Tempting Devil: Sinners and Saints Book 2

by Eden, Veronica

  I’m offended it was so easy to get in here as I tuck my lock picks back into my zipper pouch of supplies.

  The air inside the garage is cool and artificial, like there’s a fancy temperature regulation system at work. Each car is parked diagonally in its own spot with an overhead light illuminating its sleek features. There are more than the five cars I’ve seen Devlin use—every high-end model I’ve ever heard of and some I don’t recognize. It’s like I’ve walked into a museum where car nuts would drool over makes and models they only dream of setting eyes on. The excessiveness of this collection turns my stomach, and a quiet scoff falls from my parted lips.

  There are so many that my eyes blur and my temple throbs as I try to do the math in my head to add up the value surrounding me. I don’t know what some of these retail for, but the ones I do are easily upwards of seventy grand. This entire room could wipe out the debt that hangs like a poisonous fog over Mom’s head in one swoop.

  It’s not fucking fair.

  But this is the cruelty of the world.

  My hands clench into fists, the material of the gloves creaking the harder I squeeze. Dad taught me all about this harsh world at a young age before he took off.

  Another collection notice from one of his gambling debts sits heavy in my pocket, the crumbled mail stuffed there after reading it made my eyes sting and a sickening panic surge on my way out of the trailer to execute this plan. The only choice was to take it with me. I couldn’t leave it for Mom to find. Each one breaks her spirit a little more, no matter how strong she tries to be for the both of us. I’m the strong one and soon she won’t have to worry.

  I take a quick stroll down the row of cars on the left, sneering at a garish yellow Lamborghini, a gunmetal gray Audi, a shimmering pearl-colored Mercedes-Benz GLS, and a sleek black Escalade. The other side of the garage is just as bad with a vintage Mustang and vehicles that look more like futuristic flying cars.

  For a moment I’m struck by indecision. I didn’t realize he had this many cars. It’s safer to take one of the more nondescript ones I’ve never seen him use. It’ll be easier to move something common rather than the high profile cars. My gaze flits back and forth, considering the options.

  I have to be smart about my choice.

  Mom’s voice still echoes in my mind when I overheard her last week, pleading on the phone for a loan she applied for. It fell through, the slimy scum of a loan officer unsympathetic to her quavering voice as she explained to him what our situation was if we didn’t get that money. He didn’t care, like all men. Like Dad. Once again reminding me why I can’t trust any of them.

  My throat thickens at the memory and I screw my eyes shut. I don’t have time for this. I need to act now.

  At the end of the row in a prominent position is a car that makes me fume as soon as I spot it.

  The red Porsche.

  Devlin’s prized ride. Possibly the only thing he loves in this world more than himself. I’ve seen him practically make out with it in the school lot while his groupies watch and giggle. They probably hope he’ll fuck them in the cramped back seat, but I’ve never seen him give any of his hookups a lift when he drives it.

  The gleaming red car is a beacon, drawing me a few steps closer. I tap my fingers against my legs. The sweet satisfaction of taking something precious from Devlin sings in my blood. My indecision vanishes, obliterated by the chance of getting the ultimate revenge on him.

  Stalking back to the mahogany display box on the wall, I snatch the key fob beneath the shiny Porsche logo. A smirk curls the corners of my mouth when I admire the empty space left behind.

  “Karma’s a bitch, Murphy.”

  Spinning on my heel, I hurry over to the Porsche. The door opens without hitting the button on the fob. Even the cars are barely protected, left unlocked.

  I huff in angry amusement, muttering as I slide behind the wheel. “Is that big gate supposed to keep you safe? Think again, asshole.”

  After adjusting the seat forward from Devlin’s height, I push the keyless ignition. The engine purrs to life, sending power racing through me as I grip the wheel. A subtle rumbling vibration stirs through my thighs and I bite my lip. Damn, this is a nice car. My eyes crinkle with my smile. Now the driving gloves are more appropriate.

  I’m searching around for a way to trigger the garage door to open from inside the car, figuring with Devlin’s wealth he’s probably the type to have something like that in all of his cars. My gloved fingers fumble over the visor and scan the touchscreen.

  Then a shadowy figure moves in my periphery, blocking light from the window.

  Within seconds my perfect plan crumbles before my eyes as my body pulses with the overpowering wrongness of someone being there. I jump when the door flies open a beat later, sucking in a strangled gasp as I fly into motion.

  “No!” The shout leaves me in a garbled rush as I try to get away.

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Devlin snaps in a deadly voice. “Get back here!”

  A strong hand with long fingers clamps over my wrist, stopping my wide-eyed scramble across the center console to escape. My heart drops into my stomach, every hair on my body standing on end. Fuck!

  I kick with all my might, landing a solid hit against his torso. Devlin grunts angrily, but I can’t break out of his hold.

  He yanks on my wrist, dragging me from the car. I’m met with an angry snarl as he towers over me. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Devlin’s face is etched in anger, thick brows furrowed and his damp black hair curling across his forehead, hanging into his eyes. A muscle jumps in his chiseled jaw, sending my instincts into fight-or-flight mode.

  Shit, shit, shit. My heart beats in time with my racing thoughts. He was here the whole time—but the Range Rover! It’s not here. I dart my gaze around to confirm that. He’s not supposed to be home yet.

  Devlin shakes me, demanding my full attention as he leans into my face. His lip curls, giving me a glimpse of his perfect white teeth. With a grunt, he shoves me out of the way, pausing long enough to reach in the car to cut the engine without releasing his hold on me. I barely have time to consider if I can escape before he’s in my face again.

  I am so fucked.

  “You are in way over your head, you thieving bitch,” he seethes, tightening his grip on my wrist until it’s painful. With his other hand, he digs his fingers into my upper arm. “You’ll pay for this.”

  Every muscle in my body tenses with the need to run.

  For the first time in years, I’ve been caught in the act. And now I’ll face the consequences at the hands of someone that hates my guts as much as I hate his. Devlin Murphy, my bully.

  I should’ve taken my chances robbing a bank instead.

  Two

  Devlin

  The house is silent as usual when I come out of the steam-filled bathroom, slipping a black t-shirt over my head. It’s just as it was when I hopped in the shower twenty minutes ago. The same lifeless quiet as always.

  A new book I picked up on psychology waits on my nightstand.

  My phone buzzes, interrupting the Spotify station playing the haunting synth-pop rock beats of MISSIO.

  The sweatpants I pulled on slouch low on my hips as I drag a hand through my damp hair. I consider ignoring the phone, but I already know who it is. I step into my bedroom and close the door, shutting myself off from the rest of the vast house.

  For a second I can pretend I’m not home alone.

  Bishop’s name flashes on the phone screen again with a new message.

  The corner of my mouth twitches and I let out a resigned sigh. This is what I get for leaving practice early. It’s not like I’m invested the same way Bishop is, but that’s why he’s been captain of our varsity soccer team since last year. Maybe I stick with it because if I didn’t I wouldn’t see Bishop as much, since he lives and breathes the team.

  It’s something to do and keeps me out of the house. At least, until the darkness in my head spills out.
That’s why I had to sneak out of practice today.

  I’ve been drifting, lost in a way I wasn’t last year. It’s getting worse, harder to contain, more difficult to pretend I’m carefree.

  Frowning, I pass by my bed—perfectly made by the elusive housekeepers that pass through like a reset button, scrubbing even my own existence from this overpriced prison cell—to lean against the wide windowsill. Every morning I leave my bed a mess and every night before I climb in, if I do, it’s meticulously remade. I peer out at the silhouettes of trees scattered over the mountain, glimpsing the lake between the pine needles.

  Until a few weeks ago, I wouldn’t be in this mood. Before it had the chance to creep in, I would have been across the lake hanging out with Lucas. It was easier to ignore that anything was wrong at my aunt and uncle’s house. It calmed me down, anchored me to have somewhere to go where I didn’t have to worry if I wasn’t wanted. I stayed there until Lucas kicked me back home across the lake.

  It didn’t use to suck like this because there was always an au pair around. But when I turned sixteen two years ago, Dad decided I was old enough to be on my own with the expense account he and Mom fill up each month. Self-sufficient independence, they call it. It’s just me and the invisible housekeepers I never run into, even when I try to seek them out. They’re like fucking elves.

  Lucas is far out of reach now that he’s at college with his girl, Gemma. If I lost Bishop, there’d be no one left. I’m lucky my best friend has stuck by my side for as long as he has.

  But nothing lasts forever.

  I can’t hold on to the same routine.

  Everyone moves on.

  Stop.

  Rubbing my hand over my head, I struggle with the effort to push the melancholic thoughts back down in their box, locked away where they belong. Where they can’t whisper their evil truths to me.

  I breathe deep and slow.

  It takes a minute to rein my scattered emotions, bringing them back in check from the brink of the miserable hysteria that plagues me when I let the loneliness in, where it can cut deepest.

  My fingers twitch with the urge to grab the pack of smokes from the nightstand.

  This is how life is supposed to be. Seniors graduate and go to college. It’ll be Bishop and I doing the same after this year.

  I blow out another harsh breath that burns my throat and unlock my phone to read Bishop’s messages. They’re sporadic nonsense until the newest one from a minute ago.

  Bishop: Did you fall in the damn urinal? If you don’t answer or come out in 5, I’m sending search & rescue. No bros left behind.

  Bishop: Aight, I guess you ain’t coming back to practice. Cool. Cool cool cool.

  Bishop: [GIF of a man blinking in disbelief]

  Bishop: Yo, Devil Boy, you owe me for cutting out early today.

  A snort leaves me. Everyone at Silver Lake High dubbed me the dark devil, but Bishop likes to put his own spin on things.

  Devlin: I had to get out of there. Leg cramp from those drills.

  Bishop: Ok, your highness. [eye roll emoji] Seriously, I’m making you practice extra this week. I can’t give you a break or the guys will think I give you special treatment. I ain’t your whipped bitch. Besides your footwork needs it for the first match.

  Devlin: [middle finger emoji] [middle finger emoji] Fuck off. I always score and you know it.

  Devlin: [smirk emoji] And you know I’d treat you right, baby.

  Bishop: Whatever, you dick. WYD? Wanna hang and smoke a bowl? I’ve got a fresh bag of Doritos with your name on it.

  As great as that sounds and as much as I want to hang out with Bishop, smoking weed when my head is all twisted up always leaves me more anxious and paranoid. Like my body won’t let me just chill the fuck out. It’s some grade A bullshit, but I’m not rolling the dice on that tonight.

  Devlin: Nah man, gotta have dinner at my aunt and uncle’s.

  A lie. But they’d gladly have me over for dinner if I showed up. My stomach rumbles, mocking my made up plans. If I raid the kitchen, I might get lucky and find something. Sometimes one of the housekeepers likes to leave me the extra food she makes.

  Bishop: Legit. See ya tomorrow bright and early for your punishment [laughing emoji]

  Devlin: [middle finger emoji] [middle finger emoji] [middle finger emoji]

  Tucking my phone in my pocket, I venture down into the desolate house in search of food. My footfalls on the varnished floating stairs are the only muffled noise in the entire house. I have half a mind to connect my phone to the bluetooth speaker system and turn on some ambient sound playlist to fill the house with noise. Sometimes it helps drown out the suffocating silence.

  It’s eerie as fuck and I’m still not used to having the place to myself. I might never be. I don’t know if it’s any better on the rare occasion my parents are around, either. They keep to themselves when they’re home, almost like they’re not here at all.

  This is exactly why I prefer to spend all my time at Lucas’ house across the lake.

  I wish my parents had adopted a pet instead of having me, but I wouldn’t wish this treatment on any animal.

  The kitchen is sterile and staged, like a real estate agent is prepared for potential buyers to swing by. Fresh flowers sit in a concrete vase at the center of the dark granite counter on the island. A stack of magazines sits beside it, one flipped to a recipe like I’m thinking about baking sugar cookies. Ridiculous.

  The corners of my mouth turn down as I come to a stop before the refrigerator, staring inside once I open it.

  It’s fully stocked, but nothing appeals to me. My jaw moves side to side. Two containers of leftovers sit on the middle shelf. No label or note, but if I’m the only resident, it’s not like the leftover food is there for anyone else.

  Pinching the meat of my cheek between my teeth, I fish my phone from my sweatpants. I pull up my message with Dad and swallow at the one-sided conversation, his responses dotting the left side of the message thread far and few between. My thumb hovers over the keyboard. I don’t know why I torture myself begging for his attention.

  He doesn’t deserve it. I don’t want him to give it to me, not like I used to.

  My thumbs move anyway, like I’m possessed.

  Devlin: I had Frank pick up my Range Rover from school today so he can look at it in his shop. He asked if you’re interested in a 1994 Ferrari F355 for our collection. I told him to hold it. We can look at it when you’re home.

  It seems like a million years ago when Dad introduced me to cars. The memory is distant, foggy at the back of my mind, always out of grasp when I try to examine it with clarity.

  Switching over to my message thread with Mom, the words come easier.

  Devlin: My AP psych teacher assigned a research topic on identity. Do you have any books on how the brain handles influences of environment at home?

  A burning sensation sits heavy in the center of my chest, licking against my ribcage. I rub at it as I set my phone on the island. I brace my weight on my hands and drop my head, hanging it above my silent phone.

  The granite is cold.

  Give up, my mind whispers.

  Pushing out a humorless puff of laughter, I shove away to make something to eat.

  There’s no response by the time I’m done making a protein smoothie for dinner. It’s not until I’m rinsing the blender in the sink that my screen lights up, hooking a deep part of me that I keep locked up inside. The part that harbors hope.

  Scolding myself with an eye roll, I flick off the water and wipe my hands on a crisp folded dish towel, tossing it on the counter before grabbing my phone.

  The text is from Mom. The hope that ballooned to the surface drifts back down. Her words are clipped and sterile, even for a text. Library shelf. Home office.

  I don’t even warrant full sentences. My mouth settles into a severe line.

  “Fuck this,” I mutter.

  It’s too early to go sit on the roof and smoke cigarettes. My fing
ers scrub over my mouth. I could go for a run, but Bishop did work us hard in practice with dribbling drills. Pushing my legs to burn off the wild array of thoughts crowding my head will only bite me in the ass at tomorrow’s practice.

  For as huge as the house is, the vaulted ceilings feel like they’re swallowing me up, the walls creeping in from all sides. I need to get out of here. A drive up to Peak Point sounds good.

  I need to be beneath the stars as they blink into view. They always clear my mind.

  After running upstairs to get my wallet, I head for the garage. Before I step through the door, a suspicious sound stops me dead in my tracks. One engine just started.

  I grit my teeth against the rushing sensation of my heart pounding harder, my body on heightened alert.

  Something is wrong.

  My eyes narrow as I go through to the garage.

  I keep close to the wall where I can peek around a partition that leads into the garage where Dad and I keep our car collection. My gaze flies back and forth, then widens when I spot the lit taillights on my Porsche.

  Someone is sitting in the driver’s seat.

  “No you don’t, you bastard,” I whisper as I move like a shadow, hands balled into fists.

  I’m intent on killing the fucker who thought they could come into my house and take my favorite car. I creep up to the rear bumper with measured steps, struggling to keep my breath steady. Not because I’m scared of an intruder, but because I’m shaking with rage.

  Once the thief turns away, I sneak up to the window and freeze as recognition smacks me in the face.

  Sticky fingers.

  It’s not just any thief in my car. Not some random thug looking to chop my ride. No, I’ve caught Blair Davis stealing Red, my prized Porsche.