Depraved (The Devil's Duet Book 1)

by Eva Charles

“I’m fine.”

  “That’s not how this works. You’ll need to do better than that.”

  “I know all about aftercare, and checking in. But I don’t have time for it right now.”

  “Like hell you don’t. I’m taking the time for it, and so will you.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Let’s start with the physical part. How’s your gorgeous ass?”

  “I’ll live.”

  “How about your puss—”

  “Jesus. It’s all fine. Enough with the questions.”

  “Now tell me what’s going on inside your head.”

  She sighs loudly, and I imagine her eyes are rolling, too. “I’m wondering why I’m standing here having a ridiculous conversation with you when the master keys are missing. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Don’t you dare hang up unless you want to see my face tonight.”

  It’s quiet for a long minute, but she doesn’t end the call. “I don’t exactly know how I feel,” she says in a small voice. “I don’t feel the way I’d like to feel. The way I should feel.”

  “There are no shoulds, Gabrielle. You feel what you feel. It’s all good.”

  I hear her draw a long breath, and release it slowly. “You’re a lot to take in, JD. Even more than I remember. Thank you for sending lunch. The restaurant here isn’t open at noon, but you probably knew that.” She’s quiet for a few seconds. “I can’t believe you remembered I like tuna sandwiches with potato chips and sweet pickle slices.”

  There’s not a single thing I don’t remember about her. Not one damn thing. I’ve lived off those memories for almost fifteen years. They’ve kept me warm during the bleakest nights, helped me find release when I needed it. But I don’t tell her any of that. “Part of our arrangement is that I take care of you. You give me your trust and your obedience, and I make your life better. Easier.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “I do need to. And I want to,” I add softly.

  “So this is a dominant-submissive arrangement without the normal safeguards?”

  “There are plenty of safeguards. But no, I don’t think of it like that. Not exactly. Although we can shape it, or call it whatever we want. Our arrangement, our rules.”

  “You mean our arrangement, your rules.”

  I smile. While she isn’t entirely wrong, I’m not Attila the Hun, either. “With the right incentive, I could be persuaded to be flexible about certain things.”

  “How magnanimous of you. It still feels like a power play to me.”

  “All my relationships are power plays. But they’re not all about sex. Let’s have supper tomorrow night. We’ll iron out whatever wrinkles are left, and I can see for myself if that gorgeous ass really is fine.”

  “I have a dinner meeting with a supplier.”

  “Is he local?”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “Reschedule with her. Make it a breakfast or lunch meeting.”

  “You can’t expect me to change my plans on a whim.”

  Yeah, Gabrielle I do, and you will. “It’s exactly what I expect. You’ll leave on Friday to visit your parents for the weekend. I assume you’ll want to go most weekends, at least until we know how your mother reacts to the course of treatment. On Sundays you’ll need to catch up on the things you left behind, and set yourself up for the week. On Monday nights I have dinner with my brothers. That leaves Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday for us. Crumbs. And I expect sometimes even that won’t work out, but a dinner meeting with a local supplier is something that can be easily changed.”

  “What time?”

  “Antoine can pick you up at eight o’clock.”

  “I can drive myself. But eight is so late to begin the evening. During the week, I’m downstairs every morning by five-thirty at the latest. If you can’t make it earlier, maybe we should plan on Wednesday.”

  For a minute I’m torn, but I can’t do it. Not even for her. “I have a standing appointment every evening between seven and eight that can’t be changed.”

  “A standing appointment? I thought that’s what I was for?”

  “You sound jealous.”

  “Don’t kid yourself. But I’m curious, what do you do at seven to eight every night that precludes you from meeting earlier?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “Normally I wouldn’t care about what you do, or who you do it with. But—”

  “But what, Gabrielle? I’m not fucking anyone else, and I don’t plan on it while we’re together. And I highly recommend you keep your legs closed when I’m not around, too. And don’t tell me for one second you don’t care where I put my dick, because we both know that’s a bunch of bullshit.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Wait.” But she doesn’t. Sonofabitch.

  I pound both hands on the steering wheel. What I do is no one’s business. Not even hers. Aside from Gray and Chase, and a few others who need to know, no one is privy to how I spend that time. And that’s how I want it.

  But you asked her to trust you.

  You need her to trust you.

  I can’t. I can’t tell her.

  Fuck! I don’t know how to do this with her. I thought it would be easier. I knew she would balk and complain, and there might be things I’d say and do to her that would disgust me—but I knew I’d find my balls and do them anyway, because it was necessary. But there are so many other things, like this, that I’m not sure about.

  Why can’t I tell her? No reason. She won’t go to the press. I know she won’t. No matter how she feels about me, she would never do it.

  Trust begets trust, JD. You want her to trust you? You need to give her more than kink if you want her all in.

  Screw it! I don’t even bother calling, because she’s not going to answer. Instead I text: I’m parked outside the hotel. Answer your phone or I’m coming in.

  A second later I send another text: And I will find you.

  It’s a bluff. I’m nowhere near the hotel, but I’m counting on her not wanting to see my face tonight, badly enough to pick up the phone. I’ve been enough of an asshole with her that she won’t doubt I’d show up and harass her.

  I give her a few minutes before I call. There’s a better chance she’ll have read the text.

  While I wait, I grapple with the prospect of going over to the hotel and hunting her down. I didn’t leave myself any wiggle room, but I really don’t want to have this conversation with her in person. Gabrielle might be my kryptonite, but Zack makes me human in a way no one else can. I don’t know how she’ll react when I talk about him, and I don’t trust my own reactions. It’s bad enough she might hear the weakness in my voice, but I don’t want her to see it.

  After ten minutes of driving in circles, I call her. She doesn’t answer until the fifth ring. “You weren’t enough of a bastard before? What do you want now?”

  I take a deep breath, and squeeze my fingers around the steering wheel. “I spend that time with Zack.”

  Her choppy breathing fills the silence until she speaks. “With Zack?”

  With Zack. It doesn’t change a damn thing for him, but I do it anyway. “Mmhm. I do my best to protect Zack from all the people who are curious about him, and want to exploit his condition for a good story. It’s been especially bad since my father started his campaign, and now that he’s president, there’s no sign of it letting up. I would appreciate it if you would keep this to yourself.” I sound like a robot. My voice devoid of any real emotion. I feel a bit like one, too.

  “Of course. I would never say anything that would compromise him.” I don’t doubt for a second that she’ll keep her mouth shut. When they were kids, she doted on Chase and Zack like they were little dolls. Even if she wanted to hurt me, she would never hurt him.

  “JD. I—I didn’t realize—I didn’t think he was responsive anymore.”

  “He’s not. Not really. Although it’s possible he’s minimally responsive some of
the time. Difficult to tell at this stage. We’re not entirely sure.” Zack suffered a traumatic brain injury during the accident. At the time, he was diagnosed with Unresponsive Wakefulness Syndrome—a permanent vegetative state. It was probably a misdiagnosis, or more likely, a convenient diagnosis. So my father could lock him up and throw away the key. But it’s too damn late now to change things.

  “Hm. What do you do with him every night?” Her voice is shaky and quiet.

  “I read to him. Tell him stories. We listen to music.” I sigh. I’m not accustomed to answering this question, and it makes me feel vulnerable—like I’m soft—human. What I do with Zack is between us. I’ve never thought about sharing the specifics with anyone—even my brothers—but somehow, I find the words to tell her. “Brush Sumter. Bedtime stuff.” She’s sniffling, and it slices into my gut. “Gabrielle—don’t. Please don’t.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s only been a week since you barged back into my life, but it’s been a long, trying week. It feels like an eternity. I’m so confused. I don’t know what to think. Between you and what’s happening with my mother—it’s all too much. I’ve been going through the motions, but I’ve been neglecting the hotel. I can’t go on like this. I’m working hard to process it all, but it’s overwhelming.”

  “There’s nothing to process. Not with regard to me. When I walked into your office on election night, your first instincts were correct. I’m not here to ruin your life, or to hurt you—but everything else you thought about me is true. Don’t lose sight of it because I read my little brother bedtime stories. It doesn’t change anything.” Even though I wish it could. This was the risk. That she would see this for more than it is and start to think I’m some kind of nice guy that she plays sex games with, but that when it comes down to it, I’m a pushover.

  “I would love to see Zack. I haven’t seen him since he went away. Will you take me with you one day?”

  “One day.”

  “Soon.”

  “Gabrielle. Maybe.”

  “He must be in a facility nearby. Where is he?”

  “Go find your keys and get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  “Don’t bother Antoine. I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.”

  “I’m aware of how capable you are. But I don’t want you driving home. It’ll be late and I plan on making you very tired.”

  17

  Gabrielle

  After work, I shower quickly and change into a skirt with a zipper down the back that runs from waist to hem. JD won’t be able to keep his eyes off it all night. And no, I’m not the slightest bit embarrassed about choosing it for that reason.

  The room still smells of him. Still smells of sex. And I can’t glance at that Queen Anne chair without becoming aroused. Without my core pulsing with need. I can still see him sitting right there, furiously fucking his fist, my pink cami nothing more than a cum rag wrapped around his fat cock to catch every precious drop of seed.

  There’s not an inch of skin that’s not hot and prickly, and I want to dig my fingers into my needy cunt and satisfy the craving, but there’s no time. Besides, I promised to save all my pleasure for him. I’m not embarrassed about that, either.

  I go downstairs to wait for Antoine. It’s been a terrible day. Not to mention costly. Four flat tires, and the hassle of dealing with the tow company, and the police treating me like a flighty woman because I didn’t remember leaving the master keys in the car. I still don’t remember leaving them there.

  But maybe I did. I’ve been so preoccupied with my mother, and with JD, that I’ve found myself forgetting little things this week. Yesterday, when I went to the pharmacy, I sat in the parking lot shaken, because I didn’t remember anything about the drive there. I could have killed someone. Maybe I did grab the keys by mistake. But I certainly didn’t deflate the tires. When did teenage pranks become so destructive? Now I sound like my mother.

  I let the front desk know I’m leaving for the evening. Tom is on tonight. He’s a godsend, especially with Georgina scheduled to be out on maternity leave. Dean recommended him for the job. It’s the best thing he ever did for me. That, and taking JD’s money and leaving town. The man might very well be the most self-absorbed human being I have ever met. But thankfully, he got in touch with his family and they’ve stopped haranguing me as though I had something to do with his disappearance.

  I make no excuses for Dean. Not a single one. The way he treated me was deplorable, and although there is nothing I did to cause his behavior, I never loved him. Not really. I pretended, not just with him, and everyone else, but I kidded myself, too.

  After being around JD for a week, just one week, I know my relationship with Dean was ill-fated from the start. Ill-fated because I wasn’t done with JD. Ill-fated because no one will ever come close to making me feel the way JD makes me feel. This will always be my cross to bear.

  Does this mean I want a relationship with JD that goes beyond our arrangement? Something more than revenge? Something more than discovering the truth about what happened fifteen years ago? Yes, yes, and yes, I do. All of it. There. I said it.

  But I won’t do it. Even if JD wants a relationship, which I highly doubt, I won’t indulge in anything more than mind-numbing sex with him, and closure. I won’t risk my heart again. I can’t. I’m not a kid anymore, I can’t afford to sink into depression, to mope around crying for months when he decides there’s someone prettier, or smarter, or better connected. I have responsibilities now. JD has the power to destroy me again, but only if I let him.

  I know now what I’ve always thought. He’s my soul mate. As much as I hate to admit it, it’s true.

  But I’m willing to live out my life alone, or with someone else. While no relationship will ever compare to the unrestrained passion I have with him, or the depth of connection we share, I can still have a full and loving relationship with someone else. I’ll learn to be content without the flames. They always seem to singe me anyway. But I can’t do any of it until I put JD behind me.

  Maybe it’s not revenge I need, but closure. I want the answers, all of them, so the door between us can close firmly, and securely. And forever.

  Antoine pulls into the front of the hotel at eight-fifteen. It’s not like him to be late. “A lot of traffic?”

  “Not too bad,” he says, shutting the door behind me after I’m settled. The partition is already up between the front and back seats when I get in the car. I guess I ask too many questions.

  Sweetgrass isn’t far, but there’s only one way to get there from here, and Antoine doesn’t take the turn that leads away from downtown. I refuse to talk to him through the intercom, so I tap on the partition, until he lowers it.

  “Did you miss the turn to Sweetgrass?”

  He turns around, puzzled. “We’re going to Mr. Wilder’s place downtown. I’m sorry. I assumed you knew.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I didn’t. JD must have forgotten to tell me. It’s fine.” Either he forgot to tell me, or didn’t bother. I huff to myself. He’s not forgetful. But he is rude.

  In less than ten minutes, we arrive in front of a renovated building. It’s so close to the hotel, I could have easily walked.

  Antoine gets out and leads me into the swanky building to an elevator. “This will take you directly into Mr. Wilder’s apartment,” he assures me, punching in the code.

  On the ride up, I remind myself to ask more questions about the details before agreeing to dinner, or to anything else, if I don’t want to be surprised.

  JD’s waiting when the doors open.

  “I realized a few minutes ago that you must have thought you were going to Sweetgrass.” He kisses me on the cheek.

  To a bystander the kiss might look chaste, but nothing with JD is ever entirely chaste. This is no exception. I feel the brush of his half-hard erection when he leans in to take my coat.

  While he mentioned forgetting to tell me where we were having dinner, he doesn’t apologize. That’s no
t his style, and tonight it’s not my style to let him entirely off the hook. “I was a bit taken aback. If I didn’t trust Antoine so much, I would have demanded he take me back to the hotel.”

  He rubs his fingers over his chest, right below his neck. “That would have been a mistake.”

  Maybe. I’m not going to engage. I don’t want to fight. “I didn’t realize you keep an apartment downtown. It’s a nice place.” I glance around the cavernous space. It’s an open floor plan with a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. It is nice. But different from Sweetgrass, with its warm, sprawling rooms decorated in traditional fabrics and furnishings. Sweetgrass feels like home. This feels sterile, and modern, and blindingly white. Designer white. All the apartments in the building probably have this same stark white walls and nondescript look about them.

  “How’s Zack?” I ask, studying his face for more than he’s likely to give me. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Zack since last night.

  “He’s okay.”

  “JD—when you told me you see him every day. It’s all I could think about last night. Your mother—she would—”

  He puts two fingers over my mouth to shush me. “Stop.”

  But I don’t. I can’t. This is the boy I knew, and it makes my heart swell to see a glimpse of him in the man he’s grown into. I need to see if there’s more of him there. I just need to. I take the long, roundabout way, but I press on. “An hour is a long time to sit with someone who can’t engage. Especially for you. You’ve never been very patient. And I haven’t seen any evidence that’s changed.”

  He’s pensive, and seems to slip away briefly. “It’s funny, but the time goes quickly when I’m with Zack. It’s calming and peaceful. At least it became peaceful after I stopped dwelling on how much I wanted things to be different for him. I just—I live in the moment when I’m with him now. Want a drink?” he asks.

  “How about a cocktail? Maybe my signature drink that you stole?”

  His mouth twitches and curls at the left corner, the dimple appears, and his eyes twinkle madly. Then he laughs. That’s him! That’s him! The voice in my head shrieks with delight. I want to launch myself at him. Rub my body against his like a starved animal whose master has just come home after a long trip.