my cousin a hand?”

“Nothing wrong with that at all, babe. But if you go, I go.” He directs his attention back to Torres. “Now, asshole—I’m going to cut those zip ties off. If you struggle or shout or you so much as breathe in a way that offends me, I might accidentally slip with the knife and cut your balls off instead, you understand? I promised Mr. Montoya I’d send you back to LA. I didn’t promise I’d send you back whole.”

Torres nods, but I keep a careful eye on him as Seb walks behind him with his knife. A wet patch spreads across his uniform pants as he pisses himself. Must have been the thought of having his balls sliced. I hate that he’s here in my cute and cozy haven, stinking the place up with his blood and his pee and the stench of his dirty, rotten soul, but I will not let him corrupt it for me. He’ll be gone soon, and it will be mine again. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that whatever is taken must be reclaimed.

Torres rubs his wrists, looking up at me through his red, pepper-sprayed eyes. “Did you do anything else with the information from the law firm?” I ask. “Share with any of your buddies?”

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head. “This was all personal. You know you’re sending me to die, don’t you? You know Alejandro will kill me?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Diego. My cousin is supremely skilled at keeping people alive and in pain for an amazing amount of time. It’s incredible, really, he probably could have been a doctor. He seems to know exactly how far he can push someone without their heart exploding.”

Relishing the psychological torment, Seb grins at me over Torres’s head and punches him with a massive fist so hard that the lights go out. “He’ll be easier to get out of here if he’s unconscious. Plus, that was a lot of fun. Are you sure you want to come with me?”

“I’m sure. I need to see him gone.”

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

SEBASTIAN

Ifilled Gabriel in on the night’s events, and he immediately headed around to help, no questions asked. That’s pretty much my definition of a good mate—someone who will drop everything and come help ship a lowlife scumbag bastard off to get tortured by the LA Mafia.

Lauren is determined to see this through, but I explained to her that I needed the manpower. We need to carry the arsehole out of the building, get him in the boot of my car, and out again at the airfield. She is mighty, but she’s not that mighty.

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