Page 111 of The Devil's Deceit
CHRISTIAN
If I could’ve taken a pill and slept through the last painful week and a half, I’d have swallowed that thing in a heartbeat. Physical pain I can deal with, although having my nose reset gets a firm 0/10, but the emotional heartache is another thing entirely.
I’m not a fan.
What’s worse is that most of my family have sympathy with Grace’s situation. They don’t necessarily agree with how she went about her revenge act, but they can understand what drove her to fake her identity and infiltrate a family that prides itself on our ability to close ranks.
Then again, even Fort Knox turned out to be fallible.
I almost feel sorry for whoever Tobias ends up marrying. That poor girl is going to be subjected to an inquisition like no other. Saskia, too, unless she ends up with someone of an exemplary background, whose credentials can’t be questioned.
The Mahoneys still have Taylor.
I haven’t decided yet what to do with him, and Dad’shappy to leave the final decision to me. There’s something stopping me from slitting his throat or driving a knife through his heart, and that something is Grace. Before I do anything, I feel as though I owe her an audience, a chance to put over her side of the story and listen to mine. Only then will I have enough information to decide what to do.
Oh, he won’t get away scot-free. The bastard broke my nose, gave me a black eye, and cracked a cheekbone. The bruises are slowly fading, but every time I look in the mirror I’m reminded that I owe that fucker a beating of my own.
I reopen the email I received six days ago and read it again, even though I’ve memorized every word. Grace, in her innocence, thinks she’s untraceable. In fairness, most people would think if they left their phone switched off, didn’t access any email or social media, and only used cash to get around that they were safe.
Alas, in this modern world, and especially with access to unlimited funds and resources, there’s no such thing.
All my guy had to do was upload a photo of Grace into facial recognition software my family developed years ago and wait for it to find a match. It easily traced her from Heathrow to Mexico City, at which point—resourceful woman that she is—she dumped her legit passport for a fake one. Problem with that is even a fake passport needs a real picture, and the moment that was scanned at Mexico City airport, we got a hit.
I’ve known exactly where Grace is holed up, and even though I ache to see her, there’s a vengeful part of me that wants her to suffer a while longer. To live in trepidation of me showing up in the middle of the night when she least expects it. To wonder what I’ll do to her when I finally catchup with her.
I finger the chain around my neck, where the wedding and engagement rings Grace pawned sit. Interestingly, she left behind the two necklaces I gifted to her when we first met, which says a lot about her character. Sure, she needed money to run, but she only took what she saw as necessary.
Our wedding picture proudly displayed on one corner of my desk catches my eye. Back then, it was a marriage of convenience for both of us, but you’d never think so to look at us. We both appear blindingly happy. Did our subconscious know something we didn’t?
My phone vibrates. As I slide my gaze to it, my breath leaves my lungs.
Grace.
Grace is calling me.
Why? Is she ill? Injured?
Or does someone have her, and they’re using her to get to me?
Drawing in a deep breath, I tap the screen, lift the phone to my ear, and say nothing.
There’s a moment of silence, then, “Christian?”
She sounds neither injured nor fearful, although there’s a hint of trepidation in her tone which is understandable, given the circumstances.
“Hello, wife. To what do I owe the pleasure?” My heart’s singing at hearing her voice, but vengeance wants its pound of flesh.
“I know you probably hate me, but?—”
“Hate isn’t the word I’d use, Duchess.”
She draws in a breath. “I owe you an explanation, but you owe me one, too.”
“Ahh, coming out fighting. Stop. You’re turning me on.”
A heavy sigh echoes across the phone line. “All that will have to wait. I have something to tell you.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. I’m on the edge of my seat.”
