Page 7 of Devious
My brother has always expressed his opinions on shit even when you don’t ask, but he means well.
I know it won’t bring her back and I’m still grieving from the loss of her, that doesn’t mean I want a relationship with someone who looks like her. After her death, I’ve never been into relationships. I’m only marrying Roselyn because of the debt her father couldn’t pay. That’s all.
Tension stiffens in my shoulders. I stand up, untuck my dress shirt from my slacks, and peer out the window, sticking my fingers into my pockets. A few birds dance in the cotton-blue sky.
“I didn’t know she looked like her. I don’t want to talk about my dead wife,” I snap. Charlotte’s cleaning crew wipes the blood from the walls, table, and floor. Bleach flavors the air.
“Her death wasn’t your fault.”
I know Aiden is trying to be a good brother, but his words don’t stop my guilty conscience. The way the bullet pierced her tiny chest and I tried to perform CPR to revive her burns in my mind. My throat is dry, and my hands tremble. I shake my head, trying to wipe away the memory from my brain.
Aiden rubs his index finger on his chin. “She got what she deserved.”
Aiden and Shelby never got along. He thought of her as beneath me and that she was controlling and tore us apart.
I shouldn’t have fallen in love with her. I wouldn’t have to walk around with the hole in my heart. So, I will not fall in love with Roselyn. I don’t need the heartache. I don’t care how fascinated or obsessed I am with her.
“Instead of worrying about what I’m doing, don’t you need to be checking in on your businesses?” I snap.
My brother is in charge of the gentleman’s club business where I laundry money through.
He gets up from the table and throws his hand in the air. “Guilt is going to drive you to an early grave before a bullet does,” he says before leaving the room.
He’s absolutely right, but it won’t stop me from seeking vengeance on Cashel.
Roselyn
Amaid wearing a black-and-white uniform cleans the table. Anger is something I deal with on a regular basis. But the anger I feel toward Devious is different. It’s explosive like fireworks and makes me see red. I can’t believe I’m stuck marrying this son of a bitch. If he thinks I’m going to roll over and allow him to take my virginity, then he has another thing coming. If I stay with Devious, then he will abuse me, and I’ll be stuck in the same vicious cycle like my mom, and I don’t want the same fate. If I kill him, then I’ll have a shot at freedom. Villainous will be the new don, and he will try to find me, but by the time he realizes Devious is dead, I’ll be long gone. But if he finds me, then I have no doubt he’ll kill me. And from what I’ve heard about him, he’s crueler than his brother.
If I want any freedom, I need to escape this lavish hellhole. So, killing Devious is my only option. I’m going to contact my friend Tommy to make me a fake ID and passport, and then I’m going to book a trip to Frankfurt, Germany. I have enough cash in my bank account to rent out an apartment and buy necessities. I’m going to do what I always wanted to do: be a street artist.
I rush into the kitchen and open the different gray drawers, and then I grasp a butcher knife. Glancing around, watching a maid load the dishwasher, I stow the knife beneath my shirt, then head to the bedroom, tucking it under the thick mattress.
I stand in front of the gigantic mirror, brush my teeth, then grab a thick cotton towel—which probably cost a fortune—and scrub my face.
Once I’m finished, I toss the towel in the hamper, then pad to the living room. Slowly, I sit on the black leather couch, and the lace fabric of my panties rubs against my ass cheeks. I hiss like a snake.
It reminds me of what he did to me, and it makes me pissed that I enjoyed him spanking me. Is it normal to enjoy being spanked? And when he mentioned tying me up to the bed and fucking me, my panties were soaked. I’ve never been turned on by a man so much.
The doorbell rings and a soldier, wearing all black, opens the door. His chestnut hair is in a neat bun, and his muscles are lean as if he’s built like a runner. Is this Max? The soldier who is supposed to be my bodyguard?
I stand up from the luxury couch, wiping my palms on my baggy pants. Marla strolls in with her head held high as if she owns the place. Her hazel eyes drink me in from my hair all the way down to my fire-red-colored toenails. She’s high maintenance and is probably going to be trying to groom me to be Devious’s wife.
She leans down, unzipping her Louis Vuitton bag. “I’m going to take your measurements, then I’ll order your wedding dress.”
I knit my eyebrows together. “Do I get to pick out what I want to wear?”
“No. Devious gave me strict orders not to. Congratulations on the wedding, by the way. I didn’t expect him to marry someone so soon, but then again, I think about what kind of man he is, and I shouldn’t be surprised. Now, hold out your arms.”
I’ve heard what kind of man he is. When I used to listen to Papa’s conversations with the other men who would come over for meetings, he would say Devious is known for his brutal killings and is bloodthirsty for revenge. He’s the devil who haunts your nightmares.
I hold out my arms. “What kind of man is he?”
She uses her tape measure and extends it to my upper arm all the way down to my hand. “He’s noble and caring. He believes in taking care of his loved ones.” She wraps the tape around my waist, then my chest. “You look like his wife. She died three years ago.”
“How did she die?”
“I’m not supposed to say. Devious would be furious if I told you.”
