Page 96 of Greed: The Savage
A place where his brother had once tried to have the proprietor’s wife killed.
That club—built by noblemen, a direct rival to the empire Diggory, Dynevor, and their street family had carved from the gutter.
Forbidden Pleasures. The first and most obvious enemy on Diggory’s list for punishment.
The earth shifted beneath him. “Oh, God,” he whispered.
“Come now.” Dynevor clicked his tongue. “You and I both know there’s no such thing as God.”
No. There wasn’t. Not until Addien. Until her, he’d never summoned the Lord’s name in prayerorcurse. What he did know, as Dynevor did, was evil existed. Satan’s power walked this earth. And there was a place, beyond where the eternally damned went, where they played and paid the price for their sins.
Thornwick was ready to battle the Devil himself to see her safe.No!His fingers curled, flexed, fighting the need to break something now. Not just safe—returned.
Only then could he tell her what he’d denied even to himself until now—
Losing her had shown him the truth.
He needed her. Wanted her.
Loved her.
He loved her.
And if he couldn’t be with her in life, then by God he would climb into hell itself, drag her out, and restore her to the light where she belonged. Not him. He was still marked for hell.
The trembling started deep in Thornwick’s bones. He’d pay his dues. Make atonement. Sell his soul.
But she would live. She would be safe. She would be happy.
Or he’d burn the whole world down and everyone along with it to make it so.
Chapter 24
Upon her arrival at Forbidden Pleasures, Addien found herself whisked not to offices belonging to any one of the proprietors, His Grace, the Duke of Argyll, the Marquess of Rutherford, or Lord Severin Cadogan’s offices.
Such would have been the case at the Devil’s Den.
Any unsanctioned guest who sought entrance was hauled to the Earl of Dynevor’s foreboding offices.
The Duke of Argyll ran a queer sort of establishment.
Instead, she’d found herself squired around suites grand enough to make the King blink twice by a bang-up sort. Her escort went about sharing the history behind the men—and women—of the marble busts and gilded frames. In fact, the fellow had well-bred diction and polite manners, but for the impressive cutlass-length blade hanging from the belt frog at his hip.
Without a doubt, Forbidden Pleasures possessed the warm feel of gentility which did not make its power less, just less obvious.
“If there is nothing you require, miss,” the handsome guard, with flecks of silver at the edges of his temples, said, showing Addien into a parlor. “His Grace will be along shortly.”
As the servant—she still couldn’t convincingly call the fellow a guard—let himself out and left her alone, Addien did a sweep of her waiting place.
Where even the private suites in the Devil’s Den were fashioned in midnight black, vivid crimson, and gold so glittering bright it hurt the eyes, Argyll’s taste leant towards airy, pale champagne and cream hues. The blend of celadons and duck-egg blue for adornments leant a more sophisticatedelegance to the palace of sin Argyll and his fellow proprietors built.
The mantel was crowned with a painted porcelain vase, brimming with spring blooms. Even the paintings flanking the white hearth were ornate, each canvas filled with wildflowers in green fields and hilltops so high they seemed touched by fairy tales. Addien felt herself pulled toward those scenes—places not choked with cobblestones, crumbling tenements, or sagging shops turned into hovels, but with pastel limestone townhouses fit for princes and princesses blessed by some benevolent fairy’s wand.
Not that she’d ever breathe that profane whisper aloud in front of Dynevor.
Not that she’d be seeing Dynevor—or anyone else at the Devil’s Den—again.
Malric’s face rose unbidden, tormenting her with regrets for what could never be—and the maddening ache of what she now knew she wanted. Grief struck as sharply as a blade.
