Hell Hath No Fury
The Devilish Divas Series, Book 7
M.J. Schiller
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Copyright © 2019 by Mary Jean Schiller All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
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eBook ISBN: 9781644571736
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Before You Go…
Satan's Spawn
Also by M.J. Schiller
About the Author
Chapter 1
Kyle and Sam
Kyle
It is the best of times, it is the worst of times. It is being married to one Samantha Neaman Scofield for going on five years. It is the best because she is lovely, vivacious, flat out wickedly crazy, and she’s all mine. It is the worst of times because even though we’ve exchanged wedding vows, her ex-husband keeps trying to worm his way into our marriage by causing disruption and discord. In a word, he’s a total dick.
But at the moment, life with Sam was on a high, because my baby was coming to pick me up at the airport after a long road trip. I’m an NHL referee, and that takes me away from her far more than I want to be.
I heard her before I saw her car glide to the curb, and it made me smile. The music was louder than the pump-up music the hockey players listened to before a game. And that was deafening. In fact, I’m pretty sure my hearing has been affected after so many years. As I stepped off the curb and grabbed the door handle, she lowered the volume to a more reasonable level. But it was an illusion. One of her “favorite” songs would come on by the time we hit the exit and she would have that sucker back to concert level decibels. That’s my Sam. I opened the rear door and swung my duffle bag onto the seat, looking at her with a grin.
“Hey. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
She gave me a sexy smile. “Hey, yourself, handsome.”
I closed the rear door, opened the front, and slid in next to her. I leaned over to give her a kiss and zoom! She had me as turned on as a monkey at the Chiquita factory. I slipped my hand from the side of her face to behind her neck and under her hair. She was wearing it long now and I liked it. But, long, short, it doesn’t matter. She simply has a magnetism about her. Can she be frustrating? Hell, yeah. But so can I.
The top five things I like about her are, one, she’s sexy as hell. She has this devilish glint in her chocolate brown eyes which about does me in. Her irises are so dark they’re almost black, but they sparkle with humor most of the time. Sam is super well put together and stylish. If someone would have told me I’d fall in love with a high-maintenance fashionista before I met Sam, I would have called them a fool. I was a pretty simple guy. But something about the way Samantha demands and expects attention tickles me for some odd reason. I’ll never understand why.
The second reason I am head over heels for her is, she doesn’t give a damn about what people think about her. Her best friend Dani and I could get outright stupid with her when she was in a silly mood and the three of us would act like children. Annoying to some, sure. But it was so freeing. Somewhere deep inside, we’re all still children. Some choose to keep it hidden, while we weren’t afraid to let it come out. Frequently.
Three, she is smart. Some of the dumbest things anybody’s ever said before have come out of her mouth, but, despite that fact, she is highly intelligent, and I value that. Coming of age in Chicago she learned the score early in life and could adapt to almost any situation. The only man she would ever be vulnerable with was me, which was an honor I didn’t deserve. But I wasn’t about to tell her that.
The fourth thing I love about her is her devotion to her friends. She loves with a fierceness few have seen, and she’d lay down her life without hesitation for those she cared for. Now, would she start a fight at a bar and then hightail it outa there to leave me to deal with the fallout? Yes. But if I was ever really in danger, she’d be by my side. I knew that. And if a friend was out of sorts, she’d be the first one to show up on their doorstep with a bottle of tequila and a bleeding heart. She’d cry with them and offer to kill their enemies. She always said she knew people who could make that happen, and I didn’t doubt her. Tough as nails and softer than a baby’s bottom at the same time. Those kinds of contradictions fascinated me. I could often predict her behavior or reaction to a particular situation, but sometimes she would still surprise me. That’s what keeps things fresh. Like when we first began dating and I broke my leg. She was a caring nurse. But as soon as I began to get better, she was the first one to say, “Get it yourself, you big baby.” I chuckled at the thought. She is amazing.
And did I say she is sexy as hell? When she walks into a room, everyone knows it. She has this self-confident saunter, a way of flicking her hair back, and a smile which can cast a spell on even the celibate. She can rub people the wrong way at times. Especially other women. But for the most part, she can wheedle and charm her way out of about anything. She could work a person in such a way they knew they were being worked, but they’d go along with whatever she said anyway. I watched her do it many a time and admired it. The rules didn’t apply to Sam. Which was strange because Dani, her partner in crime for some of her naughtier schemes, was a consummate rule follower, and my job was to adhere to the regulation book. But the book went out the window with Samantha. She has no filter, and she could be tactless, but people knew where they stood with her.
I honestly don’t know how I landed her, except that I was daring enough to approach her in the first place, despite the fact that she was way out of my league. And, while I’d let her try to manipulate me at times, I wouldn’t let her walk all over me, and she seemed to respect that.
And I’m good in the sack, so there’s that.
But I wasn’t thinking about that exactly at the moment. Couldn’t think about much when her lips were on mine, or on any other part of my body. I withdrew a little, and my voice was rough when I spoke. “I can’t wait to get you home, strip you down, and haul you off to bed.”
“That may be a smidge embarrassing in front of the kids. And probably raise some questions you aren’t prepared to answer.”
“They’re home?” I made an effort to keep the disappointment hidden. Besides, part of me was happy at the thought of seeing them. Sam had two boys, twenty-two and twenty-five, and one daughter, whose sunny smile always melted my heart. Elise was a high school junior.
“They wanted to see you.” Someone honked. She waved out the window. “Cool your jets.” We were in a pickup and drop-off lane, but there were those pesky rules again. The ones she chose to ignore. “You’ve been gone a while, you know. They’ve missed you.” Checking her side-view mirror she pulled into traffic. The guy behind us gave her one last irritated honk. “Yeah. Hope you have a nice day, too. Asshole!” She yelled out the window.
I sighed. “You don’t have to tell me I’ve been gone a while. My bones ache with every mile.” She raised an eyebrow, but remained silent. “I’ve missed them, too. When does Ry have to be on campus again?”
“Tomorrow.” She changed lanes to whiz around a Miata. I purposely looked away. Her driving drove me nuts. Like the fact that she was sitting right now shoeless with her left foot on the seat, knee bent and leg resting against the door. She had one hand loosely gripping the wheel and the other was playing with her hair.
“Oh.” I was disappointed. Ryan and I had a rough start, but we’d grown closer since the wedding.
Sam glanced over and patted my knee. “I told you that.”
“I know.” I stared out the window to my right. “But I wish we had more time.” But his grad school classes began on Monday and he needed to get back. He and Jake would both be graduating in May. Jake with a bachelor’s in business, Ryan with a masters in broadcast journalism. At least we had Elise for a little while yet.
“We’ll have to make the best of the time we have.” She patted my leg again, then returned her hand to the steering wheel briefly, but Matchbox Twenty’s “Real World” came on and she rushed to pump it up. “All of us wish the real world would just stop hassling us, Rob Thomas.” She spoke to the lead singer. “You need to deal like the rest of us.”
This was kind of our thing. Well, the two of us and Dani. Well, the two of us, Dani, and anyone else who knew us for very long. But mostly Sam, Dani, and I. We analyzed the lyrics on the radio, pointing out how ludicrous it would be if they were actual statements.
I joined in. “And dude, you are totally going in the wrong direction with the whole storing rain in boxes thing. Those’ll leak, and then what do you have?”
“Wet boxes,” she answered.
“Exactly.” I rubbed her shoulder, bare except for the thin strap of her tank. “I missed this. The other refs look at me strangely when I analyze music.” Rob Thomas’s voice reminded me of something, and I straightened. “For example—” I waved at the radio. “—Matchbox Twenty’s ‘Push’ came on, and I was like, way to put it out there, Rob Thomas. No trying to hide your anger issues for you.”
“Agreed. It’s refreshing to be like, ‘so I want to push you around and take you for granted, you good with that?’ At least he’s being upfront about his intentions.”
I took her hand, brought it to my lips, and kissed it. “Nobody understands me but you, baby.”
“I know.” She switched lanes without checking. “You’d think, with the world the way it is today, they’d teach music analysis in school.”
The corner of my mouth lifted. “Yeah. Like keep that stupid…math and science out of it. No one needs that shit, anyway. Now, lyrical interpretation…that’s the way to go.”
“Maybe we should open a school.”
I gave her a faux frown. “And share our song dissection talents with just anyone?”
She glanced at me and nodded. “True. Let’s keep it for ourselves. Screw the rest of the world.”
I grinned and we continued with the same kind of nonsense for a while. I was listening to the music and trying to come up with some brilliant new commentary about Steve Miller’s “The Joker,”—which we examined on several different occasions—when I became aware she was being uncharacteristically quiet. I peeked at her and—I can’t even say exactly what it was that alerted me. Maybe a hint of tension on her face, or the way her gaze flicked from the rearview mirror, to the road, to something in the scenery whizzing by at whatever unconscionable speed she was driving at. Whatever it was, she was no longer engaging with me because she was brooding about something.
I sighed and turned to peer out my window. Should I ask her what she was thinking about, aware the result would be an argument? Or let her stew until she boiled over? Neither option appealed to me in the slightest. While I formulated arguments for and against each side she broke into my thoughts.
“So. Was it a…pleasant trip?”
To anyone else it would seem innocuous, but I recognized the slight undertone. The almost imperceptible trace of tightness in her voice. The inflection. The subtle nuances I once didn’t recognize but repetition made painfully clear to me. I knew what was coming, and hadn’t a clue as to how to prevent it.
“Uhh…yeah. I guess,” I deflected, though it was useless. Once Sam got onto something she would stay with it with more tenacity than a lion with its kill.
“Mmm.” The tautness of her jaw increased a fraction. She glanced to the side. “Good games?”
I tried to think about them, but I was so distracted by her behavior, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember a single play. “Uhh…yeah.” I frowned, concentrating, and remembered I got a right cross to the jaw while trying to separate two defensemen hell-bent on removing each other’s heads from their nearly non-existent necks, but I wouldn’t tell her that. She’d worry. “I had to make some tough calls, but…you know….” I trailed off, fighting the agitation climbing my throat.
“I see.” She checked lanes before switching, a sure sign things were askew. “Sleep well?” The words came out slowly and precisely.
I rubbed my brow, slumping in my seat. Damn. Why was this happening again? “Yes,” I answered, unable to keep the defensiveness out of my voice. “You?”
“Of course I did.”
Still turned away from her, I rolled my eyes. Here we go. I refuse to take the bait.
“The dog didn’t wake you?” She had a Morkie, which she carried around in a purse from time to time. The mini dog carrier was pink, with rhinestones spelling out “#MorkieMama.” I ribbed her about it, but I secretly thought the way she cared for the scrap of fur was rather endearing. Another juxtaposition to the tough South Chicago babe she led people to believe she was.
“She always sleeps well when you’re gone.”
My head whipped around. That one surprised me. “What? I’m the one who makes her want to pee in the middle of the night?”
She shrugged.
“Yeah, right,” I mumbled. For days I’d been dying to get home to her. Now all I wanted was to be anywhere else. This passive-aggressive bullshit drove me crazy. Give me two guys going toe-to-toe at center ice anytime over this crap.
“What’s your problem?” she snapped.
“What’s my problem?” I countered. “I don’t have a problem.”
“And I do?”
I caught the glint of a tear in her eye. Dammit. Why does it have to be like this?
To be honest, it hurt. I loved her so much. All I wanted to do was be with her and show her that, but it was never good enough. True, I came on board knowing that asshole of an ex had screwed her up big time. She made that plenty clear the time she ran off on me after we first made love. Honestly, who wouldn’t be a mess when the person they loved and trusted most in the world betrayed them? I mean, I despised the guy. I can’t believe he…with her best friend! The thought of it had me seething.
But I believed I could deal with her baggage. I didn’t realize it would eat away at all that was special between us. I thought the “I dos” made it clear that I don’t. I don’t want any other woman. I don’t want to ever hurt her the way that son of a bitch did. I don’t intend to do anything but love her ’til my dying breath. Thing was, I was dying already. Or
at least what we had was dying, and I wasn’t far behind.
“Sam….” I didn’t know what to say. It had all been said before. Ad nauseam.
She made a sharp turn, throwing me against my door. She was flying up our driveway. I hadn’t even realized we were so close to home. Ryan was crossing the lawn with an armful of crap to pack in his car. He glanced over but didn’t seem alarmed by her erratic driving. Probably because that was how she drove most of the time anyway. He smiled at the blur that was me and lifted his chin in acknowledgement, as his hands were full, preventing him from waving. Sam smashed the brakes once in the garage, bringing our ride to an abrupt stop, the license plate kissing the far wall.
I shifted toward her, putting my arm on top of the seat. “Sam…?”
She threw the door open without replying, slammed it, and stomped into the house.
I stared at the closed door and sighed. “Damn.” I dropped my head, shaking it then pinching the bridge of my nose. Her ex, Bill—in my mind I said his name mockingly—was constantly feeding her insecurities—the insecurities he created—suggesting I was cheating on her whenever I was on the road. Or at the grocery store. Or in the friggin’ back yard, for that matter. She told me as much. And I got that she had to be civil to the guy to a degree, for the kids’ sake. But did she need to let him infiltrate her brain and attack every good thought she had about me?
Undermining. It was Bill’s forte. He needed one of those hats with a light on it because he was a miner, digging, prying, chipping away at our shoring. Subtle. Devious. Total wuss move. He’d never come right out and commit to a frontal attack because he wasn’t man enough. He was more the behind the scenes manipulator, because he’d never want anyone to think anything negative about him. His ego prohibited it. It was all about appearances. A smoke screen for the black, empty soul he had. He was a weasel stealing eggs from the hen house. A piranha lurking under the surface.
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