Page 1 of The Devil's Spawn

1. Impetuous

Present - 1 day before Thanksgiving

I will not fucking cry.

“Damn it,” I muttered as a tear escaped. Gritting my teeth, I blinked rapidly and stuffed more clothing into the overflowing suitcase. An absurd amount of dresses rose above the rim, and as I shoved the pile down, I wished like hell I had some pants. Or even a few pairs of sweats. Definitely some underwear. But those finer things in life weren’t allowed—not when it meant blocking my husband’s access to his favorite place between my thighs.

I wrestled with the zipper, adding my body weight to the top of the case, and finally zipped it shut. If I walked out that door, I’d have nothing but what lay in a tossed mess inside. The remainder of my clothing filled the shelves, drawers, and hangers inside the walk-in wardrobe I shared with Gage.

Oh, God…Eve.

How was I supposed to tell her? She’d miss her bedroom, her toys. She’d misshim.

The reality of what I was doing hit me, and in a fit of anger, I dragged the suitcase off the bed and kicked the damned thing until it fell over on its side. Okay, so I wasn’t exactly thinking logically, but didn’t a pregnant woman have the right to a meltdown after finding out her husband was nothing but a lying—

Don’t go there.

But I went there anyway, torturing myself with every word the bitch had spoken. Nearly doubling over at the thought, I pressed a desperate fist to my lips and stifled a sob; sucked in quick breaths before letting them out in hot spurts that dampened my knuckles. Where had the tears come from? I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cry anymore.

Pull it together, Kayla.

He was due to arrive in the driveway any minute now. Simone had begged me to leave before he got home, but if I were going to do this, I had to confront him first. Otherwise, he would never let me go.

A hand dropped onto my shoulder, warm with comforting support. Simone didn’t say a word, but she didn’t need to. I knew she wouldn’t leave my side, and that’s why I’d called her. She was my safety net, the one person who wouldn’t hesitate to hand Gage his ass if he tried railroading me. She was here to make sure I got out.

“You don’t owe him anything,” she said.

Nodding, I wiped my eyes. “I know.”

I didn’t know shit. My husband was the fucking devil incarnate, but he loved me. Didn’t he? Or had it all been a lie? That was the problem—I didn’t know anymore. My emotions had me trapped in the eye of a typhoon named Gage Channing.

Simone’s hand slid from my shoulder as I rebuilt my emotional fortress. I stood to the side in bitter numbness while she hauled my suitcase upright. She headed toward the bedroom door, rollers sounding on the hardwood behind her.

“It’s okay to need some space, you know. If he loves you, he’ll understand.”

Folding my arms, I sank onto the end of the mattress. This particular spot bled with memories. He’d bend me over in a heartbeat and blast some sense into my ass if I let him. I couldn’t let him get that close, or I’d crack wide open. Hell, I’d probably fracture regardless.

“I need to do this,” I said, shaking my head just as his car sounded. “I need some space, but I also need…”

Answers.

Simone lingered by the bedroom door, chewing her bottom lip. Uncertainty was a strange feature on her face. She didn’t do uncertain—she was a pick-a-path-and-follow-it kind of woman.

“I’ll be okay, Simone. I promise.”

She let out a sigh. “I’ll be right out there,” she said, jabbing a finger in the direction of the living room. She left the door cracked open upon her exit, and her absence echoed in my ears. The room hummed a solitary tune, and each lonesome note poked at my will. But a single question repeated on loop within the chaos of my foggy mind.

Could I really go through with this?

2. Sadistic

Past - 18 days before Halloween

I was going to be sick. The inevitability of it sat in the back of my throat, burning like acid. My stomach cramped, and a sweaty chill broke out on my skin. I wasn’t immune to the irony in that, but it was true.

As I watched Katherine trail a manicured hand down Gage’s arm, I seethed hot and cold, raged with clammy sickness. I lifted a hand, a millisecond away from shoving his office door all the way open, but his harsh voice made me freeze.

“Get your hands off of me.”

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