Page 5 of Devil in Disguise

When I saw him grin, I stiffened.

The game had started. If he thought I would just roll over and let him take control again, he was sorely mistaken. Somewhere in this messed-up den of iniquity was my husband, and I wasn’t leaving without him. If Sinclair wanted to play his iniquitous games, then I was ready to play, too. Only this time, I was playing for keeps.

Ignoring the bouncers who stepped up behind me, I glared at Sin and smirked, slowly shaking my head, turning to glance at the men behind me. “I know my way, gentlemen. I don’t need an escort.”

“Orders,” one of them said as he grabbed my upper arm.

Looking at his hand, I sighed, looked up at Sinclair, then back at the man, and whispered, “Remove it now or lose it. Your choice.”

The man scoffed while the other one laughed.

“Let’s go, pretty boy. The boss wants a word.”

Before either man could move, I quickly twisted, reaching inside my jacket, and yanked my arm up as the man holding me screamed bloody murder while he tried to stem the blood flow from his missing hand.

Good thing for me the music was pumping loudly, and no one noticed a damn thing, but when I looked up, I saw Sin frowning and I smiled before waving the man’s bloody hand up at him.

Placing the limb on the bar, I yelled to the bartender.

“Clean up on aisle shit for brains.”

Leaving the man to bleed to death, I snagged a cold bottle of beer another bartender placed in front of a patron and took a large swig as I made my way toward the elevator. Pressing the button, I stood there and waited patiently like I had all the time in the world and drank my cold beer.

I knew my actions had angered Sin. I wasn’t stupid. I just didn’t care. He had someone who belonged to me, and I wasn’t in the mood to play his damn game. Sin thought he was so smart that he was the master of everything and everyone around him. The fact was, Crispin Sinclair was nothing more than an entitled fucking rich prick people were afraid to say no to.

Well, I was done pandering to his ego. Sin could go play his twisted game with one of his submissives.

I wanted no part of him anymore.

The second he took Danny from the hospital was the moment I stopped giving a damn about him. He was nothing more than a stranger to me now, and if he knew what was good for him, he better have made damn sure Danny was still receiving the medical care he needed.

The elevator door dinged and the doors opened up.

Stepping inside, I pressed the up button and watched the doors close.

There was no turning back now.

I was about to enter the Devil’s lair and God help me if I showed any weakness, because if I did, the Devil would surely take his due. For as long as I could remember, Sin was always closed off, set apart from the rest of us. There were moments of humanity, but his past refused to let him see the light. I remembered needing to speak with him once about a project for school. Silas and Rowen weren’t around, which only left Sin. I couldn’t find him anywhere, and the only place I didn’t look was off-limits, forbidden. But I was young and stupid. I didn’t want to wait, so I entered the unknown.

His room was dark and cold, like the man I knew. There was no life in his room. Only pain and suffering. I should have known that Sinclair would have wanted a room suited to fit his personality.

The man was the Devil.

I stepped further into the gloom, and every shadow seemingly reached out to me with icy fingers. The air was thick with a palpable sense of foreboding, like the walls themselves were whispering tales of torment. Each corner of his room held secrets, perhaps reflecting the labyrinthine mind of Sinclair.

The sparse furnishings were as austere as the man himself. A solitary wooden chair sat in the middle, its surface worn and rough, much like the path Sinclair had chosen for his life. There was nothing to suggest comfort or warmth—no personal touches, no signs of humanity. Just stark, unyielding surfaces and the echo of silence.

A single window, if it could be called that, was covered with heavy drapes that blocked out any semblance of light or hope. It was as if the room itself was his prison, designed to keep out anything resembling joy or peace. The only illumination came from a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows that danced mockingly around me.

I could almost hear Sinclair’s voice, deep and menacing, reverberating through the room. It was a voice that commanded silence and instilled fear, much like the man himself. While I stood there, I felt an overwhelming sense of dread, as if Sinclair’s spirit was watching me, judging me, waiting for me to make a mistake.

Moving forward, I found a small desk, its surface cluttered with papers and books. The books were old, their spines cracked and worn, filled with the knowledge and darkness that Sinclair thrived on. Among the papers, I noticed scribbled notes, plans and perhaps schemes that had yet to unfold. Each document seemed to be an extension of Sinclair’s malevolent intent, a testament to his unyielding will.

The air grew colder when I approached the desk, a chill that seemed to emanate from the very core of the room. It was a coldness that pierced through to the bone, much like Sinclair’s gaze. The more I explored, the more I realized that his room was not just a reflection of Sinclair’s personality—it was an extension of his very being.

I could sense the weight of his presence, the darkness that he carried within himself. It was a presence that suffocated all around it, leaving no room for light, no room for life. Sinclair was a man who thrived in shadows, and this room was his sanctuary, his domain.

When I finally turned to leave, a sense of relief washed over me. But even as I stepped out into the light, the memory of Sinclair and his room lingered, reminding me of the darkness that existed not only within those four walls but within the man himself. The room was a testament to the cold and unforgiving nature of Sinclair, a man who was, indeed, the Devil.

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