Page 65 of Deal with the Devil

I’ve been officially married for three weeks. It’s been bliss. Perfect, wonderful, bliss.

Eventually, the shoe will drop, because it always seems to for me.

But it hasn’t yet, so I’m soaking it up.

Every minute of it. Happily.

My new husband—crazy as he is—bought me a totally pimped out 4Runner as a wedding present. The thing is practically armored. I swear, I could drive over a cliff and survive. It’s ridiculous, but I totally love it. As a bonus, it came stuffed with an assortment of candies that Kane claims should prove his love for me,if nothing else does. I’m still not sure about love, but lust is a very real thing.

This car is his way of keeping me safe even when he’s not with me, equipped with GPS and tracking, the man will always know where I am. The man is sweet. And flirty. I’ve been to a few shows and seen the way the man flirts with the ladies in the crowd. There’s nothing innocent about those blue eyes landing on a woman. No way. But flirt as he does, he’s never serious. The man could charm a snake, but he’d never take it to bed.

I’m more than aware the only woman my man has true eyes for is me.

Not only does he tell me often, but he proves it every night. More than once a night.

It’s a wonder I’m even able to walk upright. The man has the sex drive of an immortal. I’m not even convinced he needs to sleep anymore.

Pulling my shiny new yellow—of course it’s yellow, with matt black accents—4Runner in front of my parent’s house, I kill the engine and text Kane that I made it safe. It’s a deal we have so he’ll actually leave for work each day. He’s also posted a man at the house. Which is frigging bananas. There is literally a man that sits every day on my front porch, waiting for chaos that never comes. Three months ago, I was a woman with less than three hundred dollars to hername. Now I’m a woman with a bodyguard, married to a man richer than the devil.

Who’d have thought?

Something tall and dark appears at my side when I slide from the driver’s seat, shrieking loudly at the sight of a nearly unrecognizable Antonio. He’s not wearing one of his suits, but sweats and a loose sweater with a ballcap pulled low over his face. But it’s him.

Fear sparks inside my chest even as he holds up his hands in a placating gesture, dark, bruised eyes pleading with me. “Please, Ne—I don’t mean any harm. Just call off your dogs.”

“Mywhat?”

“The fucking gangsters!” Antonio shouts, wincing and lowering his voice. “The gangsters, Ne. Call them off.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” All I feel when I look at him is cold and sick with a pinch of fear. Oh, and hate. Yes, I feel crisp, clear hate. My tone reflects exactly how I feel. “How did you know I’d be here?”

“I’ve sat for days waiting for you. You always visited—” He winces again, leaning into the side of my car as he holds his ribs. “It doesn’t matter. I get it, I fucked up and you chose someone else. You’re married. Off the market. Not mine. I get it, Nevaeh. Just tell them to stop. Tell them to leave me alone.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Antonio.”

“The psycho in the suit. The one who likes to put his handsinsidepeople!” He looks like he’s going to cry, but I’m horrified. “Says he’s your family, and no one fucks with his family.”

Oh my God, is Antonio crying?

I admit, I’m a little concerned, because I think there’s a solid chance, he’s lost his mind. I don’t know anyone in a suit who likes to put his hands inside another living person. Breathlessly, I ask, “What happened to you?”

His eyes, even though they’re swollen, widen. “Youknowwhat happened to me.”

“I don’t.” I take a quick step back when he stumbles forward. “You need to go, Antonio.”

“Tell him to leave me alone.”

“For the last time, I don’t know who you’re talking about!”

His face crumbles, like he’s truly afraid if I don’t concede to his request, whoever didthisto him will come back to finish the job. He speaks, voice low and broken, “I woke last week to men in my house. They took me from my bed, bound my wrists and ankles and carried me naked, Ne—naked—to an unmarked van. They threw me inside and drove me to a filthy, old house.” His voice is rattling, swollen eyes desperate. “They took me into the basement. It had no windowsand the concrete—it was red. Stained that way, Ne.From blood.”

Ice claws at my flesh. I shake my head. He’s insane. This is insane.

“They beat me over and over. When I thought I’d die, they’d stop. Then they did it again. They poured water on me, and I thought I’d drown. They—they’re monsters. They choked me and,”

Something inside me snaps. The memory of hands around my throat, the burning squeeze—no air.

“How did it feel?” I ask softly, and he startles, rattled, I think, by my calm.

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