The Devil You Know

by Morgan James

  Despite her denial, Marc continued. “The whore couldn’t even make it good. She tried to fight back, scratched my face until I broke her fingers, one by one. It would have been so good with you.”

  He rubbed his nose along her jaw and Bekah let out a strangled sob. “Please don’t do this, please just let me go!”

  He shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

  “Please, I...”

  “I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

  He held the knife to her throat, the tip of the blade pressing into the soft flesh. His eyes glowed black in the moonlight, and she forced herself to meet his gaze through the blood-spattered lenses of his glasses. Leah’s blood. Her pulse raced and her instinct took over as her knee jerked up and connected with his groin. A scream stuck in her throat as he thrust her away from him. The back of her legs hit the railing, and she teetered there for a moment before she felt herself lose the battle to stay upright. Suddenly she felt nothing below her but air. She didn’t have time to cry out, didn’t see anything flash before her eyes as she plummeted toward the black water of the river below.

  Chapter One

  Present

  The hot midday sun beat down, the heat scorching in its intensity, and a trickle of sweat beaded at the nape of Blake’s neck before slithering down his spine and into the waistband of his cargo pants. Shielding his eyes, his gaze swept over the decrepit storefront before returning to his one-time Lieutenant and friend.

  “Jesus, Con, couldn’t you have found something a little nicer?” A few streets away from the heart of industrial Dallas, the building was situated amongst factories and warehouses, a decaying pile of wood and steel.

  He could feel Connor Quentin’s black eyes bore into his even through the dark lenses of his Oakleys. His friend gave a nonchalant shrug. “Got it cheap after the hurricane wiped everything out down here. Needs some refurbishing, but it has good bones.”

  Blake grimaced. If by ‘bones’ Con meant the structure needed to be placed six feet under, then he was inclined to agree. It would take nothing short of a miracle to salvage this place.

  “Besides, we need to be close enough to the center of things to be reputable, but far enough away that no one reads too much into it.”

  Well, he couldn’t argue with that. No one in their right mind would come near this place. Blake tipped his head in agreement and resumed studying the building. “Is it safe to go in?”

  “We’ll find out.” Con pulled the key from his pocket and pushed open the heavy steel door—or, rather, tried to. It was either blocked or swollen from the humidity and refused to budge more than a couple inches. Con put his shoulder against the door and threw his considerably bulky weight into it, but even though it groaned with effort, the door refused to move.

  Stepping forward, Blake added his own muscular frame and together they shoved the door open, inch by excruciating inch. A mixture of foul smells greeted them—mildew and rot, followed closely by the smell of roadkill and feces. Clearly, more than one animal had made its way in and expired, the smell permeating the warm, stale air. Having been stationed all over the globe, they’d experienced worse in some of the third world countries they’d been in. But at least no one was living here—not of the human variety anyway. He hoped.

  “Great,” Blake remarked, his tone heavy with sarcasm, and Con smirked. Debris littered the floor of the warehouse, a collection of things left over from a time when the building was operational, as well as shit—literal and figurative—washed in by the recent hurricane. He imagined that the building had been vacant prior to the flooding, otherwise the owners would have taken care of it. Dampness hung in the air, except where it had managed to escape through several broken windows.

  “Please tell me you’ve hired someone to clear this shit out.” So help him, if he had to wade through four feet of shit to refurbish the building, he was going to choke the life out of his friend.

  A smile flitted at the corners of Con’s mouth. “I should’ve made you chip in, grunt. But yes, they’ll be in here next week, so we should be ready to go within the next month if all goes well.”

  “Sounds good.”

  To be honest, it sounded like a miracle, but Blake wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d been looking for something to do since being discharged almost two months ago, but civilian life hadn’t appealed to him. There was no way he could go from holding a rifle in the sandy, rocky mountains in the armpit of the world to sitting behind a desk eight hours a day. He didn’t have the patience or people skills for that.

  Con had reached out to him one day, asking Blake if he would be interested in working personal security. Over the next several months, Quentin Security Group had been formed via FaceTime and several hundred emails—one of which was precisely how Con had ended up with this Godforsaken building. Halfway across the world at the time, a realtor had sent—Blake now realized—extremely doctored photos of the building he was now standing in. In an inch and a half of water, shit and God only knew what else. Fucking fantastic.

  Still, the prospect was better than anything he could have dug up on his own, and he was thankful to Con for that. They had another handful of guys on the way, too, due stateside within the next couple of months. Con had connections all over the place; some were guys he’d grown up with, others were soldiers, paratroopers, or snipers he’d met and worked with over the years. The goal was to land a government contract, but in the meantime, they’d start with small jobs, working security for high-end functions or as bodyguards to some of Dallas’s elite. They’d take whatever they could to get their name out there, but Con had a ten-year plan and a vision of putting QSG offices on each side of the country.

  “Reception will go right over here”—Con pointed to an open area immediately to their right—“conference rooms down this hallway. The gym will go upstairs so we can hold self-defense courses on site.”

  “We’re going to have a receptionist?”

  Con nodded. “Abby’s gonna take the calls, decide which scenario is best for which agent. She’ll consult with me in the beginning, of course, but ideally she’ll be able to take over that aspect of it so we won’t have to bother with the mundane every day shit.”

  Blake nodded. He and every guy he knew hated paperwork. Better to let Con’s little sister take care of that. He loved Abby like a sister, but damn, the woman could talk him to death. She and Con had been in constant communication while he’d been overseas and the tiny spitfire had an opinion on everything. He liked a smart woman who knew her own mind, but Abby took things to another level. Blake couldn’t wait to meet the man who would one day take on the challenge.

  “Why is the gym going upstairs and not in the basement or on the ground floor?”

  Con shook his head. “Not enough space on the first floor, and no basement. City won’t give us a permit to go so far underground in an existing building, and the previous owners didn’t want or need one.” Blake raised a brow and Con shrugged. “Something about excavating the terrain. All the limestone makes it too costly.”

  Well, that sounded like a whole bunch of bullshit to Blake, but what the hell did he know? He’d grown up in Wisconsin, which was about as far the fuck away and as different from Texas that it may as well have been the moon.

  His vision blurred as a bead of sweat slithered down his forehead and into his eye. Whipping off his sunglasses, he used his sleeve to ease the burning sensation. Sliding his glasses back into place, he canted his head toward Con. “Remind me again why the hell you chose Texas? Other than the fact that we’re surrounded by God-loving Republicans willing to grease the wheels to give you anything you want?”

  Con grinned. “That’s about it, my friend. Plus, it’s home.”

  Blake shook his head. “All that ass kissing and you can’t get someone to sign a damn permit to dig a basement?”

  Con’s expression turned serious. “I tried, believe me. But it’s actually better this way. All common areas and meeting room
s will be on the first floor so we won’t have the added expense of needing to install an elevator for any visitors with disabilities.”

  Made sense. “So, what’s the plan for reconstruction?”

  “Company’s coming in next week to clean up all the debris, then the construction workers will be here the week after to take a look around see what’s salvageable. We’ll need to move walls around anyway, so I anticipate that it’ll just be easier to gut the place and start fresh.” Con shrugged. “They could be here for two weeks or two months depending on what all needs to be done, but I’m hoping to be ready by the end of next month.”

  “Solid. What do you need from me?”

  “Get our name out there. Talk to your friends, I’ll talk to mine. Pick up any gigs you can find and get in touch with Abby.” Con whipped out his phone and tapped it a few times. Seconds later, Blake’s phone lit up with a message. “I just sent you her contact info. Call that number and she can put it on the books. She’ll work remotely for now, until we’re ready to move her in here.”

  “And if we get any interest until the building’s ready?”

  “Get their info, put them on the books with Abby, and do what you can to spread the word. I don’t figure we’ll get anything major in the beginning, but if it sounds like a good gig, take it. I’ve ordered us some polo shirts, and I’ll get cards made up soon so we can start marketing ourselves.”

  “When are the other guys landing?”

  “Xander and Clay are still out of country, but both should be ready to take jobs in the next couple of months. Jason and Vince are stateside, but I gave them a couple of weeks to tie up some loose ends.”

  Blake dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “I’ll see what I can dig up. Ready to get out of this shit hole?”

  Con lifted one black brow. “Too much of a pussy to handle a little shit and some dead rodents?”

  Blake lifted his foot out of the water and examined his now stained boot. “Doesn’t this constitute hazard pay?”

  Con snorted. “Get the fuck outta here.”

  Blake grinned. “Hey, it was worth a shot.”

  Chapter Two

  Victoria glanced up from her computer as her eleven o’clock appointment strode into her office and sank onto the couch with an insolent sigh. Pasting on a polite smile, she swiveled her chair toward him. “Hello, Greg.”

  “Hi, Victoria, how have you been?”

  She tipped her head toward the man. “It’s Dr. Carr, but fine so far, thank you. How about you?”

  Greg Andrews was known for taking liberties, and he was both pompous and overbearing. He was far too familiar with Victoria, and it grated on her nerves. He’d first come to counseling about eight months ago when his mother had passed away after a long, difficult battle with cancer. He’d recently taken it upon himself to start calling Victoria by her first name, which irked her to no end. She insisted on keeping a professional distance from her patients, and she didn’t encourage his familiarity. Still, he persisted.

  He let out another beleaguered sigh and allowed his head to drop back on the couch. “Exhausting. I have to drive down to San Antonio tomorrow, and I won’t be back until the beginning of next week.”

  “What are you working on this time?”

  “I have a project for a new client.” His mouth kicked up in a haughty smirk. “He said my designs are the best in the state.”

  “That’s fantastic. Work seems to be going well—what about everything else?” Victoria bit back a sigh. He was the most self-important man she’d ever known, and she’d foist him off on someone else in a heartbeat if she could. Unfortunately, the weekly appointments paid well and put food in her fridge.

  Nearly an hour later, Greg leaned forward and lowered his voice. “So, I ran into Ashley on my way in.” He emphasized her name with no little amount of distaste. “What a mess. How’s the transition coming?”

  Despite the tension in her shoulders, Victoria kept her face impassive as she responded. “You know I can’t talk about other patients, Greg.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. Aren’t we past that?”

  Victoria merely blinked at him, unwilling to rise to the bait. “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss before we wrap up for today?”

  Greg studied her for a moment, his eyes raking over her from head to toe, and a shudder of revulsion threatened to overtake her at his intense perusal. “You know, Victoria, you’ve really helped me these last few months.”

  “That’s wonderful, Greg. I’m glad to know our sessions have been productive.”

  “How about you let me thank you?” A sinking feeling gathered in her gut as he continued. “Let me take you to dinner tonight.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t date patients.”

  “What if I stop seeing you professionally? Would you go out with me then?”

  Not in this lifetime. In addition to her complete and utter distaste of the man, she figured he was only asking her out because it would more or less be a feather in his cap to say he was dating a doctor. She would be his social equal, someone he could pull out to flaunt over others. “I’m sorry, Greg. I just wouldn’t feel right about it.”

  His face fell into a mulish expression, and she smiled as gently as she could. “I really am flattered, though. You’re smart and successful, Greg, and you’ll find a woman who’s perfect for you.”

  His lips tipped up in a tight smile and he stood from the couch. “See you next week, Victoria.”

  “Can’t wait,” she mouthed silently as Greg strode from the room. Victoria let out a little sigh as she jotted down a few final notes from their session to enter into the computer later. Her mind whirled as her pen scratched against the old-fashioned notebook she used during sessions, unable to bring herself to upgrade to a tablet yet. Something about putting pen to paper was oddly cathartic, and it helped to seal details in her mind better than tapping letters on a screen.

  She really had no idea why Greg kept coming back, except obviously to bother her. She hated to judge her patients, but Greg didn’t speak of anything of substance during their sessions. He’d initially opened up to talk about his relationship with his mother, but it seemed that her battle with cancer couldn’t compare to his need to speak about himself—his job, his success. Greg had basically spent the last few months bragging to her once a week. Victoria cringed at the uncharitable thought. She really shouldn’t complain. After all, he paid her well to listen to his senseless drivel.

  A faint stirring in the lobby caught her attention and she rose from her chair, following the litany of raised voices. Her receptionist, Phyllis, stood between Greg and Victoria’s next patient, Rachel Dawes.

  “Good afternoon, Rachel,” Victoria said warmly. “Is there something I can help with?”

  Rachel turned a pained look on Victoria. “This jerk”—she pointed a finger wildly at Greg—“needs to mind his own business.”

  A cocky smile flitted across his lips as he held up his hands in a show of mock surrender. “I was just trying to be helpful.”

  “You know nothing about my life,” Rachel shot back. “So feel free to keep your questions and ‘advice’ to yourself.” The woman glanced at Victoria. “He’s antagonizing me.”

  Victoria turned her gaze to Phyllis. "Did you happen to hear anything?”

  The receptionist nodded. “Mr. Andrews here”—she narrowed her eyes at the man, who in response just rolled his own—“was asking Ms. Dawes personal questions.”

  The way Phyllis stressed the word sent a niggle of worry down Victoria’s spine. “Mr. Andrews, may I please see you in my office for a moment?”

  With a smirk at the two other women, he preceded Victoria into her office. Trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, she tipped her head at him. “Greg, can you please explain to me what happened?”

  He lifted his hands in a shrugging motion. “I was merely offering some advice.”

  “Such as?”

  He clasped his han
ds behind his back. “Rachel’s a bit high-strung, don’t you think? I mean...” He began to walk a circle around her office. “Don’t you ever think that she just keeps coming here for the attention? Do you really think she’s depressed?”

  “I don’t believe that’s any concern of yours,” she bit out. “I am your doctor as well, Mr. Andrews, though one could argue that you need me as little as you seem to believe Ms. Dawes does.”

  His eyes jumped to hers. “Maybe I keep coming back because I want to see you.”

  Unease caused the hairs on the back of her neck to lift, and she stiffened. “Mr. Andrews, I believe I’ve been quite clear on the matter. I cannot in good conscience date patients, either present or former. Regarding other patients,” she ground out, “you may not interrogate them or pry into their lives.”

  “I merely suggested she take a chill pill,” he laughed. “A Valium, actually. I think it might help mellow her out a little.”

  At his flippant statement, a red haze filled Victoria’s vision. “You are in no position to counsel my patients on any matter. In fact”—she strode to her desk and riffled in the top drawer for a moment before extracting a card and holding it out to him—“I believe you will find Dr. Martin more helpful than myself.”

  His mouth dropped open in shock, his eyes drifting between her steely gaze and the card extended between them. “You’re... dismissing me?”

  “I am recommending you to a colleague. In lieu of today’s events, I believe it’s best if someone else were to treat you.”

  His face flushed with anger, and he ripped the card from her hand, knocking it to the floor. He took a step toward her, his gaze dark and menacing.

  Despite her racing heart, Victoria squared her shoulders and stared up at him. “I strongly advise you step away before you do something you’ll regret.”

  “You can’t do this.” His eyes burned into hers and she almost shivered at the hostility she saw lurking in their depths.