The Devil I Don't Know

by LK Shaw

  His apology had been sincere, and I’d been able to tell how difficult it had been for him to get the words out. It makes me appreciate them all the more. He’s certainly trying to make our marriage more comfortable. It gives me hope that maybe he could fall in love with me too.

  “How did your meeting go?” I ask.

  Jacob narrows his eyes. “It was interrupted when I had to track down my runaway wife.”

  Oops. “I’m sorry. How did you know where I was, anyway?”

  “I installed a GPS locator app on your phone,” he says casually as though the answer should be obvious. And not at all a complete invasion of my privacy.

  My head jerks back a fraction. “You did what?”

  “I believe you heard me.”

  I close my eyes and count backward from ten before opening them again. Here I thought he was trying to make our marriage comfortable. “Can you please tell me why you thought it was okay to take my phone and add a tracking app to it without my permission?” I bite out the last few words.

  “As I explained before, I have many enemies. And when my wife disobeys me and runs off without the bodyguard I assigned to her, I have to be able to locate her,” Jacob says slowly as though I’m a child.

  “You didn’t think to just call me and ask where I was?”

  “What if the Russians had taken you? Do you expect they’re just going to let you answer your phone?” He asks sarcastically. “It was done for your protection.”

  He looks away from me in dismissal, as though the conversation is over. It is not in any way over, but I’m too angry for words. That flash of fear I am sure had been in his eyes returns to me, bringing my wildfire rage down a notch. To a degree, I can understand why Jacob did it. If he’d asked, I would have handed my phone over to him without question. Okay, maybe not without question. But I would have listened to his reasoning. Instead, he did it without telling me or talking to me about it first. That is what bothers me most of all.

  We come to a stop in front of our building. I’m out of the car before the driver, a new man I haven’t been introduced to yet, can even open his own door.

  “Brenna,” Jacob growls my name, but I ignore him.

  I walk quickly through the lobby, ignoring the security guard’s greeting, and punch the up arrow button on the elevator. My toe taps a rapid and impatient beat. The slap of my husband’s soles across the marble floor echoes around me, matching the rhythm of my foot. The elevator dings, and finally, the door opens. I slip inside, slamming the side of my clenched fist on the door close button. The second I think I’ve escaped, a large hand slides in and grabs the edge. The door is yanked along its track, and my husband’s far too calm expression appears.

  That only infuriates me more. It’s as though he’s patronizing me without saying a word. He steps inside and I back up a pace. Just as calmly, he presses the button to our floor and the door slides shut, enclosing us in the tiny metal box. He steps back so we’re side by side. Jerk.

  My eyes lock onto the button panel, so I can’t see his reflection off the metal door bouncing back to me. I try to ignore the alluring scent of his cologne and the heat that radiates off his too close frame. I’m furious that being this close to him arouses me. I curse my traitorous body. He doesn’t speak, but I can feel his gaze searing into me. I refuse to turn my head. After a too long ride, despite only traveling five floors, the elevator slows to a halt, then dings, signaling our arrival.

  The door opens and like a damn gentleman, Jacob gestures for me to precede him. With my head high and a haughty sniff, I exit, already reaching into my purse for my key. It occurs to me I’m acting like a petulant child and going against my own rule of communication. Which makes me angrier, because I don’t want to be the one who gives in first. I make it inside and toss my purse on the coffee table.

  I head straight for the wet bar in our dining room. Having no idea what I’m doing, I grab a glass, nearly knocking over the entire short stack. Trying to remember which bottle Jacob usually pours from, I snatch the closest one. After a quick prayer, I toss back the contents. I nearly slam the glass on the counter, but pull back at the last second. Instead, I slap my palms flat on the surface as my eyes begin to water, and I’m having trouble breathing.

  A blurry glass of water appears in front of me, and I quickly take it and guzzle a healthy swallow. The fire in my throat and stomach fizzles out ever so slowly. My head drops, and I pull in deep lungfuls of air. I want to cry for an entirely different reason. I raise up, expecting to find Jacob’s mocking expression. Instead, I can’t read it. We stare for a long moment at each other. My own feelings are unclear. What does he see on my face?

  “I think this is a record,” he say, breaking the silence between us.

  My brows wrinkle. “What is?”

  “Me apologizing twice in one day. Although I’m not sorry for putting the app on your phone.” He lets out a sigh. “But I am sorry that I didn’t tell you first.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” I concede. “I’m sorry I overreacted and behaved like a child.”

  He gestures to the bottle. “That was a little impressive. You handled it well.”

  I choke out a laugh. “I will never understand how you can drink that vile stuff.”

  Jacob merely smiles. “Like I said, it’s an acquir—“

  “Acquired taste,”—I wave my hand. “I know.”

  He pulls me against him. His fingers brush the hair back off my forehead. “Everything I do is for your protection. It’s not to invade your privacy or spy on you. I would be…” he pauses, his eyes scanning my face.

  I hold my breath waiting for him to finish the sentence. He would be what?

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Jacob finally says, and I exhale.

  My mind races. What had he been going to say? He’d be upset if something happened to me? Devastated? Couldn’t live with himself? That part of me that is becoming increasingly desperate for his affection cries out for him to finish what he was really going to say. However, something he did say permeates my newly liquor-soaked brain.

  “It was obviously a rhetorical question, but why did you mention the Russians taking me? Did something happen at your meeting that would make you think they did, or might have? Is that really why you want me to have a bodyguard?”

  He releases his hold on me and turns to the bar to pour himself a glass. It occurs to me that he does that every time he wants to avoid answering one of my questions right away. As though giving himself time to formulate a reply. Which leads me to think that I’m correct.

  Our marriage is an alliance to fortify both organizations’ strength against the Russians. I started out a pawn in this chess match. Jacob taking control of the Italian syndicate moves him into position as the king. Which means I’ve just been elevated in rank to queen. Take me, and the Russians call checkmate. It only works though if my husband actually cares.

  I reach out and lay my hand on his arm. The glass he’s holding hovers near his lips before he slowly lowers it and turns his head to look down at me.

  “We agreed on honesty and communication, remember? I know I said I didn’t need to know everything about your business, but something as important as this? Important enough that you felt the need to put a tracker app on my phone? You need to tell me, so I can be prepared.” My palms grow sweaty at the thought of being in danger, but if being Jacob’s wife makes me a target, I want to know. I deserve to know.

  He doesn’t say anything, and I can see him struggling whether he should or not by his intent stare. Then he releases a sigh. “Word has made its way to the Russians about our marriage. No direct threats have been made, but there is talk. The easiest way to make an enemy vulnerable is to hurt someone they care about.”

  I freeze. Does that mean Jacob cares about me? That I make him vulnerable? I swallow. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll take every precaution, so I don’t become a liability to you.”

  He doesn’t speak, but instead pulls me
into his arms. I circle his waist and press my cheek against his hard chest, letting him hold me. He tightens his grip, as though assuring himself I’m safe. His reaction gives me hope for our marriage. My eyes close, and slowly, my body begins to loosen and relax.

  “You smell good,” I tell him, breathing in deeply the wonderful scent.

  He chuckles above my head and his chest rumbles with the sound. The vibration travels throughout my body settling deep inside. I like the way it feels. It reminds me of the orgasm he gave me at my parents’ house.

  “Do you know you’re the first person to ever make me orgasm, other than myself?” I mumble against him.

  Jacob’s body goes still, and another one of those lovely growls rumbles through him and into me.

  “I’d very much like another one when you can, please.”

  He clears his throat. “I have to return to my meeting, but I’m sure we can arrange something when I get home.”

  I nod lazily against him. “I’d like that a lot.”

  “You should probably go rest. The alcohol is going to your head,” he says, and I wrinkle my nose.

  “That stuff really is disgusting. But I do like this buzzy sensation. It’s nice.”

  Jacob huffs out a short laugh. “Why don’t you relax, and I’ll be back later. I’ll bring us some lunch.”

  “Are you going to be on the menu?” I giggle, which makes me snort and then giggle some more.

  “Only if you ask nicely.” He pulls back, and I pout. I miss his warmth and smell. “I’ll be back. Be good.”

  He brushes a kiss across my forehead. His eyes have darkened a shade, and they travel the length of my body. My nipples harden, and that tingly feeling is back. He meets my gaze again and then he’s turning and walking out the door.

  Chapter 21

  Jacob

  * * *

  If I didn’t need to get back to the warehouse, I might have stayed and given my wife as many orgasms as she asked for. She confirmed she’s a virgin, but discovering that I’m the first man to make her come makes me want to pound my chest like a goddamn cave man.

  The fact that she admitted to masturbating is even more of a turn on. I’d love to see her pleasuring herself in our bed. Those small fingers of hers circling her clit before sliding through her lower lips, gathering her juices as she goes. Imagining her pushing first one, then two of them inside her tight, pink channel. Fuck.

  I stand outside our door, adjusting my cock. It would only take a few minutes for me to bring both of us to climax. Several things hold me back though. The main one being that once I have her in my bed, I don’t plan on letting her leave any time soon. But also, because I want her in full control of her faculties when I slide my cock inside her tight pussy. Already I can feel her clamp down on me like a fist. She is going to feel amazing, but I’m going to have to be patient. Not something I’m known for.

  And Pierce is waiting for me. Just the thought of who else awaits me swiftly turns my arousal to rage. Especially since my wife had been the topic of discussion before I’d been called away. That had been the fear pushing me. One of the two men locked in our warehouse mentioned my wife, and then I’d been given Gio’s message that he couldn’t find her. Blind panic had clouded my vision.

  The drive back doesn’t take long. We pull up to the door and Aurelio stops. He lets me out, and I enter the building through the front door. The interior is completely empty. If someone managed to break past our security they’d be sorely disappointed. My footsteps echo throughout the cavernous building. Light shines in from the fifteen feet tall windows that begin about halfway up the south-facing wall warming the place up.

  I reach the office, where there is only a single filing cabinet. Its gunmetal gray exterior is dented and chipped. I open the top drawer and pull out a key. On the opposite wall, entirely hidden, unless one knew where to look, is a small keyhole. I insert the key, and a completely seamless panel in the wall shifts and opens up to a hallway that descends beneath the warehouse. I close the panel behind me.

  The farther I walk, the cooler it gets. My leather soles barely make a sound on the concrete beneath my feet. A sharp scream reaches me. It would seem Pierce didn’t wait for my return. I hope he left me with something. The incredible urge to spill blood fills me. I arrive at a door, and just as my fingers touch the knob, another scream of pain comes from inside. The scene that greets me sends satisfaction through my veins.

  A bloodied man is tied to a chair near a corner of the room, his head hung down onto a chest that is barely, but still, rising. Next to him is a metal table, covered in white paper, with matching metal instruments and several fingers. The scent of burning flesh permeates my nose. It’s a nifty trick Pierce uses to cauterize wounds so any visitors we have in here don’t bleed out until we wish them to.

  In the middle of the room, dangling from a chain in the ceiling, his toes barely touching the floor and his arms stretched taut, is another man. He’s naked and bleeding, the drip, drip of each drop of red liquid hitting the floor like a leak in a faucet. Pierce, holding a knife covered in blood, stands near him. His shirtsleeves are rolled up and are pristine clean. Not a drop of blood covers any inch of him besides his blade-wielding hand.

  He looks over at me with a questioning glance. I nod. He’d been worried about Brenna, and with my gesture some of the tension in his shoulders releases.

  “How are our friends holding up?” I ask. “I’m a little disappointed you didn’t wait for me.”

  The dangling man raises his head and glares at me through his one good eye. The other socket is empty, the flesh around it black and burnt. His smile is twisted and grotesque. “How is that pretty young wife of yours? I hope she is okay.”

  I give no outward indication that his taunt bothers me, but my rage is burning out of control. I want nothing more than to rip the knife from Pierce’s hand and shove it straight into the Russian’s other eye. But that doesn’t get me what I want. I stroll casually around him, my hands locked at my lower back, and assess him. He follows my movements until I’m out of his vision and then again as I return to it.

  “I was hoping that during my absence you would have plenty of time to think about the answer to my question. Instead, you do nothing but cause yourself more misery.” I pivot and throw all my weight into a punch to his gut. It’s one of the few places not yet covered in blood.

  He grunts in pain and gasps for breath, coughing and gagging. It felt good, but it won’t get me answers. It had been more for my own brief anger release than anything. Once the man catches his breath, he sneers at me. “Perhaps you need to remind me of your question. I seem to have forgotten it.”

  “For a man in your position, you seem to think you’re the one who has any type of power. That you can play some kind of game.” I step back and Pierce takes my place. While I’m not opposed to making our enemies bleed, my cousin gets perverse pleasure out of it. I’ll let him have his fun for a little while longer.

  The silver of the blade flashes and a guttural scream rings in my ears. Blood runs down the drain beneath the man that is for that express purpose. More screams join the first until they turn into whimpers. I close the distance between us and snatch the man’s head back by his hair.

  “Pierce is well-skilled with his knife. He knows just how to stop someone from losing too much blood as you may have come to learn. I promise you that he can do this for days on end and soon you will be begging for him to kill you. Except he won’t. The pain will just continue on and on. But you can make it go away. I can make it go away. Just tell me what I want to know.”

  “Oleg won’t tell you anything, no matter how much you torture him.”

  I release him with a jerk. “Oleg isn’t very smart then,” I say and turn to the other man. “I’m guessing you’re the one with all the brains?”

  “I can tell you what you want to know. You must promise to make my death quick and painless, though.”

  “It depends whether or not your informatio
n is worthy of my mercy.”

  “Zakroi svoi yobaniy rot,” Oleg chokes out.

  Ignoring the man behind me, I take several paces toward our other prisoner. “I recommend you disregard your friend’s advice to keep your mouth shut. I’m not a man of patience.”

  “The men you’re looking for are Sacha and Nestor. You will find them in a back room at Stoyova’s.” He sags in his seat as though speaking took too much effort. Finally answers. Soon, vengeance would be unleashed on those two for the death of Umberto Benetti.

  “And the traitor within our organization? Who is working with Mikhail Popov?”

  He slowly shakes his head. “I do not know.”

  Unsure if I believe him or not, I don’t push. Yet.

  “What do you know about my wife?” I ask with far more calm than I feel.

  “Only that she is part of the Irish organization and that you married to combine your forces against us. That is all I know.”

  I study him a bit longer. He may be lying, but I have enough answers to satisfy me temporarily. In one fluid move, I grant his request and pull out my gun, putting a single bullet through his head. There’s a shout behind me. I return the weapon to its holster and pivot to face Pierce. “Keep that one alive until he begs you to kill him.”

  My cousin nods, and I head for the door. It doesn’t yet fully close behind him when Oleg’s screams begin.

  Chapter 22

  Brenna

  * * *

  There’s a reason I don’t drink. My aching head reminds me of the fact. The wonderful relaxed buzz I had going on has long worn off. In its place is a pounding headache that hasn’t gone away and utter mortification that continues to linger a couple hours later. I still can’t believe I told Jacob I wanted him to give me another orgasm.

  For at least the twentieth time, I groan into my hands while I try to shake off the embarrassment. There’s no need for me to feel awkward about the request. He is my husband, and there is nothing shameful about wanting him to please me. I take another aspirin, since the first didn’t do its job and go back to stirring the almost browned hamburger on the stove. Jacob either got tied up in his meeting, or he forgot he said he’d bring me lunch.