Tempting Devil: Sinners and Saints Book 2

by Eden, Veronica

  Tempting Devil

  Sinners and Saints Book 2

  Veronica Eden

  TEMPTING DEVIL

  Copyright © 2020 Mara Townsend writing as Veronica Eden

  All rights reserved.

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author at this website:

  www.veronicaedenauthor.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, companies, organizations, locales, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  About the Book

  Playlist

  1. Blair

  2. Devlin

  3. Devlin

  4. Blair

  5. Devlin

  6. Blair

  7. Blair

  8. Devlin

  9. Blair

  10. Blair

  11. Devlin

  12. Devlin

  13. Blair

  14. Devlin

  15. Devlin

  16. Devlin

  17. Blair

  18. Blair

  19. Devlin

  20. Blair

  21. Devlin

  22. Blair

  23. Devlin

  24. Blair

  25. Blair

  26. Blair

  27. Devlin

  28. Blair

  29. Devlin

  30. Blair

  31. Blair

  32. Devlin

  33. Devlin

  34. Blair

  35. Blair

  36. Devlin

  37. Devlin

  38. Blair

  39. Devlin

  40. Blair

  41. Blair

  42. Blair

  43. Devlin

  44. Devlin

  45. Blair

  46. Devlin

  47. Epilogue

  48. Epilogue

  Thank You + What’s Next?

  Acknowledgments

  Join Veronica’s ARC Team

  Preview the Sinners and Saints Series

  About the Author

  Also by Veronica Eden

  Author’s Note

  Tempting Devil is a dark new adult high school bully romance intended for mature readers. The Sinners and Saints series boys are all devilish bullies brought to their knees by a spitfire heroine, so if you love enemies-to-lovers type stories, you’re in the right place. This mature new adult romance contains crude language, dubious situations, and intense graphic sexual/violent content that some readers might find triggering or offensive. Please proceed with caution.

  If you like weak pushover heroines and nice guys this one ain’t for you, but if you dig strong females and smug antiheroes, then you’re in the right place! Hold onto your hearts, because these guys aren’t above stealing.

  Each book is part of a series but can be enjoyed as a standalone.

  Sinners and Saints series:

  #1 Wicked Saint

  #2 Tempting Devil

  #3 Ruthless Bishop

  #4 SW (Book 4)

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  About the Book

  BLAIR

  i sold my soul to the devil.

  Hard times prove who’s a survivor and who’s not. Me? I’m a survivor.

  The plan was perfect: steal one of his cars for a payout to set us up for life. All while getting back at him for tormenting me from the moment I first stepped foot in stuck up Silver Lake High School.

  But he caught me red-handed. What’s worse, a jail sentence or becoming the devil’s favorite toy?

  My devious monster made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Now I’m selling everything to him. Even my soul.

  DEVLIN

  the secret to being carefree is love nothing.

  The puppets are fooled into believing my game of pretend. But the way she looks at me has always pierced beneath my skin. Like she knows. She’s a gutter rat—how could she possibly understand?

  I vowed to break her. When I catch her stealing my car, it’s clear she hasn’t learned her lesson. She won’t escape my wrath again.

  Ready to play a game, little thief? The rules are simple: my way is law.

  Playlist

  (Spotify)

  Renegade—Niykee Heaton

  Moshpit—Bohnes

  Zombie Love—Bohnes

  Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea—MISSIO

  MAYDAY—coldrain, Ryo

  Issues—Julia Michaels

  Stomp Me Out—Bryce Fox

  I’ll Keep Coming—Low Roar

  How Does It Feel?—Tonight Alive

  The Hand That Feeds—Nine Inch Nails

  Teeth—5 Seconds of Summer

  Way Down We Go—KALEO

  Everybody Knows—Sigrid

  Lose You To Love Me—Selena Gomez

  The Box—Roddy Ricch

  Godzilla—Eminem, Juice WRLD

  White Flag—Bishop Briggs

  Blood In The Cut—K.Flay

  Powerful—Major Lazer, Ellie Goulding, Tarrus Riley

  Don’t Leave Me Lonely—Mark Ronson, Yebba

  Gone—Red

  Horns—Bryce Fox

  Angel On Fire—Halsey

  Sitting, Waiting, Wishing—Jack Johnson

  Moonlight—XXXTENTACION

  Bury Me Face Down—grandson

  You Don’t Own Me—Lesley Gore

  Dark Nights—Dorothy

  I Will Follow You Into The Dark—Deathcab for Cutie

  Shooting Stars—Elephante

  Home isn’t a place, it’s the people who fill it.

  To survivors, keep fighting.

  One

  Blair

  Being here is necessary, I remind myself while crouching between the trees, scoping out my target. It’s all part of the perfect plan.

  Silver Lake Forest Estates has always made me feel out of place. Tonight’s no different, even as I lurk in the shadows. My friend Gemma Turner dragged me to this community of mansions often last year for parties at her boyfriend’s house on the other side of the lake. Maybe the sense of not belonging comes from being surrounded by people with so much privilege it bleeds from their ears, compared to what I have. Maybe it’s that I can always feel Devlin Murphy judging my presence.

  Either way, there’s never been a question about it. I’m definitely not welcome here.

  Now I’m staking out a place I never thought I’d willingly go: my enemy’s house.

  The weather has been mild for early September in Ridgeview, but I’m dressed in all black to blend in with the night. Sweat dampens the armpits of my faded long-sleeve t-shirt after hiking to my hiding place, where I have a clear view to the giant gate guarding the house. I don’t know if it’s from the anxious anticipation coursing through me or that I’m overheating in the outfit I scraped together for tonight from the second-hand shop. Probably both.

  If Devlin catches me on his property, he’ll live up to that big bad name of his. He’s known as the notorious dark devil of Silver Lake High School, both for
his looks and his lethal attack on the soccer field.

  Douchebag devil. I hate him more than any of the jerks at my school.

  One week into senior year and he’s already cashing in on making my life hell once again. He cooled off a little last year after Gemma started dating his cousin and king of the school, Lucas Saint. It didn’t stop him from sniping at me every chance he got, though. It just made him get more creative.

  With Lucas and Gemma off at Oak Ridge College of the Arts, the high school has become Devlin Murphy and Connor Bishop’s kingdom, the evil duo ruling over us with iron fists.

  Today, Devlin and his soccer buddies baited me with dollar bills on fishing wire, hunting for my desperation. His vicious sneer burned my insides with acidic hatred. The most depressing part? We need money so badly that I almost gave into their cruel trap to add a few more dollars to our meager savings.

  Survival always outweighs pride when it comes down to it.

  A warm breeze moves the branches overhead, the creaking limbs the soundtrack to my illicit troublemaking.

  The plan is to break in and take one of the things he loves most.

  From what I can tell, Devlin has at least five cars—expensive ones. These aren’t your typical economy class cars. It’s about four more than the average person needs.

  A car heist goes a little further than my usual song and dance. More like miles further. The corner of my mouth lifts without a trace of humor as the thought crosses my mind.

  Devlin Murphy deserves it.

  The bastard’s had it coming since freshman year. I’ve endured his brand of tormenting bullshit for too long.

  A twig snaps with a muffled sound beneath my shoes as I shift my weight. I tighten my ponytail to keep my hair out of my face while I work, flicking my gaze up to the stars dotting the sky above the evergreens. It’s dark enough I think.

  Time to get moving if I’m going to pull this off. No more stalling, dancing on the line of will I or won’t I.

  There is no will or won’t tonight—only have to and no choice.

  I blow out a breath and rub my fingertips together. My shoulders are too tense. Needing to loosen up, I give them a little shake.

  The isolated house looming before me is a mix of modern contemporary style with luxe cabin touches—large windows, metal framework, white-washed concrete, and the aesthetic comforts of an oversized mountain cabin.

  Cabin is being coy. This is a legit mountain mansion. The biggest in the private community of Ridgeview’s own brand of royalty.

  It comes off as arrogant and out of place. The house’s jutting lines sprawl out like it’s their right, juxtaposed against nature as the trees fight to stand their ground.

  Because money gives you everything. It opens any door. Nature doesn’t get to say no to money.

  My mouth twists in bitter contempt as my nails dig into the bark of a tree trunk beside me. I stand and keep to the shadows.

  Adrenaline tingles in my fingertips with the first step I’ve taken in over an hour, the sharp pricks jumping along my awareness and contorting my stomach.

  No one is around. Devlin’s house is spread far from the neighbors, the most remote property I’ve seen here. Still, I don’t let my guard drop.

  A flash of light makes my heart trip over itself—headlights! Security patrol?—and I duck behind a cluster of boulders. It moves off into the tree line, turning away from Devlin’s house. I breathe out a relieved sigh and creep closer to the house.

  Funny how a private community for the most elite of Ridgeview doesn’t expect unwelcome intruders to walk right in, assuming guests and residents only pass through the security kiosk at the gate. Dusk settled as I hiked from the road, slipping between the homes unseen, tracing the path I mapped out to get to Devlin’s house on Google Maps at the library.

  A bitten-off snort leaves me. I peek around to check if the coast is clear and dart by a skinny sapling. A little farther and I’ll be past the point of no return.

  If the sport schedule bulletin on the school website was right, Devlin should be at soccer practice until 8pm. That gives me at least forty-five minutes to work under the cover of night. His Range Rover was in the student lot today, three spaces down from the rust bucket 2001 Corolla that gets me from point A to B.

  The plan races through my head on repeat: get in unnoticed, disable the GPS tracking system according to the YouTube tutorial, drive off like a fucking boss, watch that dick’s fury from afar in school…

  I move my hand over my hips, checking the pouch hooked through my belt loops. Inside is everything I’ll need for this plan.

  The sense of preparedness, calculating every move, is born out of faking it until I make it. It’s not like I’ve ever committed a crime this serious before.

  My wheelhouse is petty theft—earning the stupid sticky fingers name the devil of Silver Lake High taunts me with by shoplifting what I can’t afford and picking pockets when necessary.

  The corners of my mouth tighten. Devlin Murphy has no idea what it’s like to constantly stress about money.

  Robin Hood steals from the rich, right? Well, the wealthy snobs of this town are the ones teaching me brutal lessons in survival, so I’m returning the favor.

  I’ve long since let go of any moral guilt hanging over my head for being a survivor.

  Pausing my approach to the house, I bite my lip. The undeniable consequences of what I’m here to do scroll through my head like a marquee. Devlin has more than enough money to bury me and then go after Mom. Hell, he could probably kill me for touching his cars and get away with it.

  That crazy look that haunts his eyes when they’re on me…

  A shudder shakes my body. Yeah, he’s messed up enough to murder someone. No doubt about it.

  You’re stalling. “Ugh.”

  I force my feet to move.

  This is a big score for me, bigger than I’ve ever taken on. I’m not stealing cheap mascara, taking an extra carton of milk, or snagging a hundred bucks from spoiled classmates that don’t notice they’re short when their no-limit credit cards make up the difference.

  No, this is a real crime. High risk, higher reward. The go-to-jail-if-caught kind.

  My stomach turns over as I hesitate in the darkness.

  If I get caught, Mom won’t make it on her own. Maybe I should have done this at the end of junior year, before I turned eighteen in June. I tug on the end of my ponytail and chew on my lip again.

  There’s no other way. This is the only thing I could think of to get the money we need fast. It’s a better idea than robbing a bank.

  If I have to become a vigilante, repurposing some useless extra wealth to those more needy—me and my mom—then so be it. Getting back at Devlin is the cherry on top of this sour sundae.

  Moving from shadow to shadow toward my goal, my resolve strengthens. It gives me the false sense of bravery I need to take this leap from my comfort zone.

  I stop along the waist-high stone wall that forms a perimeter around Devlin’s property line. Everything about his house screams elite, down to the cold iron gate cutting the property off from the road that turns into the circular driveway.

  “A gate for the biggest house inside a gated community,” I mumble to myself, shaking my head as I hop onto the stone wall and swing my legs over.

  I drop off the wall into a crouch in case the community’s private security patrol comes this way. My footsteps are light and quick.

  The same honed focus falls over me that I feel when I’m about to pick someone’s pocket or swipe something at the store. Steady breathing, exuding the confidence that nothing is wrong, and blending like I belong are the ways I get away with what I do.

  This is no different. Even though my heart skips a beat at every unfamiliar sound. I keep my cool mask in place as I reach the garage.

  It’s a sub-level entry from the house, the circular drive sloping down an incline to the four large black garage doors flanked by industrial style lamps. Tossing a quick glance at
the main house, I dig my homemade set of lock picks from the pouch of tools on my belt and slide on a pair of driving gloves. They’re not quite badass cat burglar leather gloves, but they were in the fifty cent bin in a thrift shop.

  My expression melts into surprise when I grab the handle of the side entrance door, freezing as it turns. It’s not locked.

  Swinging my astonished gaze back and forth for another check of my surroundings, I slip inside, closing the door behind me.

  Other than the foreboding entrance, Devlin’s security is appalling. The keys aren’t even in a lockbox. They’re proudly displayed on the wall by the door, with tiny spotlights beneath the logos of each car brand.

  Fucking rich people.

  Their arrogance grates on my nerves. While they live with the constant expectation that they can have everything they want, Mom and I struggle to keep our heads above water. These pampered assholes are so trusting of their huge gates and private security to do the heavy lifting.