Devils: A Reverse Harem Bully Romance: (The Brotherhood Book 2)

by K. M. Raya

  “What the fuck are we looking at?” Ellis growls. I look over to see him visibly shaking. His face is red and there’s a vein throbbing in the side of his neck.

  My hands shake as I look through the call log. Dozens of outgoing and incoming calls, all around the same time on the same days of the week. It’s like clockwork. “She’s been playing us the whole time… keeping tabs on us for her father. All of it was planned…”

  Silence greets my bleak statement. Silence, shame and betrayal. Carter curses and the sound of shattering glass has us all watching as he proceeds to smash anything and everything in his path. “Fuuucckk!” he screams. Blood soaks his knuckles. Ellis rushes to Carter, trying to stop him from harming himself any further, but it doesn't do any good.

  I feel my throat closing up, even more so when tears begin pouring down Cap’s face. He doesn't even try to hide it. He just fucking cries. I watch as he sits down hard on the platform and throws his face into his hands. His shoulders are shaking violently. Any other man might feel shame for weeping so openly, but I know Cap. His life hasn’t been easy, and he wears his heart on his sleeve. I know his mind and heart well enough to know that his whole world is being shattered. Angel was his lifeblood—his savior—his fucking everything...

  She was mine too...

  Angel

  The airplane is small and stuffy. I’m the only one on board aside from a pilot, co-pilot and a nervous looking stewardess that flickers her gaze to me once every thirty seconds. Her attention is starting to grate on my nerves.

  I can’t completely blame the woman, though, and she’s probably just doing her job. She was probably given strict instructions by Papa or Marco to watch my every move and make sure I want for nothing. It’s not out of the kindness of their hearts, make no mistake. I’d never be foolish enough to mistake it for kindness. This is a power move. Every time she refills my wine or asks me if I need anything else, it’s just to placate me—to make me feel like I’m safe again, though I’m anything but.

  As my eyes glaze over in exhaustion, all I can think about is that day—my last day in Seaside when it all went bad. Flashes of memory assault me and nine garish looking animal masks hover in my mind’s eye. I can see them clearly… I can hear the echoing of gunshots and the slam of bodies as they hit the ground at my feet. I can recall the distinct gleam of the pooling blood in the dirt as the elder Brothers bled out. Sharp stabs of guilt pierce my chest, knowing I was the cause of it. Because of me, the guys were forced to murder their own flesh and blood.

  We’ve discussed it endlessly, and every single time they’ve assured me that it would have happened no matter what—that given Cole’s involvement in Charlotte's death, they would have been dealt with anyway. But it doesn’t stop what I feel. It doesn’t mean I don’t feel those four deaths deep in my bones. I was the catalyst that started it all. I was the tipping point—the change in the wind that sent my guys down a path on the run from the lives and the legacies that should have been theirs. It keeps me awake sometimes. Times like right now, when I should be fast asleep with my head in the clouds. A part of me craves that oblivion—especially knowing that peace will be short lived. The moment I step off this private jet, my life will be in someone else's hands again.

  My thoughts drift to the men I left behind. I know in my soul that they'll never forgive this. After what we’ve been through, for me to run back into the clutches of Salvatore Valentino... it’s the biggest betrayal of them all. I left in such a hurry that I know it’ll be impossible for them to come to any other conclusion than betrayal. I then remember that strange cell phone I was forced to leave behind. Bile churns in my stomach. Papa did something horrible, I just know it...

  ✽✽✽

  Mama is nowhere to be seen when we finally make it to my family estate in the Hamptons. I expected her to be the one to greet me at the door, but I was only met with more of Papa’s men. A lot of them I recognize from before I left a year ago—big and burly, with mean scowls on their scarred faces. But there are a few new faces—fresh and young, not yet weathered from years in Papa’s service.

  I’m led through familiar hallways, and I hate the fact that a sense of being at home settles into my bones. I shouldn’t feel at home here. I should want to scream—tear my hair out and escape far away, but I only feel sadness. Glancing around, I stare vacantly at the massive paintings on the walls, internally marveling at how I can recall every single one of them with perfect clarity. I lived in this house my whole life—aside from the winters spent at various boarding academies.

  The floors are black marble, woven through with gold embellishments, while the walls are a soft cream. Nothing has changed since my youth, and as the guards lead me down a labyrinth of decorated hallways, I have no problem following along easily. I could navigate this house with my eyes closed. I remember when I was young—before my Papa got it in his head that I was different than Sofia and needed to be sent away, I would wander the house at night, slipping by the guards and outsmarting them every time. I would prowl the house, listening in on Papa’s meetings and dinner parties. I knew secrets, names, places and times—without ever realizing just how valuable the information would be to someone who knew what to do with it...

  My bedroom is the same as it’s always been—filled with black and red fabric with hints of that same white lace that also decorated my room back in Seaside. For a moment, longing plagues my chest and I ache for that beautiful house by the ocean. This room, however, holds memories that would make a lesser woman lose her lunch. The door shuts behind me and I hear the snik of a lock. Without fail, every time I enter this room—no matter how many years have gone by, I always look to the ceiling first. My eyes rove over it carefully, as if I might find even a single trace of brain matter or blood that once stained it. I even search for a bullet hole that I know isn't there. Papa’s people had erased every trace of the carnage that once decorated my beautiful walls. But I can still feel Paulo’s ghost haunting this room. I can smell the copper in the air as if it happened only yesterday.

  Before I have the chance to settle in and wind down, there’s a quick knock at my door. It opens shortly after, making me grit my teeth in annoyance. What’s the point in knocking if you’re just going to let yourself in regardless? A man pokes his head thought he door, grey hairs fill his beard and ugly scars stripe his tanned face. His name is Sergio, one of my father’s men. I feel my muscles coil and lock up at the sight of his ugly mug. His hands are just as dirty as Papa’s, maybe even more so. The things I’ve seen this man do inside the walls of this house I'll never be able to scrub from my mind.

  Sergio looks me up and down with a sneer. “You’re are needed in your father’s study,” he grits out—probably pissed off that Papa sent him over here like some sort of errand boy. “You have twenty minutes.” With that, he leaves, clicking the door shut again, this time leaving it unlocked.

  I listen to the sound of his footsteps as they retreat down the hallway, but I remain sitting on the edge of the bed, wringing my fingers in my lap nervously. Dread courses through me at the prospect of coming face to face with Papa again after all this time. Even hearing his voice over the phone had sent chills through my body.

  Instead of dragging out the inevitable, I make my way through the house on heavy feet, dreading every step I take. I can feel eyes on me as I pass more and more of Papa’s men. I forgot how many there were. Suddenly, I find myself longing for the solitude of Seaside. This place feels stiflingly like a prison and these are my wardens. They don’t say a word to me, but they just stand around in doorways like silent sentinels, as if they’re just waiting for me to make a break for it. Can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.

  The large oak door to Papa’s study looms over me like the entrance to hell itself. How many times have I hovered in this exact spot, praying to any god that exists that Papa might be in a good mood today? I remember the very last time I stood here—one year ago when I had the world at my fingertips and freedom
on the tip of my tongue. Little did I know that freedom is an illusion that only Salvatore Valentino has complete and utter control of.

  Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and knock softly, only for the door to swing open almost immediately. I pull back with wide eyes before narrowing them again. Two men stand at the threshold, beckoning me inside as their eyes scan my body. I’ve never seen these particular bastardos, and it puts me on edge. Papa sits at that familiar oak desk of his, this time devoid of anything but a single manila file in the center of it. He’s looking straight at me, hard enough that I feel like shriveling down into a little pile of ash on his cream-colored carpet.

  The doors close behind me, and upon turning my head, I see that the men have left the room—leaving me alone with Papa. I force myself to breathe evenly and to keep a neutral, serene expression on my face. Papa can smell weakness from a mile away, but he won't get the satisfaction of seeing it.

  “Do you remember what I said to you the last time you stood in this office?” his voice trickles through the room like a deep, rushing river. “I distinctly remember asking you to not let me down.” He leans back in his massive chair, clasping his hands together in front of him. “Care to tell me why you could not follow my simple instructions?”

  “Apologies, Papa.” Bowing my head, I force my eyes to stay lowered. I hate the feeling of submitting to this fucker, but I need to play it safe until I get my bearings here.

  Papa tsks, “Have I taught you nothing?” He stands. Straightening his tie, he circles his desk slowly. Sometimes I forget how massive Papa really is. He towers over me as he comes closer. “Mia bella, you are in a unique position. You have betrayed your family, and any rights you might have had to follow in my footstep—”

  I hiss, cutting him off and raising my eyes to his. “Following in your footsteps? How did you expect that to happen when you were marrying me off to Giles Montgomery’s son? You did the same to me as you did to Sof—”

  The look in his eyes stops me from completing that sentence. “You should have done what was asked of you. Your marriage to the Montgomery family would have solidified our alliance with the Brotherhood. I needed you as a foothold—as my eyes and ears on the inside.” I frown, not understanding at all. He sighs. “I know you do not understand right now, but the elder Brotherhood members lost their way a long time ago. Black Pharmaceuticals was selling outside of my jurisdiction without permission—putting my business and my family name at risk…” He places his hands on my shoulders and I fight a grimace. “You could have been the one to bring them down from the inside and instill new leadership. You were supposed to bring Giles to his knees and place his son at the helm…”

  I pull away and he lets his hands fall. “So I was just a pawn to you? You sold me to your enemies like a dog!” Tears sting my eyes despite the fact that technically this isn’t new information.

  Papa clicks his tongue in disappointment. “You take for granted the trust I once had in you, dear daughter. Why do you think I put so many resources into making sure you had the best training? You were to be the jewel of this family, but you chose a different path.” His eyes darken.

  “What do you expect me to do now, rot in this house while you hide Mama from me?” My stomach sours.

  Papa smiles widely. “Oh, just the opposite, piccolina. You'll continue your training as if you never left. You’ll marry whom I tell you to marry when the time is right, but for now you are to resume life as usual.”

  His eyes flicker to the door, just as a man steps in without knocking. My heart kicks up a notch as recognition sets in. My father smiles at the man with salt and pepper hair with a goatee to match. “Marco will make sure you have everything you need, and a guard will be at your door tomorrow evening. You’ll have the rest of tonight and the morning to come to terms with your new situation, and even that is a generous offer after the embarrassment you have caused me.”

  Marco strides to me, trying to place a hand at the base of my back, but I skip out of his embrace. The sight of his familiar face is already enough to make me stifle vomit, but the thought of those hands touching me the way his son once did makes me crazy. I’ll slit his throat right here in Papa’s office if he tries. My heart thuds against my ribcage, and my eyes bounce back to Papa as he watches me slink away from his second in command.

  “Perhaps it’s a little too soon,” he jokes, making me grit my teeth. “Have Vinny escort her to her room for the night. Supper will be brought up shortly.”

  Marco nods and leaves the room again with an oily smile, calling out to someone in Italian. I look at Papa again. “Where’s Mama? I want to see her.”

  He shakes his head almost sadly. If I were anyone else, I might even believe the expression to be genuine. “I’m afraid you need to earn that privilege, Angel… and you’re not off to a great start. Your Mama is in my care, rest assured, but I’ll not have the two of you plotting behind my back again.” He waves me off. “Leave. Now.”

  The door cracks open again and a large behemoth of a man steps in to usher me out. Again, I don’t let him touch me as I turn tail and leave Papa’s office. I make my way back to my bedroom with my heart in my throat.

  Carter

  Walking through the front doors of my father’s house is an eerie feeling. There’s a stillness in the air that I’m not used to. I feel eyes on my back and everything inside of me wants to go in the attack.

  Turning around, I lock gazes with the burly henchman Salvatore sent my way. The man was waiting for me when I pulled in the drive and I suspect the others have one as well. Uneasiness churns in my gut. Fucking Angel… I want to vomit. I should have seen it coming honestly. This world isn’t for the tender hearted. I want to punch myself for falling into her trap—letting those soulful brown eyes suck me in…

  Shortly after discovering her special little cell phone a week ago, there was a knock at the front door of our apartment. A man I didn’t recognize stood on the other side, surrounded by three other men who were much larger than he was. He had salt and pepper hair cropped short, and a goatee covering his mean slash of a mouth. His Italian accent was thick. He introduced himself to us as Marco, Salvatore’s Consigliere. My hackles had risen, and I’d drawn my firearm immediately, but Marco never flinched. In the back of my mind that name echoed—I’d heard it before, but I still can’t pinpoint where. I didn't like the fact that he’d found our home and proceeded to invite himself in.

  We reluctantly spoke with the man for the better part of that evening—receiving a request from Salvatore Valentino himself to join him at his estate next week for an extended stay while we worked some things out. Sal wants to call a truce of sorts and start over fresh. I don’t know how much of what Marco claims we can trust, but a larger part of me just wants to look Sal in the eyes while I run a knife over his exposed throat.

  We flew back to California last night, needing to tie up some things back at our own family estates. I know there’s nothing left of our fathers, but I’d refused to come back all this time out of fear that Sal’s men would be watching the area and potentially putting Angel in danger. But now that they clearly know where we were this entire time thanks to that bitch of a woman, I’m free to gather what I need before it’s time to fly to the East Coast in a few days.

  Slamming through the front door, I try to ignore the emptiness. Dust covers every surface, and not an item is out of place. It’s as if my father just picked up one day and disappeared… and in a way he did. I have no clue what became of his body, or the bodies of the other men we’d wasted that night, and to be honest I don’t particularly give a shit. In my opinion, Jack Draven can rot in a shallow pit for all eternity and it wouldn't bother me one way or another.

  My mom is long gone by now, probably cozied up with another rich man willing to take care of a flighty woman. She probably jumped for joy the day Jack and I disappeared. She’d never held any love for either of us and I don’t blame her. Looking back at my life, I see more and more clearly ev
ery day that their marriage was a sham. The poor woman was practically raped, after being sold to my father like livestock. The second she was free she probably ran and never looked back. There’s a small part of me that hopes she’s happier than she was before. It’s a tiny, miniscule section of my blackened soul that wishes well for the woman who birthed me, but I won’t lie and pretend like I hold any sort of affection for the shrew.

  I probably sound like a heartless prick... and maybe I am, but in my world, love and affection was never a given. I remember the times in my youth, when my father’s men would drop me off at school only for me to look on in curiosity and confusion as other boys and girls kissed and hugged their parents goodbye and hello. I didn’t understand why they felt the need to show such open affection for adults who were legally obligated to watch over them. What was it? Was is some misguided attempt at thanking them for something they opted in for by birthing them? I didn’t understand the concept of family units, or… love.

  Until my Brothers, that is. Until my brothers and Angel Valentino. I never knew what it was like to care for another human being above myself until the four of them grew up by my side—this includes Finley Cassini. It started with the guys, of course. The bond that developed between us is unbreakable and unshakable even until this day. It took me by surprise though, because the same couldn’t be said for my father and his associates.

  Jack, Giles, Cole and John… and at one point, Alexi, were never brothers in the sense that they guys and I are. They didn’t have a bond—a devotion to one another in the way that we do. Before my Brothers, I never knew what it meant to worry about someone, to keep their wellbeing in the forefront of my mind and for every decision to bear them in mind before myself. And when Angel was folded into the mix… fuck, it’s like my world exploded around me. It was like seeing a new color or learning a new language. Sure, I’ve fucked my fair share of women—even more than once sometimes, but Angel… she was different. She latched onto my soul and the souls of my three Brothers like a vice and never let go. Even now, as I stalk the halls of my shell of a family home, my heart still aches for her. No matter how much I tell myself that she’s the enemy—a backstabbing wench who lied to us from the start, there’s still a part of me that loves her.