Sympathy For The Devil

by King, Asha

  The tip of the switchblade bit into her throat and Tash held still, not daring to move at all.

  “How should I cut her?” Leo dragged the knife along her neck. “Fast? Let her bleed out at your feet? Or...” The knife moved downward, well out of her view, but she felt the tip sliding across her chest to her bare abdomen, not deep enough to cut but still stinging. “...slow? Maybe you’ll carry her back in time for help?”

  His grip on her hair tightened and she tried not to let it show on her face, but fire raced along her scalp and she yelped.

  Devin shifted, rocking on his feet as if he debated darting forward. She had no doubt Leo would kill her in an instant if he tried.

  “I did Chelsea slow,” he continued. “Made it last.”

  Devin’s jaw twitched and she felt Leo shifting at her back, just waiting for any movement.

  Tash grasped what she could of the rope over her head and swung back suddenly, knocking Leo into the wall behind her. Pain lanced her stomach and blood trickled but it was only a scratch; the knife clattered at her feet and she kicked it across the shed.

  Devin moved, rushing toward them. Leo’s fist swung past her; she screamed, knocked him back again, driving her entire body into his extended arm.

  Chaos erupted, her awkward position making it difficult to follow the scuffle taking place at her back. The rope suddenly slackened and the ring holding the other end banged against the wall as the men fought against it. She slumped forward, falling painfully on her knees. Her arms were nearly numb as they fell, her bound wrists coming to rest in front of her. She hadn’t time to think—she didn’t even pause to breathe with relief. Instead she fought onto her feet again, diving for Leo’s switchblade.

  Her hands were swollen and falling asleep, the rope cutting off circulation. Still, they obeyed her command, grasping the knife’s handle. She twisted the blade, got it between her wrists, and sliced at the rope. It frayed, threads popping loose, and her gaze shot up again.

  Leo was battered but not the way Devin was; her lover was bleeding, his blood painting the floor with every movement.

  Tash abandoned her sawing through the rope and twisted the switchblade around again, then fought her way to her feet. She staggered forward, dove at Leo, and sank the tip of the knife into his shoulder blade.

  He roared with pain, elbowed her in the face, and she went down, losing the knife in the process. Her hands were slick with blood, slippery as she weakly plucked at the rope again and tried to twist out of it.

  The wound was at least enough to slow Leo; as he turned toward her, glaring down, Devin grasped the opportunity and slammed into the other man. He tossed him forward, onto the hard shed floor, and grasped the knife. As Leo surged to his feet, blood pouring from his shoulder, Devin thrust the knife up.

  The blade hit home, sinking into his heart. For a moment Leo froze, blinking, and staggered backward before falling. The shed rattled again as he struck the wall and stared unblinking up at the ceiling.

  Every single part of her body ached and the pain rushed at her suddenly from all directions. Tears fell freely and Tash’s shoulders slumped, her adrenaline high fading.

  Arms came around her and she sank gratefully into them. Devin pulled at the rope until he had it free from her wrists, and blood rushed back to her hands.

  “You’re bleeding,” she whispered.

  “I’m okay. The police are coming. I called them a second time when I saw the shed—they know where to go. It’s okay.”

  She clung to him and they both stared at the body, unwilling to look away even as the authorities at last arrived.

  Epilogue

  Fresh air blasted through the farmhouse’s master bedroom.

  The heat hadn’t really let up but a strong breeze tossed the summer air about. Curtains fluttered in the open windows, the panes rattling restlessly like old ghosts.

  Devin stood in the doorway, surveying the mostly-empty bedroom.

  The closet was cleaned out and packed up, boxes stacked in the hallway. Mattress stripped, bedding discarded. SALVATION ARMY was written in bold black marker on the sides of all the boxes except for two. One contained personal items of Chelsea’s he didn’t feel it appropriate to keep but couldn’t part with. They’d be buried deep on the edge of the property, his way of parting with them respectfully. The other were items of hers—of theirs—he felt it okay to keep. A couple of her favorite books, dog-eared and cracked-spines. Photos of them she’d tucked in a drawer.

  And her wedding ring, which she’d stopped wearing upon his moving out—he’d tuck that in a box with his. It would probably sit in a closet, collecting dust and mostly forgotten, but he was okay with that. Because he had loved her. He’d made vows to her. And while the past was gone, he could still honor that memory. It wasn’t something he’d let plague him day to day, but he wouldn’t ignore it either.

  His shoulders were lighter, and the painful pinch in his heart hadn’t entirely abated but didn’t sting quite so badly. The room was cleaned out. He felt like he should be crying, staring at the last place she had felt “real” and alive to him, but strangely he didn’t. Maybe it was because years had passed and, despite denying it, he’d been ready. Maybe it was because he finally accepted that keeping her room intact wasn’t bringing her back. He couldn’t even picture her there any longer.

  With a sigh, Devin turned back to the hall. He had tons of shit to drop at the secondhand store, and paint for the master bedroom to pick up, and all of it was taking twice as long with the healing stab wounds in his side and his leg. Just a few stitches, nothing dangerously deep, but a pain in the ass when he had shit to do. He collected a stack of boxes and headed downstairs with them. Steps creaked beneath his boots, the sound familiar. He wouldn’t hear it too many more times now—the house was almost ready. He wasn’t convinced he could sell it, still. Even with his name cleared and realtors tentatively sniffing around, Stirling Falls was a real small town. Few would want to live in a house belonging to a murder victim.

  Regardless, it was out of his hands. The land was good. Whoever bought it could tear down the house and rebuild if they liked. Create something new.

  He was done with it.

  Devin trudged across the hall, turned so he could back out the screen door with the boxes, and stepped onto the porch.

  Past the high-stacked cardboard, he glimpsed a car next to his and a woman leaning against the hood.

  His throat constricted but he continued on, past her, to toss the boxes in the bed of his truck. He gave it a few extra moments, arranging the boxes just so, before he turned to face her.

  Natasha looked fantastic, as always. The sun must’ve been hot on her black tank top and dark red cropped pants, but the strong breeze stirred her curly black hair. Dark sunglasses hid her eyes from view. Bruises were dark on her face, but they would fade and heal.

  He approached, covering half of the five feet between them.

  She tipped her head back, gazing up at him behind those shades. “Any buyers?”

  “There’s interest. No offers yet.”

  “Give them time. So...” She toed the gravel between them. “...what now? Back to the city?”

  Her voice was light. Too light. Too casual. And the emotion lodged in his throat eased just a little, enough that he could breathe.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. And took a step closer.

  Her body language spoke more than words had, relaxing and softening. “You’ll maybe stay for a little while?”

  Closer still. “If I’m wanted.”

  A small smile curved her lips. “I’m here to ask you if you want to swing by and visit Dani and the baby. Adam invited you. Olive branch.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “He’s sorry but he’ll probably need time to adjust. The invite is for real, though. We can stop and pick up a card. Some flowers.”

  We. He moved closer still, his hands folding on her hips. She took in a sharp breath but remained soft in his grip. He
plucked her sunglasses from her face, set them on the hood of her car at her back. Her hands came out to touch his sides, grasping a handful of his T-shirt in each. She smelled like soap from a fresh shower, and he leaned closer, breathing her in. She pulled at him, tilted her head back until his lips grazed hers.

  He wouldn’t tell her yet, but he loved her. He’d known before he had a word for it, before wanting to admit it. Things were still new, they were still new, and now wasn’t the time for it. But soon. Soon, he’d tell her. For the immediate future, he’d show her.

  They kissed deeply, the dance of his demand and her yield both familiar and comfortable.

  “Devin,” she said softly as she pulled back, and met his eyes. “The baby. It’s a girl. Her...her name is Chelsea Sharise.”

  He let out a breath, stifled it before it could turn into a sigh. He kissed her again, briefly, and took her hand. “My truck? I’ll drive, you give me directions to their house.”

  “Sure.”

  Chelsea Sharise. His former brother-in-law’s little girl, new to the world, carrying the name of the aunt she’d never know. Things changed. Life moved on. Grief had its place.

  So did letting go.

  About the Author

  Asha King likes good-looking men and hot books, and often strives to combine the two in contemporary, paranormal, and suspenseful romantic stories. She lives in the exotic land of Alberta, Canada, where she doesn’t ride a polar bear to work but does drink vast amounts of locally brewed beer and watches hockey.

  She loves connecting with readers and you can keep up to date with her on her blog at ashaking.blogspot.com, where you’ll find a list of what she’s working on, including her new paranormal romance series, Cats & Conjure.

  Now Available:

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  With no memory, no identity, the woman he comes to call Rebecca knows just one thing: she mustn’t be found. A darkness haunts her nightmares, one that follows her into wakefulness, and the longer she’s with Mark, the more likely she is to draw him into the danger that nearly got her killed.

  If she leaves the safety of Mark’s home, if anyone finds out where she is, she knows her death will be brutal and inevitable... But if she stays, she’s just as in danger of losing her heart and risking both their lives.