by Tiffany Snow
“Everything has a price,” Devon said. “Are you really so stupid as to forfeit your life for a woman?” His contempt for Clive’s choice was clear and I tried not to be offended.
Clive gave a shrug, the look on his face one of resignation. “I love her, Devon.”
His confession was stark in its simplicity, as was his calm acceptance of his fate. A man who’d die for love. Clive had earned back a little of my respect, but I doubted I could say the same for Devon, who’d already made it clear what he thought of love.
“An ephemeral emotion predicated on hormones and fervent declarations of affection. For this, you’d die. I don’t know whether to laugh at you, pity you, or just kill you and put you out of your misery.”
The scathing words made me wince and I thought I saw a nearly imperceptible flinch cross Clive’s face, too.
“I can help you find them,” Clive said. “They’re here.”
“I already know they’re here.”
“But you don’t know what they’re planning. I can find out. I’m sure the Shadow would want to know.”
I frowned at this. The Shadow? You could practically hear the capital letters on that. Who was Clive talking about?
“You’ll say anything to save your life,” Devon replied.
“Maybe. But can you take that chance? If Vega were to find out—”
“You know not to say the name,” Devon cut him off, and for the first time I heard outright anger in his voice.
Clive glanced at me, surprise etched on his features. “She’s not an agent?” Devon didn’t reply and Clive’s lips thinned. “You’re such a bastard, Devon. I could easily have killed her. Is your revenge so dear to you that you’d send an innocent to slaughter?” Now it was Clive’s turn to be disgusted. “Meet me tomorrow on the Landing. There’s a pub called Shay’s. Eight o’clock.” With a last somewhat pitying glance at me, Clive turned and left.
I was left reeling in shock. Clive could have killed me? And Devon had not only known this, but practically shoved me at him anyway?
I guess Devon’s promise that he wouldn’t hurt me was literal and didn’t extend to others I might be thrown in the path of.
Pushing against him, I tried to get away, but his hold only tightened.
“Let me go, you bastard!” I seethed, struggling as hard as I could. “You didn’t care if he’d hurt me or not!”
“Enough, Ivy!” Devon barked. His hands on my upper arms drew me upright and held me immobile. “I knew he wouldn’t kill you.”
“How lucky for me that you knew,” I sneered, “because he sounded pretty certain that it was an option.” I renewed my struggles, which I knew were futile, but damned if I was just going to give up.
“I wouldn’t have deliberately put you into danger,” Devon said.
“Why should I believe you?” I asked in exasperation. I was furious and hurt at the same time. I pushed against his chest, which was like trying to push a brick wall.
“Because I said I wouldn’t hurt you and I bloody well meant it!”
His raised voice made me go still and I stared up at him, trying to read his eyes.
“I’ve known Clive for a long time. He wasn’t going to kill you or hurt you in any way. Not while I had his bride.”
I swallowed, my anger leeching away. “He was terrified,” I said. “Is that what you came to do? Kill her?”
“I was making a point,” Devon replied. His grip on me had loosened, but now I didn’t try to get away.
I shivered, cold again now that I was separated from the warmth and security of his body. Without a word, Devon released me and slid his jacket down his arms, then swung it around my shoulders. The fabric still held his body heat along with his scent. He pulled the lapels closed and tugged me toward him.
His gaze drifted from my eyes down to my lips. It seemed in slow motion as he bent and kissed me, his mouth settling gently over mine.
I couldn’t touch him—my arms were locked inside the jacket as he held it closed—and I couldn’t move away. I could only stand there and allow him to kiss me senseless, until I didn’t feel the cold any longer, only heat and desire.
His tongue slid against mine, our breath mingling in the chilly air, and I pressed as close to him as I could. When he lifted his head, I stretched upward, keeping the contact as long as possible. A soft whimper escaped me when his mouth left mine. Devon’s lips curved, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. I should have been offended by how easily he’d ensnared me, but I wanted him too badly to spare any thought for righteous indignation.
“I’ve had enough of the party,” he said. “Haven’t you?”
I nodded. Going back into the wedding reception seemed like a bad idea. Sliding his arm around my waist, Devon kept me close as we headed for a side exit from the terrace. I handed him his jacket once we were inside and he put it back on, hiding the gun underneath his arm. A few minutes later, we were exiting the elevator on our floor.
Our room was at the far end and I noticed two men in the hallway, one pushing an empty luggage cart. They glanced at us as we walked by, but didn’t smile.
Devon suddenly took my hand. I turned to him with a smile, which rapidly faded.
His expression was that cold, blank mask again.
“What’s wr—”
Devon squeezed my hand, hard, and slanted a glance my way. I got the message and shut up.
He pulled me to a stop in front of a door that wasn’t ours. Taking out the plastic key card, he fumbled with the lock.
“Damn,” he said, more loudly than usual and with a slight slur to his words. “Can’t get the door open, luv.”
Putting his hands on my waist, he dragged me in front of him, pinning me between his body and the door at my back. Then he was kissing me. But it was different and I realized something was very wrong, and that I was supposed to play along.
I reached up and rested one hand lightly on his shoulder, not wanting to hamper him in any way should he need to move quickly. I heard the muffled squeak of wheels on the luggage cart as it rolled slowly toward us.
The only warning was the slight sound of cloth rustling.
Devon pushed me to the side just as wood splintered over my head and I heard the stifled report of a gunshot. He launched himself at one of the two men, pushing him through the door marked Stairway that I just realized was opposite from where we’d stopped in the hallway.
The door crashed open under Devon’s assault and he didn’t stop his momentum, throwing the man with the gun over the rail and into the open cavern below. I could hear the thuds his body made as it hit parts of the stairwell on the way to the bottom.
The second man was already on Devon. He didn’t have a gun. Instead, he held a wickedly long knife. Devon spun around, grabbing the man’s arm as it lifted to strike.
The door swung shut on them, blocking my view, and I had an instant’s indecision of what to do. But in the next moment, my panic and fear for Devon outweighed my fear for myself and I rushed to the stairwell door and flung it open.
Devon and the man were grappling and had fallen down to the next flight. Devon pulled his gun, but the man knocked it aside and it went flying down the stairs in a clatter of metal against concrete.
They moved so fast, it was hard to follow. I’d never seen a fight like this before, a fight to the death, and it terrified me. The guy was big, as big as Devon, the collision of their bodies sending them ricocheting off the guardrail and falling down more steps. The man was on top of Devon and the knife flashed. Blood coated it before Devon slammed the man’s arm against the edge of a stair.
I followed, catching sight of the gun on the next landing down past where they fought. If I could just reach the gun, maybe I could help Devon.
I ran down the stairs, then had to press myself into a corner as Devon slammed the guy into the wall, his arm pr
essed hard against the man’s throat. I threw myself past them, terror clawing at my chest. Then something hit me in the back and I went sprawling hard onto the landing below.
The men grunted as they fought, sliding past me, then the man got loose of Devon and scrabbled for the gun. Devon threw himself on top of him, putting him in a choke hold. The man reached for the gun but it was too far. He thrust his body back at Devon, flinging them both onto their backs.
In a flash, he straddled Devon’s torso, his hands around Devon’s throat. I watched in horror as he began to choke Devon.
Oh my God. Devon was going to die if I didn’t do something. I couldn’t get to the gun, it was past where they were fighting and I was too afraid to try to reach it.
Frantic, I looked around and spotted a fire extinguisher hooked to the wall behind the man trying to kill Devon. Without thinking or planning, I rushed to it and grabbed the canister. Spinning around, I closed my eyes and swung as hard as I could.
The metal connected with a solid thunk against the man’s head and he went sprawling. I dropped the canister, its clanging ringing in my ears, and flattened myself against the wall. My panicked breathing was hard and shallow.
Devon was up immediately, and flung himself at his gun. He flipped over onto his back just as the man stood, swaying slightly on his feet. He caught sight of Devon and went to rush him again, but the sound of a bullet’s report echoed in the stairwell.
The man froze, a red stain blossoming on his chest, then he fell backward against the stairs. His body slid down a step or two, crumpling, and didn’t move.
Blood was rushing in my ears, my heart pounding so hard it felt as though it were going to leap from my chest. My throat burned with my ragged breaths as my gaze stayed locked on the dead man.
I’d seen Devon kill before, but this had been different. It had been up close and personal, and I’d had a hand in the man’s death. Yes, I’d been helping to save Devon, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow the knowledge that I’d just helped kill someone.
Devon got laboriously to his feet, his chest heaving. His face was coated in sweat and blood dripped from his mouth. He’d lost his jacket at some point in the fight and I could see that a sleeve of his shirt was torn, the white fabric bloodied, and remembered the crimson knife blade. He went to the man first and checked for a pulse.
“Get upstairs to the room and don’t come out,” Devon ordered. “I have to take care of the bodies.”
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I felt as though my limbs had been dipped in ice. I just stared at the dead man.
Devon glanced at me. “Now!” he said, the sharp command jerking my attention to him. “Move!”
I gave him a shaky nod, turned, and somehow managed to climb the stairs to our floor. I was moving on autopilot as I stopped in front of our door and fished out my key card. My hands were shaking so badly it took what felt like forever before I could hold the card steady enough to slide it into the slot.
The door swung shut behind me and I stood there, unsure what to do next. Devon hadn’t told me what to do.
In some corner of my mind, I realized I was close to losing it, but I couldn’t clear my head enough to get a grip. The fight kept replaying inside my head, the sound the fire extinguisher had made as it hit him, the look on the man’s face when he had the split-second knowledge that he’d been fatally shot.
The skyline looked serene outside my window and I drifted toward it, sliding open the glass doors to step onto the terrace. I stared at the lights twinkling, the cool silver of the Arch reaching for the sky. I could breathe better out here and I sucked in a lungful of air.
I didn’t know how long I stood there, but after a while I heard the door to the room open and close. Distantly, I hoped it was Devon, but I couldn’t bring myself to care if it wasn’t.
Slow footsteps approached, and large warm hands settled on my hips.
“What are you doing out here in the cold?” Devon asked, his voice soft.
“It was p-peaceful,” I stammered through chattering teeth, only now realizing my entire body was racked with tremors.
“You’re freezing,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around me. He drew me back against his chest. He was warm and solid and safe, and the sharp edges of fear still cutting me finally eased.
“Come inside,” he said, and I nodded, allowing him to draw me back into the hotel room.
CHAPTER NINE
Devon flipped back the heavy down comforter on the bed and sat, pulling me down next to him. He arranged the comforter over us and leaned back against the headboard, enfolding me entirely in his arms. My cheek was pressed against his chest and his chin rested on the top of my head.
Chills shook me from my head to my toes, but Devon’s hold didn’t loosen, and the heat from his body gradually began to seep into my icy skin.
We lay there for a long time. Once I stopped shaking from the cold, my body relaxed, molding itself to Devon. His hand was gently caressing my head now, his fingers finding and carefully removing the pins that held my hair in place. When they were gone, he lifted the long strands and unwound them. I sighed at the sensation.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes.” And I wasn’t just talking about my hair.
Silence descended for several long minutes, then I spoke again.
“I helped kill a man tonight.”
“He would have killed me. And you.”
Yes, that was true. Still . . .
“I’ve never done something like that before.”
A pause. “Some people deserve to die.”
I considered that. “Yes,” I said slowly. “You’re right. There was a time when I wanted to kill someone. Or maybe myself.” The words just slipped out, surprising me, and Devon, too. His hand stilled for a moment in my hair before resuming its caress, his fingers sliding through my hair.
“Tell me.”
In our cozy cocoon, the scent of Devon surrounded me. Not so much his cologne now, but the smell of only him—his skin, his sweat, his blood. I felt safe and protected. So I talked.
“He used to come in my room late at night, hours after I’d gone to sleep. We’d never gotten along, so the first time, I couldn’t understand why he was there. Then he made me do . . . things.” My voice cracked, but I kept going. “In one breath he’d tell me he loved me, then the next he’d swear to kill me if I ever told. I had a kitten I’d gotten from the farm next to ours. He cut off its head and left it underneath my pillow. I wanted to kill him then. It was only later, months later, that I thought about killing myself. But I wasn’t brave enough to do it.”
Devon had stopped stroking my hair now, but I didn’t mind. I was saying things I hadn’t spoken of in years and years.
“One night, it hurt—real bad, more so than usual—and I couldn’t hide it from my mom the next day. She figured it out, even though I didn’t tell her. She called the cops, but they couldn’t do anything. He found out, though. When I got home from school, he was waiting for me. He had Mom’s chef knife. I made it to my room and barricaded the door. He practically knocked that door down, screaming and yelling that he was going to kill me. I sat with my back to the door, holding it as much as I could, and I prayed the whole time.” I fell silent, lost in the memories of that awful day.
“What happened?” Devon asked.
I pulled myself back to the present with a sigh. “He left, got drunk, and wrecked his car, killing a man. He was sent to jail for manslaughter.”
“And this was . . . your father?”
“Stepbrother. My dad died when I was little. He was in the Army.”
“How old were you when . . . this started happening?”
“Twelve.”
Devon didn’t ask more questions, which was good because I didn’t want to talk anymore.
“I want to shower,” I abruptly decided.
I felt dirty, bloodied, even though there wasn’t a mark on me.
I expected Devon to just let me go, but instead he got out of bed, took my hand, and led me into the bathroom. He started the water and I automatically began undressing. My earrings I tossed to the counter before pulling my top off over my head. I carefully folded the expensive fabric before hooking my thumbs into the band of my skirt and sliding it and the shorts down my legs. I’d worn a tiny black G-string, which I discarded as well.
When I turned around to get in the shower, Devon was staring at me. His eyes burned and naked need was written on his face, but he didn’t approach.
“I’ll leave you to it then,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. He stepped toward the door.
“Wait,” I said, laying a hand on his arm. He glanced at me.
I didn’t say anything else. My eyes caught on the blood on his shirt and I could see more underneath the torn fabric. He was hurt and bleeding, and yet he’d been comforting me all this time.
Reaching for the buttons of his shirt, I quickly undid them, sliding the shirt down his arms, then lifting the hem of his white T-shirt up and over his head. There was a nasty cut on his arm and a huge red and purple bruise on his abdomen. It must have been a heavy hit to have bruised so deeply and so quickly, yet Devon didn’t utter a word of protest or so much as cringe in pain. It was almost as though he’d separated himself from it and felt nothing, and I wondered if that was something he’d had to learn in a job fraught with danger.
I dropped my hands to his belt and hesitated. The blunt truth was that I’d never undressed a man before, and to start with a man like Devon . . . well, it was a little daunting.
He must have sensed my uncertainty because his much larger hands suddenly covered my own.
“I’ll do it. You get in the warm.”
I nodded, crossing to the shower and stepping underneath the steaming spray. It crossed my mind that I liked hearing him talk to me. What little emotion Devon did show, he most often did with his voice rather than express anything on his face. Just now, his voice had been a gentle command wrapped in the curves of his accent, like a tender caress meant to protect and care for. I liked it.