Devil’s Sinner: Fallen Dynasty Book 3

by Starling, Isabella

  “I’m not…” I tried to shake my head, but it didn’t happen.

  “Not going to sign it?” He grabbed my arm and squeezed hard enough to hurt, but I was so numb it barely registered. “Is that what you were going to say?”

  “Yes…” I attempted to put fire in my response, but it just came out like a weak little whimper.

  “Do you know how much suffering a human body can endure before it allows you to die, dear Violet?” He squeezed harder--until I finally felt it. “So much suffering--and just when you think you’re going to die, I’m not going to let you. I’ll hook an IV to your arm and give you just enough sustenance to hold on…”

  Connor’s threat was enough to tear another shred of humanity from my mind--like a layer being carved away with a rusty knife. I had to keep pressing him. I needed answers. If I ever did find a way to escape, what he told me could be the key to getting my father out of prison. Even in the depths of despair, I still remembered why I fell on my knees to begin with.

  “Was it you, Connor?” I forced my lips to keep moving. “Did you set my father up?”

  “Me? Connor laughed. “No. Cabot Enterprises won’t survive long enough for your father to stand trial. Would I shoot off my nose to spite my face?”

  Deep down, even in the depth of torment and despair, I had the mental strength to process what he was saying and understand it was probably true. The only reason my father let Georgia date in the first place was because he was the son of his biggest investor at Cabot Enterprises. Connor still held those investments, along with a lot more, so it would have been senseless for him to bring down my father’s empire. He would have been jeopardizing his own in the process.

  “Last chance today, dear Violet.” Connor’s voice got more intense. “Are you going to get down on your knees for me? Are you really going to let me leave here without having your name on a contract?”

  “I will not sign it…” I met his intensity with all that I could muster.

  “Then I’ll ask again--tomorrow, the day after, or maybe you won’t hear my voice again for a week. Did you hold on this long for Devlin? Or am I just special?” He walked to the door with heavy footsteps and slammed it.

  I might have been weak, weary, and wounded, but I heard the difference in Connor’s tone when he finally gave up for the day. He was getting frustrated. I was suffering, but my suffering wasn’t in vain. I was slowly winning the battle of wills, even if I had lost the physical one in the backseat of his car. I just had to find a way to hold on until someone found me--or I figured out how to escape.

  The idea of being kept alive by force didn’t sit well with me, but it was a mistake for Connor to play that hand. It gave me the narrowest glimpse of hope, because if I wasn’t going to die dangling from those ropes, then I was going to be able to keep fighting. I could endure the torment if that was what it took. He claimed my sister, but she was the only Cabot that would ever give herself to him.

  Not me.

  Not ever.

  Devlin might have been a cruel Master, but I got stronger when I fell on my knees for him. I learned that I could endure things I never imagined and fight harder than I ever thought possible. I gave in because underneath the layers of Devlin’s malice was the boy I fell in love with--the one I always wanted. I didn’t have that desire to feel Connor’s hands on my body. If my survival was guaranteed, I could keep fighting. Maybe I would still draw my last breath hanging from his ropes, but I wouldn’t do it willingly.

  “Devlin…” I let out a light sigh and pulled my bottom lip between my teeth.

  His blood. Blood he sacrificed in pursuit of me. He was searching. He hadn’t given up. I knew him well enough to know that he would go to the ends of the Earth to find me. It was the kind of man he was. If his search led him to Connor then he was on the right track.

  “I’m sorry I left you…” I felt what would have been tears if my eyes had the ability to cry--if my body had those resources to spare.

  I was going to be in the Devil’s arms again. His blood was evidence--a testament to his devotion. Connor wanted to scare me with it, but I wasn’t afraid of him. My sister lied to me. She spewed Connor’s instructions with no regard for what would happen if I followed them. I didn’t know if what I overheard when Devlin was on the phone was real, or another one of his twisted games. Maybe he had no intentions of actually selling me--Connor wouldn’t have taken me if it was that easy to make a deal.

  Survive.

  That was my mission.

  Long enough for Devlin to find me, or long enough to make my escape.

  Maybe they were one in the same...

  Five

  Devlin

  The headache from the blow I'd taken from Peterson's guards was still there, but it didn't hurt nearly as much as my pride.

  Peterson may have won a battle, but the war was far from over. I had another ace up my sleeve, and even though the poor fuck was behind bars, I knew he could be useful to me.

  I sat in the uncomfortable, dingy plastic chair of the prison, waiting for Cabot to arrive. My eyes wandered over the visitors, the prisoners. This was a shitty place to be stuck in, and I knew Cabot didn't have it easy. I felt sorry for him.

  He was brought in, his wrists in handcuffs, and when he saw me, his top lip peeled back in disgust.

  "I don't want to talk," he muttered as a guard showed him to his seat opposite of me at the plastic desk. There was only glass separating us.

  He looks terrible. His skin is sallow and pale, with bruises blooming along his jawline and spreading under his prison uniform. My eyes roam over his beaten body up to his face, seeing how he looks at me. Cabot's gaze is filled with disgust. He detests me.

  I motioned for Hugo to pick up the phone, but he shook his head vehemently. Stubborn old bastard. I picked up the receiver on my end anyway, mouthing the only word that would make him pick up the receiver on his side of the glass.

  Violet.

  Cabot only hesitated for a split second before picking up. He kept staring at me, eyes filled with anger as they met mine. "What do you want, Windsor?"

  His voice crackled over the line and for a second, I couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor fuck. But I had more pressing matters to deal with.

  I clutched the phone handle and asked, loud and clear, "What do you know about Georgia's husband, Connor Peterson?"

  Hugo Cabot glared at me through the impenetrable glass. If looks could kill... Luckily for me, Hugo was powerless here. Just as powerless as I felt going up against his son-in law.

  "Please," I went on. "This is important."

  "Important?" he glared at me. "How could my son-in-law be important right now?"

  "Violet," I went on. "Violet is-"

  "Don't you dare say her name!" Hugo beat his fist against the glass a single time, earning a yell from the guard and sheepishly sitting back in his chair. His hate-filled eyes went back to mine, digging deep, as if he wanted to uncover every one of my secrets. "I know what you've done, you pervert. I know what you've been doing to my sweet Violet."

  I smirked. "Nothing she didn't want."

  "You're sick," he spat out. "When I get out of this hellhole - and believe me, I'll be out soon - I'm leaving the door wide fucking open for you, Windsor. I have no doubt they'll put me right the fuck back after I'm done with you. After I make you pay for what you've done to my innocent daughter."

  I smirked. Cabot was pushing it, and I couldn't not take the bait. I leaned back without a care in the world as I said, loud enough for him to hear, "Not so innocent anymore."

  "I'm going to make you pay for everything you've put her through," Cabot hissed. And then it was his turn to smirk at me. "Although, it looks like somebody beat me to it."

  I touched my face on reflex. The bruise was still swollen, my jaw tender and swollen from the kick to the face I'd suffered by one of Peterson's guards. It still fucking hurt - though the injury wasn't as badly wounded as my pride had been.

  "So," Cabot we
nt on, more confident about his seeming victory. "Connor responsible for that lovely bruise, is he?"

  "He is," I replied. There was no point in hiding the truth. Violet's father needed to learn the truth, and soon.

  "Good." The reply was a low grumble, and the old man seemed pleased by my answer. "Now get to the fucking point, Windsor."

  "Right," I got out through gritted teeth. "About your precious son-in-law..."

  "What about him?"

  "I'm pretty sure he's abusing his wife. And I also think he used her, your older daughter, to trick Violet into leaving me."

  "You're pretty sure?" Cabot smirked at me. "What good is that? You got anyone to corroborate this idiotic story you've put together in your messed up mind?"

  "You're just going to have to trust me on this one." I tapped my fingers against the plastic handles of the chair, reminding myself I'd have to take a scalding hot shower at home to get rid of the prison germs. It was a small luxury, but one Violet's father sure as hell didn't have while he was stuck here.

  "Why would I trust a Windsor?" Hugo Cabot shot daggers at me with his eyes. "And over my son-in-law, of all people?"

  "I'm telling you the truth."

  "You'll excuse me if I find that a little hard to believe, with our history." The man glared at me. "After all, your father is the one who put me here."

  I furrowed my brows. "You don't know if that's true."

  "I've heard he's been bragging about it," Cabot hissed. "Telling everyone and their goddamn mothers he's the one who put the mighty Hugo Cabot behind bars."

  I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose and wincing at the pain from my bruise. "I heard something similar from him too, but I don't think it's true. My father wouldn't make a move like that without me knowing about it. And besides, it's not his style to stab someone in the back without them knowing he's the one responsible for their misery."

  "You may be right there," Hugo reluctantly admitted. "Your father was always the type of man who liked to look into his prey's eyes before he went in for the killshot. He doesn't put them in a locked cage, that's for fucking sure. How else would he gloat about his success in bringing his victims down?"

  I nodded silently, and we sat in quiet agreement for a few moments. Finally, I leaned forward, the receiver pressed firmly against my ear as I spoke. "Look, Hugo. Can I call you Hugo?"

  "No," the old man grunted, but I ignored him and went on.

  "Hugo, I'm not here to reignite the family feud. All I want to do is find Violet."

  "So you can do more despicable things to her?" Cabot's eyes were flaming with fury yet again. "No, I don't think so."

  "Please, Cabot." My voice came out in a low grunt, but I wasn't below begging Cabot for his cooperation. I needed to find Violet, and fast, before that pervert got his claws stuck in her and damaged her beyond repair. "Her well-being, her safety depends on you now. If there's anything you can tell me about Connor, anything that would help at all, you need to come out with it now, before it's too late."

  The man behind the glass regarded me with cool indifference. There was a spark of interest, maybe even of compassion in his eyes, but it went out almost the second it appeared, and I knew then and there I wouldn't be getting any help from Hugo Cabot.

  "I'll never trust a Windsor," he finally said, loud and clear. "If my daughter left... well, maybe she finally came to her goddamn senses."

  I knew I wouldn't get anything else out of him, and I slammed the receiver down, getting up and walking the hell out of there. My only consolation was that Cabot was getting beaten to fuck in there. The fact that he wasn't worried sick about his youngest sickened me. Did Peterson really have him wrapped around his little finger, just like he did Georgia? It looked like it.

  I walked out of their prison with my hands in fists and my jaw painfully clenched.

  All that effort and I was not even close to finding my princess.

  Dead end after fucking dead end.

  When will something finally go my fucking way?

  Six

  Violet

  The darkness had shattered my mind, but hope put it back together. Every time I needed another hint, I tasted Devlin’s blood on my lips to remind myself that it was real instead of the miserable hallucinations that tried to push my sanity away. His blood became an anchor in reality that I could cling to, a piece of him that was spilled in pursuit of me.

  I forced myself to sleep. The exhaustion didn’t claim me like it had so many times before. I simply let the ropes grip my wrists until they were numb and then drifted into the darkness. I wasn’t worried about a white light, or never waking up again because Connor said I would live. It might have been the only piece of truth that ever left his disgusting mouth.

  I don’t know how long I slept, but I had a little more energy when I woke up. I twisted--pulled--tugged on the ropes. I didn’t care if they made me bleed or scarred my skin. The numbness allowed me to peel away scabs and flesh while I stayed focused on survival or escape. I battled the ropes until I had nothing left, then I slept again. Sleep gave me more energy, so I kept fighting, twisting, and doing everything in my power to force a single thread to loosen.

  Time passed like molasses in an hourglass, and I knew it was my blood dripping away--I felt it on my arm. I felt it on my shoulder. If I could have seen how much damage I was doing, I might have quit. The vain image of the girl I used to be would not have sacrificed her porcelain skin for freedom, but I wasn’t that girl anymore. I was a different version of Violet Cabot. I was a fighter.

  “Ow, fuck!” I nearly screamed when one hard pull on the rope squeezed my bones so hard my thumb almost broke, but it wasn’t the only new painful sensation.

  The rope had moved. It had slid from my wrist to my hand. Progress. It was like salvation poured on my soul. The rope was no longer wrapped around numbness. I could feel it again. Every centimeter was agonizing, but I burned my skin on the roughness until I felt the rope against my fingernail. I was almost there.

  I bit down on my tongue and yanked so hard it was pierced by my teeth--for nothing. I refused to give up. Blood pooled in my mouth, but I didn’t care. Another yank. Then another. A harder one, one that made the pain manifest in a kaleidoscope of color in front of my eyes. My hand started to go numb like my wrists, but then I felt the rope pass the nail on my thumb. I was almost free. A quick tug and the weight of the world crashed into my arm as it slumped at my side.

  “Almost there…” I sputtered my own blood and it mixed with Devlin’s on my lips.

  I squeezed my hand into a fist and pumped until the feeling returned. Hanging by one hand was more agonizing than having the support of the rope on both wrists, but I was able to push up with my toes. My arm slowly lifted until I wrapped my fingers around the blindfold and ripped it off.

  Light. It was blinding. I had to force my eyelids closed until I adjusted to it. When they slowly opened and came into focus, I saw that I was in some sort of old shack, or shed--the light that blinded me was coming in between the boards and around the door. Even that shimmer was enough to sting my eyes. I looked up at the rope on my other wrist and forced my arm to lift so I could fight with the knot.

  There was enough adrenaline left to make it surge through my body. I chipped and broke my nails as I fumbled with the rope on my other wrist, but after a couple of minutes, I loosened it. My other hand came free, I dropped flat on my feet, and then I simply collapsed to the ground.

  “You can’t slow down…” I spat out the last bit of blood in my mouth and stared at it. It was mine. It was Devlin’s. I couldn’t tell the difference. It didn’t matter anymore.

  I was a mess. The wrist I fought to free was mangled. It probably needed to be cleaned by a surgeon--it could very well be permanently scarred when the wounds finally healed. It seemed to stop bleeding as the blood congealed. That was another symbol of hope. I wasn’t going to bleed out. I pressed my palms to the floor and tried to get my legs to work. They were weak, but with a little
effort, they responded.

  Being on my own two feet felt more liberating than being free from the ropes. I tried to take a step and almost collapsed, but I pressed on. Panic shot through my veins and swelled up in my throat. I swallowed it. The last thing I needed to do was have a panic attack when I was so close to freedom.

  The adrenaline pushed me forward. Willpower did the rest. I kept walking until my hands were on the door and I was able to push it open. The sun blinded me again with even more fury than the glimmer, and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust--then I saw where I was.

  “You fucking asshole…” I cursed Connor as I stared at the withered remains of Cabot Vineyard.

  The vineyard was a gift from my paternal grandfather to my parents when they got married. After my mother died, it was left to rot. It was one place nobody would go if they were searching for me, that was for damn sure. My feet moved along the path between vines that had dried up as they died. I had a slight limp, but my gait steadied with every step. There was a house ahead that used to belong to the caretaker. I had no idea what was inside, but if there was a telephone--one phone call could put an end to everything.

  I made it to the house, and the door was locked, but I could see a phone through the window. I scrambled around, fell to my knees in the dirt, and finally found a rock. I hurled it at the window and the glass shattered, but the rock went right through. I pressed on the glass and broke more of it off, but cut my hand in the process. My limbs were no longer numb, so the pain registered, but I ignored it.

  As soon as I broke enough of the glass away, I carefully pulled myself through the window. There was still enough glass left to slice me open, but thankfully, all I got were a few scrapes. My hand grabbed the telephone--my shot at freedom was so close I could taste it.

  “No!” I screamed as the phone responded with silence--I slammed my hand on the base and realized it was dead.