Beautifully Broken (The Denver Series Book 2)

by Eve L Mitchell

  “You’re under the mistaken illusion that you are free.” I placed the cup down to the side of me, my other hand in my trouser pocket as I spoke to her. “You are not free, Devon. I decide.”

  “You mean you dictate,” she snapped at me.

  I looked at her with amused satisfaction. “Dictator has a nice ring to it.”

  “Dick, more like.” Her eyes widened slightly as she hurriedly dropped her gaze, no doubt surprised at her own outburst.

  I wasn’t. She had more nerve than was good for her. “You seem to like the thought of my dick,” I reminded her.

  “Oh go to hell.” Her angry glare caused me to smirk, which seemed to infuriate her more. “You’re obviously lying,” she blustered.

  “Want to watch it with me?” I offered easily as I turned and poured some more coffee. “I like my porn with better quality, but I’m willing to watch it again if you want?”

  “You’re a sick fuck, aren’t you?” Devon snapped.

  I raised my coffee cup in acknowledgement as I took a drink, enjoying her embarrassment too much.

  “There’s cameras everywhere?” she asked as she shifted in the seat, her eyes flitting around the room with apprehension. I merely drank my coffee as I continued to observe her. “Why can’t I go back? I was doing nothing wrong.” Devon abruptly changed the subject. Pity.

  “You know you were,” I reminded her.

  “Are you going to kill me, Raphe?”

  I considered her for a moment. She really was fearless. There had been many a man in front of me, on their knees, begging for their life, men who were killers in their own right. Men who had never been brave enough to ask me that question, not even in their final moments.

  “Probably.” I watched her face pale and felt a sliver of remorse as I watched her reaction.

  “Why?” Devon was studying her hands again instead of looking at me, as if she could hide from the reality of my words by avoiding my stare. “Haven’t I proved to you that I can be trusted?”

  “It was four days.”

  “And over two weeks before that!” Her anger was back, and it pleased me that it returned the colour to her cheeks.

  “It means nothing.”

  She jumped off the stool, and I watched her pace the length of the island, her arms wrapped around themselves as she struggled with my bluntness. Suddenly she stopped and gave out a long sigh. “Fine. Do it.”

  “Now?” I felt the corner of my mouth hook up in amusement.

  “How fucked up are you that you can stand there and smile at the fact I just told you to kill me?” Devon shook her head slightly as she regarded me with a mix of dislike and bewilderment. “What kind of person are you?” she whispered, contempt lacing her voice.

  “I’m a killer.” I picked my coffee up again and took a drink. “Did you forget?” I asked with more bite than I intended.

  “I didn’t see you kill anyone,” Devon answered softly as she placed her elbows on the island and dropped her head into her hands. “I still didn’t see enough for you to be my murderer.”

  She stayed like that for a while as I finished my coffee, her head buried in her hands, her hair falling around her, shielding her from my watchful gaze. Letting out a groan of what I could only guess was frustration, she straightened suddenly and glared at me. The challenge in her eyes was a surprise but intrigued me. I remained where I was as she considered me, time passing quietly between us as her assessment turned speculative. Unhurriedly, her eyes wandered over my body, almost…leisurely. Deliberately, her gaze rested on mine, and she wet her lips before biting her lower lip.

  “I always knew my downfall would be a man too goddamn hot for my own good.” She laughed lightly, as if in rueful acceptance. “And you are definitely hot. Well, you already know I’m attracted to you.” She feigned a blush as she walked around the island and approached me slowly. I didn’t miss the slight sway in her hips or the fact that she pulled her shirt down in the pretence of straightening it but really to show me more cleavage.

  As she pulled her shoulders back and straightened her spine, I reluctantly admired her courage…and her tits, I was a man with a pulse after all. Her eyes ran over me appreciatively again as she rubbed her lips together, considering her next move.

  Devon stepped in closer to me. I didn’t straighten but remained in the position I had been standing in. Leaning casually against the counter, one hand still in my pocket, I noted that I was still taller than her.

  Wetting her lips again, Devon closed the small distance and, tilting her head back slightly, looked up at me. Hesitantly, as if testing my reaction, her hand reached out and rested on my hip. I waited. She was really going through with it. Maybe she was suicidal.

  “And if I’m going to die soon, I deserve this,” she whispered softly. Her hand trailed slowly up my side as she pressed herself closer. I bit back my sigh as I felt her breasts press into my chest. She was going to go with predictable after all.

  “What you’re doing, it won’t work,” I warned her quietly, giving her the chance to stop. Devon’s eyes narrowed slightly, her other hand was now resting against my chest, but give her credit, her hand snaked up to curve around the back of my neck, getting a good feel as she went. Pulling my head down, she lifted herself slightly, her lips inches from mine before I resisted, and she failed to hide her frown.

  My arm snapped around her waist, pulling her tight into me as I ignored her gasp. “Your moves should be quicker, more fluid. Don’t give me time to think about what your motive is,” I told her as I dipped my head, our lips now mere millimetres apart. “Your tongue should be so far down my throat by now, and your other hand should be wrapped around my dick, so that all I would be thinking about is fucking that hot mouth before spreading you wide and fucking you…hard.” I smiled as her eyes widened in alarm at the crudeness of my words. “You still want to try?” I goaded her, pulling her closer. I knew I was holding her too tightly. My hand left my pocket and slipped around her throat as I spoke against her lips. “I’m ready for you to reach for my gun. My hands are on you, as you planned. Are you really stupid enough to test me? Because you’re going to need more than your tits and a promise of your pussy to catch me off guard.” My lips brushed against hers as I again tightened my hold on her throat.

  “I hate you.”

  I bit her bottom lip, my teeth holding on as she whimpered in pain. My hand tangled in her hair as I wrenched her head back, tearing her lip from my hold. Seeing her frightened look, I pushed her away from me, and I watched her stumble as she hurriedly wiped at her mouth. Turning from me in haste, she almost ran to the other side of the kitchen island. Did she think putting it between us would keep her safe?

  “You disappoint me, Devon,” I said as I reached around and withdrew my gun from the back of my pants. Crossing the distance to the island, I placed the gun between us. “I never expected you to try to fuck me and then what…kill me?” I watched her eye the gun as she worried her bottom lip, her tongue testing the skin to ensure I hadn’t made her bleed. “I mean, to fuck someone and then put a bullet in them? That’s fucking cold.” I shook my head in mock despair. “And you say I’m the monster.”

  “You want me to reach for it, don’t you?” Her voice was a strangled whisper, her eyes never leaving the Glock on the counter. “You want me to grab it. Would it make it easier for you if I did? Can you kill me easier if you don’t need to think about it?”

  She wasn’t even two minutes from me having humiliated her, and here she was, challenging me again.

  “When you say grab it, are we still talking about the gun?” I taunted, delighted with the fury of her glare.

  “I was desperate,” she snapped.

  “You should never be that desperate,” I scoffed as I tucked the gun back in my waistband and turned back to the counter. “You survived the streets without whoring yourself out for your life. Why start now?”

  “I wasn’t being continually told I was going to die, that’s why!”
<
br />   “Bullshit, you could have died any night of the fucking week,” I snorted as I faced her again. “You’re not that fucking stupid.”

  “You don’t know me.” Her tortured whisper gave me pause.

  “Tell me.”

  Her head snapped back to mine in surprise. “Make up your mind,” she muttered. “One minute you’re going to kill me, or fuck me, now you want to be my friend? What next? You going to offer to brush my hair?”

  “I’ll still kill you. I was never going to fuck you, and I already cut your hair.” I winked at her and almost laughed as her mouth dropped. “Tell me why you’re homeless, Devon Lancaster.”

  She shook her head. “Why? You don’t care, Raphe. I’m just here for you to play with. Nothing but a toy. As I sit here, scared out of my mind that you’re going to shoot me, or smother me in my sleep, you stand there and make jokes and want to know me?” Devon pushed back from the island and took a few steps back. “You don’t get to know me, Raphe. I have nothing to say to you.” She turned and walked away from me. “Oh”—she turned back—“you’re out of oranges, better go fetch some, and I want more chocolate.”

  Devon crossed the room and climbed the stairs, her back straight and her head held high. Like a fucking queen who owned the room, not the whimpering frightened woman of a few minutes ago. I watched her go, noting with some amusement the sway was back in her hips. I watched her tight ass climb the stairs, adjusting my dick once she was gone. She was definitely a hot piece of ass, and in any other circumstances, I would be buried so fucking deep inside her she would be screaming in ecstasy instead of that pathetic whimper she gave herself the other night as she fucked herself, thinking of me.

  The phone ringing interrupted any more salacious thoughts I had of my guest. “Yeah?”

  “Do you need to meet to discuss the last few days?” Malcolm asked me.

  “No.”

  “I would like to know what happened.”

  “You’re an educated man, Malcolm. I’m sure you can connect the dots.” I heard his inhale of breath, and I knew I was pushing his buttons.

  “There are other matters I would like to discuss with you.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “With her?”

  “Sure.” His obsession with Devon was irritating.

  “Raphe—”

  “Is there anything else you want?” I cut him off.

  “No. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  I hung up on him, tossing the phone on the counter before picking it up again. “Yeah, it’s the penthouse, I need groceries.” I listened as the doorman listed food from the previous week. “And I need candy.” I listened to the silence. “You got a problem?” I asked him tersely. When he assured me he didn’t and I would have everything within an hour, I hung up.

  Later, after restocking the fridge and freezer, I settled into the recliner in the den. I was concentrating on the file on my laptop when I heard the scream of frustration from the main living area. Smirking to myself, I guessed Devon just realised the front door was no longer going to open for her. I heard her kicking it, and my smile grew as I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, listening to her kick the shit out of a door. A crash caused me to chuckle as she had obviously flung something. Frowning as I thought about it…the decorative bowl on the coffee table, I surmised. I’d replace it. Actually, I wouldn’t. Aiden could go fuck himself. It was his fault she was smashing his things.

  “Where the hell are you?” I heard her screeching. Ahh, she thought I was gone again. She was going to be in for a rude awakening when she calmed down.

  Another crash. I started laughing as I realised she was completely enraged. I heard her running footsteps approach the den before she suddenly stopped in the doorway.

  “Having a smashing time?” I deadpanned without looking at her.

  She recovered well. “I can’t get out.”

  “Did you do well in school?” I provoked her further as I made a show of considering her. “You sure got the smarts.”

  “I need to go to work.” Her arms crossed her chest stubbornly as she ignored my slights.

  “Did you hear nothing I said this morning?”

  “You cannot keep me here, I will get out.” She paced towards me angrily. “You leave, it’s what you do. When you leave and come back next time, I promise you, I won’t be here.”

  Closing the laptop, I set it aside and stood, towering over her. “And who’s letting you out?” I asked her softly as I tipped her head back to look at me. “Hmm? Davina Courtney Lannister, from the back ass of nowhere, Gladedale, Nevada. Your town has less than eight hundred people in it. Surprising it took me so long to find you considering, what with you being a former athlete at school and all.” I watched the panic chase across her face before she tried to close her emotions off. “How’s Lance?” I asked her conversationally. “After you drove off the road high, did you even wait until he was discharged from the hospital? Or did you run the minute they let you out of custody?” Devon jumped back from me, her eyes flicking to the door in panic. “Oh wait, that’s right.” I watched her. “You ran, of course you did.” I sneered at her with contempt. “Do you even know if he woke up from the coma? The coma that you put him in?”

  “You know nothing about me,” she seethed. “Nothing!”

  “I know you run. What I don’t know is why you didn’t run when Aiden took you to the bistro. Why would you stay?” I tilted my head as I considered her before I continued. “Your blood test came back positive, you had drugs in your system. Why would they let you out?”

  Devon stood in front of me, her head bowed. I saw the tears drip off her chin and dampen her shirt, but she remained silent.

  “He beat you?” I asked. She didn’t react. “Cheat on you?” Still nothing. “You’ve no actual family. Foster system, same foster family for three years before you turned eighteen. They must have liked you. Kept you with them when you went to Nevada State College. You and Lance, at college together. Foster family washed their hands of you when you put your high school sweetheart in a coma though. Some people have hard limits, I guess.”

  “Am I supposed to be impressed that you think you know my life?” Devon asked as she stood there, eyes still fixed on the floor. Seemingly broken and defenceless. “Easier to kill me now? I’m as much a monster as you, aren’t I?” She raised her head, locking eyes with me. “Is that what you were waiting for? Justification for your kill?”

  I reached out, catching her wrist and pulling her closer to me with no resistance. “I’ve never needed a reason to kill someone before, I don’t need one for you.” I watched the tears spill over and felt no remorse. “You try so hard to get me to react, Davina,” I told her as I gently wiped the tears from her face. “Lance died three weeks after you ran. He never regained consciousness.” I smiled coldly down at her. “You’re not a monster like me. You’re a killer...like me.”

  “My name is Devon. Davina died four years ago,” Devon told me with a slight shake of her head.

  She couldn’t however hide the pain in her eyes as she spoke. As I watched her drop onto the seat and sob into her hands, I couldn’t repress my desire to know more. I’d find my answers whether she was willing or not. Devon was twenty-six years old, she’d been in Denver for almost two years. She’d killed her boyfriend after a car accident, because she was high when she was twenty-two. Where had she been between Gladedale and Denver? I didn’t know, and she wasn’t prepared to talk. Yet.

  Watching her fall apart, I knew I would solve the puzzle that was Davina Courtney Lannister.

  Lance was dead. I was aware that Raphe was standing over me, watching. Always freaking watching.

  I hadn’t killed him.

  Either Lance four years ago or Raphe downstairs earlier.

  I had tried to seduce Raphe for his gun. I only wanted to get my hands on it and threaten him until he let me out. I could tie a good knot, secure him, but how I was going to tie him up and keep a gun on him, I hadn’t figured out.<
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  I hadn’t secured any rope either. Actually, it had been a terrible plan. A true act of desperation. I felt cheap and dirty after it. I couldn’t deny I had been a little turned on, he was solid muscle under that black shirt, and when his lips had caressed mine, even with his hand around my throat, my tummy had flipped with excitement. He was a killer, and I was getting hot and bothered over him. It was that screaming reminder in my brain that had made me lose my temper.

  With him.

  With myself.

  I had tried to seduce him. Once again, I was left contemplating what was wrong with me when it came to the man. In the safety of my room, I had washed my face, brushed my hair, and checked the time. I was going to be late for work. When I realised the door was locked against me, I don’t even know why it surprised me. Of course, he would have changed my access. The controlling bastard.

  And then I heard his soft laughter. He was laughing at me.

  I ran to the den, completely forgetting the knife I had been going for. I had stopped dead when I saw him. Sitting on the recliner, a laptop in his lap, looking completely relaxed.

  Was it possible to appreciate someone’s good looks while also considering where to bury his body?

  And then he had suffocated my raging anger with a blanket of knowledge. He knew who I was. I had remained hidden for years, and now this asshole had the upper hand, again.

  “Is it with relief or regret that you cry?”

  I huffed out a laugh despite myself. He was a cold bastard. I needed to learn how to be as emotionless as him. “I won’t lie, I’m not sad he’s dead.” Rubbing my eyes, I stood. “But if you think I’m telling you why, you can kiss my ass.”

  “Ass play? Is that your kink?”

  “You’re a pig,” I told him as I walked past him.

  “Where you going?”

  “Back to my cell, jailer. Happy?” I flicked him the finger as I left him, not bothering to wait for an answer.

  Keeping my back and my head straight, I climbed the stairs. I had learned if I kept a straight posture, I didn’t need to see the backless stair. It made going up the stairs easier. Back in the bedroom, I closed the door and flopped onto the bed. Four days, I had kept that job, I thought with remorse. It wasn’t a record, not for me. In Phoenix, I had lasted three hours in one bar. On the fifth grope of my ass from the bar manager, I had simply put my apron on the counter and walked out. No pay was good enough to endure wandering hands. I didn’t care if I was sleeping in an abandoned car at the time.