Heart of a Devil

by Morgan James

  Some obsessive nutcase had been sending love letters to Gemma over the last couple of months, and the tone of the letters vacillated between adoring and possessive. Recently, they’d become increasingly threatening. “How bad?”

  “This last one basically said that if she didn’t choose him, she wouldn’t be with anyone at all.”

  Shit. “I assume the police are aware?”

  “The letter was found in the studio’s mail yesterday morning. They called the police right after,” Con continued, “and they’re tracing the postmark to see if they can nail something down.”

  I blew out a breath. “Okay. So what kind of timeline are we working with?”

  “Plan to be with her full time for two weeks, possibly more.”

  I rolled my eyes. I could only imagine how badly Gemma and I were going to butt heads over the next fourteen days. “All right. Last thing—tell your contact at Magnolia Way to tighten their leash on Brandt Meachem.” I told Con what had happened last night at the bar. It didn’t matter if the drink was intended for the woman he was trying to take home or not. If he’d knowingly drugged Gemma—or any other woman, for that matter—I was going to murder the bastard.

  Con sighed. “I’ll let them know.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  I disconnected and shook my head. It wouldn’t be so bad if we could just be nice to each other. Unfortunately, she tended to pull her Queen Bitch act any time I was around, and I snapped right back. And that was only the tip of the iceberg. I couldn’t get the sight of her out of my mind. The image was burned into my brain, and I remembered the way her body felt against mine, her curves conforming to my hardened muscles like she was made for me.

  The next two weeks would be pure hell, and I had no idea how I was going to survive the temptation of being around her every minute of the day. As it was, I went home each night and jerked off to the thought of those sexy denim cutoffs and fringed cowgirl boots. Her tongue was sharp and deadly, but her body... her body was made for long, sweaty nights between the sheets. The memory of her pressed against me sent heat spiraling through my groin, and I broke out in a sweat.

  Fuck. I swiped the back of my hand across my forehead, wiping away the perspiration there. It was a lose/lose situation. I needed to get my head in the game, focus on keeping her safe—and keeping my hands off.

  I quickly packed my things and was back at Gemma’s place less than an hour later. Noticing that Maggie’s little black Corolla was still in the driveway, I parked along the street to give her more room, then let myself in to Gemma’s house using the code. I opened the door and almost bumped into Dane, who stood like a sentry inside the doorway.

  I closed the door behind me and lifted my eyebrows in question. “Everything go okay?”

  He nodded once. “They’re in the kitchen. Good luck.”

  Rolling my eyes at his sarcastic tone, I locked up behind Dane, then followed the sound of hushed, angry voices to the kitchen. As soon as I stepped foot in the small kitchen, Gemma speared me with her icy blue gaze. “Glad to see you found your way back.”

  I bristled at her sarcasm but refused to let my ire out. “Wouldn’t deprive myself of your scintillating company for a second.” I didn’t look away from Gemma, but I could feel Maggie’s anxious eyes jump between the two of us.

  “Well...” Maggie fidgeted nervously. “I should probably get going. Oh, before I forget.” She pulled a small orange bottle from her purse. “I’m supposed to give you one of these.”

  She popped off the lid, then shook one tablet into her hand and offered it to Gemma. For the first time, I noticed the half-empty glass of red wine in front of her. Though it was barely after noon, I guessed it was five o’clock in Gemma’s world. She snatched the tablet from Maggie’s outstretched hand then popped it into her mouth. I could see it hovering on her tongue as she lifted her wine glass and took a healthy sip.

  Once she was done, she set her wine glass down with a hard click on the granite countertop.

  I watched the entire thing with no small amount of distaste.

  Maggie recapped the bottle and moved to put them back into her purse. “Thanks.”

  “Hey, Mags?” Gemma nodded to the prescription bottle. “Can I have those?”

  The redhead looked torn. “I’m really not supposed to leave them...”

  “Please?” Gemma affected a pitiful expression. “You know how hard this whole thing has been for me. What if I need them?”

  “Well...” Maggie’s hand tightened on the bottle before she reluctantly passed it over. “Okay, but don’t tell Harvey.”

  Gemma beamed as she clutched the bottle close to her chest. “You’re the best.”

  I bit down on my tongue to keep my automatic response from flying out of my mouth. Typical spoiled little faux celebrity. Gemma couldn’t even make it through one day without medicating herself. There were a lot of people in this world a hell of a lot worse off than she was, but she was too caught up in herself to even realize it. With a little shake of my head, I looked at Maggie. “I’ll close up after you.”

  I showed Maggie to the door, then locked up behind her and strode toward the couch. I dropped my duffel bag on the floor next to the coffee table, resigned to spending the next few nights in this very spot. I was still too antsy to sit and chill, so I made my way back to the kitchen. The sooner Gemma and I hashed things out, the better off we’d both be.

  On silent feet, I headed through the doorway and into the kitchen, where Gemma stood at the counter, her back to me. The orange prescription bottle sat open on the counter next to her, as well as various other bottles of supplements, and pills were spread over the granite surface.

  Fury rose up, and I stormed toward her. I snatched up her wrist, and the empty bottle landed with a clatter at our feet. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  She gasped as she whirled toward me, trying to pull free of my grasp. “Jesus! You scared the hell out of me!”

  I scowled down at her. “What are you doing?”

  “What?”

  She looked up at me blankly, like she had no idea what I was talking about—or she was desperately trying to hide something. “I’m not fucking around, Gemma. What’s with the fucking pills?”

  Her brows drew together, and I finally released her wrist as she gestured to them. “Trying to find a match.”

  “For what?”

  She rolled her eyes. “The pills, you idiot. I’m looking for something similar.” She studied me for a second. “What the hell did you think I was doing?”

  “You’ve got pills spread all over the counter, Gemma. Take a guess what went through my head.”

  She glared at me. “No, I’m not planning to kill myself. But thanks for your concern.” She turned back to the pharmacy in front of her but didn’t say another word.

  Frustration and curiosity welled up. “So, what exactly are you doing?”

  “Looking for a match,” she said, like I was slow. “I need to find a replacement so Maggie won’t question it.”

  “Question what? Whether you’re taking the pills?”

  “What’s with all the questions?”

  I shrugged. “Just curious.”

  She turned to me, and her eyes narrowed. “Why? So you can run and tell Harvey?”

  “Jesus, Gemma.” I threw one hand in the air. “It’s a simple fucking question. Why in Christ’s name do you have a dozen different types of pills spread out like a buffet?”

  I picked up the bottle Maggie had handed her before she’d left. “What the hell are these, anyway?”

  “I have no idea.”

  My eyes flared at her response. “You take shit without knowing what it is?”

  “No,” she drew out the word. “That’s why I’m looking for something to substitute.”

  I glared at the side of her face, which was all I could see of her since she refused to look at me. “But I watched you.”

  “No.” She turned toward me. “You saw what
I wanted you to see. Just like Maggie.”

  When I stared silently at her, she sighed. “You watched me put it in my mouth. I spit it into the wineglass.” She gestured at the goblet still sitting by the sink in the island. “That’s why I chose the red wine.”

  I wasn’t gonna lie. I was stunned. “What the hell, Gemma? Why do you let them do this to you?”

  “Not like I have a choice.”

  “You always have a choice.”

  She rounded on me. “No, Vince, I don’t. The studio owns my life. They choose what I eat, how I look. Hell, I don’t even dress myself. I took pills from them once—one time,” she spit out. “It made me feel like shit, like I’d forgotten several hours of my life. I never want to feel that way again.”

  I pondered that. Sounded kind of like what had happened last night. If that fucker Brandt had drugged her, I was going to knock his teeth down his damn throat. Shoving down my anger, I leaned on the counter next to her and crossed my arms over my chest. “What did they give you?”

  She shrugged. “I have no idea. Ever since then, I decided I would never take anything from them again. I have to either pretend to swallow, or...” She shook the pill bottle. “Find a replacement.”

  My eyes floated over the various vitamins and such that Gemma was examining. I couldn’t fucking believe they’d done that to her. No—that wasn’t true. I could believe it, but it still pissed me off. She deserved so much better than the treatment she’d been receiving. I hated Harvey and those pretentious assholes even more for subjecting her to this.

  “What can I do?”

  She slid a curious look my way. “What?”

  I gestured to the paraphernalia in front of her. “Tell me how I can help.”

  “I...” For a moment, she looked completely taken aback. “I guess you can check these to see if they look the same.”

  She passed me a bottle, and I popped the lid to compare it to the tablets in the prescription bottle. I immediately capped it again. “Where is the ‘no’ pile?”

  She gestured to a drawer between us. “Just toss it in there.”

  I opened it up, and my eyes widened at the sight of all the bottles stored inside. “Jesus, Gemma.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “Been doing this for awhile.”

  Clearly. Feeling way more pissed off than I probably should, I threw the bottle on top of the rest then closed it up again. I didn’t know how I could help fix this, but I would find a way to do something.

  Chapter Four

  Jana

  My phone rang, and I slowed the treadmill to a stop, my chest heaving with exertion as I fought to drag in a breath. My leg muscles wobbled like Jell-O as I stepped off the machine, a result of the hour-long jog I’d just endured as an excuse to stay hidden from Vince.

  I couldn’t believe I’d spilled my guts to him about the drugs. I never told anyone my business—not even Maggie, and she was my assistant. But her loyalty first and foremost lay with Harvey and the studio. She did her job, whatever she had to do, and I wouldn’t jeopardize that for her.

  Seeing Vince’s anger on my behalf reinforced my decision to not take the medication. Unfortunately, seeing that protective side of him had sent my heart skipping erratically in my chest. I couldn’t remember the last time a man had stood up for me like that. Hell, maybe never. Show business was cutthroat, and it was every man—or woman—for themselves.

  Vince couldn’t care less what anyone thought about him, that much was obvious, and that confidence was a huge turn on. So, I’d done what any woman with a sense of self-preservation would do. I hid. For the last three days, I’d been practically under house arrest, and I was doing everything in my power to escape him every waking second. I was terrified that if I spent more time with Vince, I’d end up throwing myself at him again, and I couldn’t bear the rejection that was sure to follow. I shuddered. Hell, no. I swore I would never let him see how attracted I was to him.

  I rolled my eyes as I picked up my phone from where it lay on the yoga mat and saw the number on the screen. I bit my lip, already dreading the conversation ahead. There was only one reason to be getting a phone call from the Butler County Jail back home where I’d grown up.

  “Hello?”

  “Jana, thank God!”

  I closed my eyes. “Hey, Mama. What’s up?”

  I heard some shuffling in the background as Mama moved around. “I need your help, baby girl. These idiots picked me up for possession, and they won’t let me out.”

  I bit my tongue. That was precisely what happened when you’ve been charged with the same thing multiple times. Of course, it never occurred to my mother to follow the rules and not break the law. “Just do what they say, Mama.”

  “But I didn’t do anything!” she cried on the other end. “I swear!”

  I didn’t believe that for a second. Tears burned the back of my eyes. It was the same old song and dance, the same thing she’d said the last four times. For years, I’d held onto the hope that she would get her life together, but it never happened. Mama reached out to me when she needed something, which was once or twice a year. As soon as I turned eighteen and took full control of my finances, I set her up with a monthly allowance. I thought she would have been happy enough to have a steady income, but she always complained that it was never enough. I finally cut her off two years ago when she was busted again for possession. Mama would never change, and I was tired of having my heart broken holding out hope that she would.

  My mind floated back to that awful day I’d come home from school at ten years old. The house was eerily quiet, and I hadn’t noticed Mama at first, lying prone on the couch. As soon as I saw her eyes, glassy and lifeless from a drug overdose, I called the cops, who showed up within minutes. It wasn’t the first time they’d been at our house, and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last. It was, however, Mama’s first real stint in jail. When the judge sentenced her to eighteen months, I went to live in Rosewood with Gram.

  It was a tiny town that housed little more than a handful of churches and a family-owned market, but I wasn’t going to complain about the lack of things to do; I was just glad to be free of my mother. Gram took me to church for the first time in my life, and I quickly found my place there in the choir. I looked forward to each Sunday, and that year-and-a-half was the best of my childhood. When Mama got out of jail, she came to live with us, and for a while, things were better. She kept her nose clean, or at least kept it from Gram, who wouldn’t put up with that shit for a second.

  During the summer I turned fifteen, everything changed. Gram had been diagnosed the previous winter with cancer, and by spring it had spread into the rest of her organs. She passed peacefully in the middle of the night the first week of June, and I mourned the one person who had truly cared about me. Two days after Gram’s funeral, Mama packed up our tiny, beat up Chevy and drove us back to Hartford, Kentucky. There, we moved in with Burt Henford. He was two years older than my mother but they’d gone to school together and apparently had reconnected over Facebook.

  While I was glad to be back in my hometown with the friends I’d left behind, I hated the situation at home. Burt had a list of priors as long as his arm, and I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. He always looked at me funny, his beady eyes hungry and calculating. One day, about two months after we moved back, Mama sprang a surprise trip on me. “Pack your things,” she’d said. “We’re going to Nashville to visit a friend.”

  That friend, it turned out, was Earl Wieden, talent agent. Mama had apparently sent clips of me singing in the choir to various recording studios and agents, but Earl was the only one who’d responded. He listened to me sing and immediately presented my mother with a contract. With the scribble of her signature and a quick goodbye, she disappeared, leaving me with Earl while she went back to Burt and their life in Kentucky. That thought drew me back to the present.

  “Why doesn’t Burt help?”

  “I’m not seeing him anymore.”

  T
hat was news to me. She and Burt had been together for the past eight years. “What happened?”

  “Oh, you’ll never believe it, Jana honey.” I barely held back a snort as she continued. “I was at Kroger a couple months back, and you’ll never guess who I bumped into.”

  I sat on the yoga mat and tried to summon some interest as I stretched my sore muscles. “Who?”

  “Your daddy.”

  I blinked. “What?” I wasn’t honestly even sure she knew who my real father was. All she’d ever told me about him was that they’d had a whirlwind affair before he’d left her pregnant and alone.

  “One thing led to another, and...” She paused, and I could practically see her gesturing excitedly. “Well, we’ve been seeing each other ever since.”

  “So, call him.”

  “He—” There was a scuffle in the background, and I heard the agitation in Mama’s voice. “Just hold your horses! Why don’t you go do something besides harass innocent people? God. Anyway, Jana baby, I need you to send some money real quick-like so I can get outta here.”

  I sighed. “I’m sorry, Mama. I can’t.”

  On the other end of the phone, she sucked in an outraged breath. “You have to. This isn’t my fault! They set me up!”

  Sure. Just like the other times. “I won’t do this anymore,” I replied quietly.

  “You ungrateful little bitch! After everything I’ve done for you—”

  “Goodbye, Mama.” I hit the end button then dropped my phone to the floor as a tear slipped down my cheek. You’d think by now that I’d have learned. People never changed. They put on a show, said all the right words, but deep down it was always the same.

  Angrily brushing the tears away, I pushed up off the floor and headed across the hall to my room. The TV was on in the living room, and I hoped that Vince would stay there until I was out of sight. He and I had been taking turns using the workout equipment that I’d put in the spare bedroom. So far, we’d managed to stay out of each other’s sight. Now, I had to bite the bullet.