Page 151 of Kissing the Villain

“The Count of Monte Cristo,” Alex said with laughter in her tone. “What an appropriate choice, given the situation. Are we digging our way out of this prison?”

“Nah, my ancestors already did that for us.”

I pushed on the shelf, and it swung inward, revealing a stone encasement and a narrow spiral staircase. Lights built into the walls illuminated the cramped area.

Alex poked her head into the space, her eyes wide. “Why are you showing me this?”

“In case shit goes down, and you need an exit strategy.”

“If that happens, you’d better be at my side. You’re talking like you’re going to die.”

“You can’t kill the Devil, baby.”

She shook her head, a smirk playing on her gorgeous lips. “No one is invincible, not even you.”

“You let me do the worrying.” I held out my hand. “After you.”

She took one hesitant step forward. “For the record, I’m creeped out right now.”

“If you feared for your life, you wouldn’t think twice about running down those stairs if it meant freedom.”

“Why don’t you go first?”

“I have to seal the passage behind us.”

“Can we come back this way?”

I nodded.

Without further complaint, she crept down the stairs, using the wall for support. I closed the door and pulled up the lever before following her. As we descended the stairs to the catacombs, the air became denser. My nostrils tingled at the earthy smell pouring through the cracks in the old stone walls.

Alex sneezed a few times. “Damn allergies,” she groaned with her hand over her mouth.

I grabbed Alex’s shoulders and steered her toward my father’s favorite place in Devil’s Creek—his precious wine cellar. My dad loved his wine, which had a dedicated room that was bulletproof, theft-proof, and temperature-controlled. I stopped in front of a wall of glass and pressed my palm to the hand scanner. The wine collection was worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, estimated at over twenty million dollars.

Once my handprint was accepted, the glass door slid to the right. Stone walls with oak accents gave the space a rustic vibe. Wine racks built into the walls reached the ceiling on three sides. A high-top wooden table sat in the center of the room, with a dozen chairs surrounding it. Empty decanters and glasses were on top of the table, turned over.

“I feel like I’m in a Bond movie,” Alex said in disbelief.

I smacked her ass. “You’d make a good Bond girl.”

She squealed as she entered the room. “As long as I don’t get a name like Pussy Galore, I’d be down with playing sidekick to a hot secret agent.”

She walked down the line, her eyes traveling over the bottles until she settled on one and held it up for me to see.

I shook my head. “Not the Chateau Margaux.”

She put the bottle back in its place and spun around to face me. “Which bottles can we drink?”

I closed the distance and plucked two bottles from the “cheaper” racks. The Dom Perignon Brut Rosé spoke to me. It was the champagne I drank with Alex the night we met.I grabbed two bottles, then slipped my fingers between hers. After the door was sealed behind us, we walked toward another hidden door at the back of the house—an entrance we used to conduct illegal business transactions.

“This place freaks me out,” Alex whispered. “It’s so fucking dark and creepy.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe,Pussy Galore.”

She chuckled. “If I were a Bond Girl, I’d go with Betty Boner.”

“We’re here,” I told her, pointing at the steel door leading to a hidden tunnel.

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