Heart of the Devil

by Meghan March

  I’ve never cared about the methods I used to acquire anything in my life. The ends have always justified the means. But this time, I fucking care.

  She gave me a gift tonight, and what have I given her in return?

  Manipulation. Hidden truths. Enemies.

  I fucked up. I thought I could control everything, and I was wrong.

  After dressing, I slip out of the bedroom and head to my office. Indy will sleep for hours with the dark curtains blocking the already rising sun, but there’s no chance of rest for me. I don’t deserve that either. Not until I have answers.

  Federov’s words haunt me as I shut the door soundlessly and make my way to the desk. Yuri Pallovich’s wallet lays open on the wood, mocking me. Telling me I fucked up. I shouldn’t have ever allowed Indy to be in danger. That’s on me, and I’ll never forgive myself for it.

  I boot up my laptop and find an email from Federov. The message, sent twelve minutes ago, has only a phone number and three words: Call me now.

  I don’t have my cell phone, because it’s lost somewhere in Prague, so I unearth a backup from my desk and punch in Federov’s number. Sliding open the floor-to-ceiling glass door in my office, I step outside. The morning sun rises behind me, turning the rippling waves into diamond-topped peaks.

  I lift the phone to my ear and connect the call.

  Federov answers on the second ring. “We have information.”

  “Impressive.”

  “Not impressive. Necessary. My people work fast when my daughter’s life is at risk.”

  I think of how he begged me to get his daughter back on that conference call that seems like it happened years ago. He gave me the name his daughter had been using, and I knew his information was inaccurate because I’d just given India Baptiste a check for a million dollars.

  That’s when I really started digging into the woman who intrigued me against my will and learned about her sister. I saw my opening. Federov’s weakness, which was also quickly becoming my fascination, was ripe to be exploited. I seized the opportunity and brought Indy under my control the most effective way I knew how. I married her.

  It was strictly business.

  Until it wasn’t.

  “Tell me everything.”

  “You will not like it.”

  “Federov . . .” I say his name on a growl.

  “Yuri Pallovich is part of the Bratva that supplies Bastien de Vere with ecstasy, MDMA, and whatever else he’s trafficking in that month.”

  “Are you sure? There’s no other connection to anyone else? To you?”

  “Not that we can find yet. But I am sure that he will come after you again. De Vere shows no signs of stopping now, and my daughter is in danger because of you.”

  Every word out of Federov’s mouth is a jab, which is exactly as he intends. I exploited his weakness, and now he’s zeroing in on mine.

  “You think I don’t know that?” I bite out. “She’ll be protected.”

  “I’m sure that’s what you thought before. I will send security to watch over her. Men whose loyalty is absolute.”

  My molars threaten to crack as my jaw clenches. “She’s my wife. I’ll take care of her.”

  “Like you took care of her in Prague? I find her in a fucking veterinarian’s office where she was hiding with a bleeding bodyguard who could not protect her!” His voice grows louder and angrier with each reminder of how I failed her. “She was at the mercy of whoever got to her first. What kind of man allows that to happen to his wife?”

  An iron fist grips my heart and squeezes. “It won’t happen again.”

  “I do not believe you, Forge. You started this to get the advantage over me. If you have any honor at all, you know what you must do now. This is not about business anymore. This is about keeping my daughter safe from an enemy that targets her only because of you. If you have no honor, I will force your hand.”

  My teeth grind together. “This conversation is over.”

  “It is not over until you do the right thing.”

  I end the call and stare out at the glimmering sea separating Isaac’s island from Ibiza. He taught me about honor. Taught me to be a man of my word. What would he have thought of what I’ve done to India?

  Like he was standing beside me, the breeze ruffles my hair.

  Do the right thing.

  When have I ever cared about that? Or honor?

  “I guess we’ll see if I have any in me.”

  17

  India

  Waking to a dark room and an empty bed wasn’t how I planned to start the day. I dreamed about being wrapped in Jericho’s arms, and had hoped to awaken the same way, but his side of the bed is untouched.

  Where did he sleep? Did he sleep at all? Is he hurting?

  I roll over to check the time on the nightstand clock. Already after noon. No wonder he’s not in bed. The fact that he let me sleep in feels so domestic, and a warm, content feeling wraps around me at the kind gesture. Still, I wish he’d woken me so I could take care of him. I have a strong suspicion that the man doesn’t know how to slow down, even when he’s injured.

  After a quick pit stop in the bathroom and another in the closet to find a tank and a pair of shorts, I make a mental note that I need to bring the rest of my clothes here. The meager supplies I have are getting repetitive pretty quickly.

  Before, it would have felt wrong to go back to my apartment and box up my things to bring them here, but now . . . that’s exactly what I plan to do. This is my home.

  I meander out into the hallway, intent on finding my husband, but I spot Dorsey first.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Forge,” she says with a smile, balancing a case of water on her hip. A canvas grocery sack slides off her shoulder. “Is there anything you need?”

  “No, but do you need a hand?”

  She shifts the bag and readjusts the water as she shakes her head. “No. I’m fine. Just getting a few things for Goliath. He’s opted to stay here for his recovery, rather than listening to Mr. Forge and go elsewhere.”

  “How is Goliath doing? Is he okay?” A rush of guilt washes over me. I never should have insisted on going to Prague.

  “As grumpy as a lion with a thorn in his paw, but he’ll be fine. The doctor was already here to check on him, and said he’ll recover just fine. Mr. Forge got a clean bill of health too, and he has the doc on standby should Goliath need anything. He also called Donnigan, Koba, and Bates’s families,” she says with a sad expression etching lines around her mouth.

  This time the guilt doesn’t come as a rush, but a stab to the heart. “Oh God. I should’ve . . . I should’ve been there. It was my fault.”

  Dorsey’s chin snaps up, and she stares at me in disbelief. “They were doing their jobs, ma’am. They all know the risks they face.”

  “Still . . .” I wrap my arms around my torso. “I wish I could take it all back.”

  “Are you looking for Mr. Forge?” Dorsey asks, changing the subject before the tears shimmering in my eyes can fall.

  “Yes, if you could point me in his direction, that would be great.”

  “He’s in his office, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Dorsey.”

  She gives me a polite nod, and then disappears into the kitchen. I assume she’s heading out through the back of the house to bring Goliath his supplies in his small house that’s part of the employee compound at the rear of the island.

  I make my way to the office and find the door closed. When I knock, I’m met with silence.

  Okay . . . maybe Dorsey was wrong?

  I back away to continue my search, but I don’t make it two steps before the heavy wooden door swings open behind me with Jericho filling the threshold. I spin around to face him, and he doesn’t look like he slept at all. His eyes are bloodshot and his dark hair is a wild mess, like he’s been jamming his hands into it over and over.

  “Are you okay?” I ask him quietly.

  “We need to talk.” The grim tone matches Jerich
o’s appearance, and my stomach dips as I follow him into his office. He shuts the door behind me with an ominous click.

  “Okay. Whatever you need.”

  He doesn’t look at me until he rounds his desk and sits behind it like he’s purposely putting distance between us. But why? Apprehension swirls in my chest.

  Jericho pulls a manila folder out of the drawer and slides it across the wood toward me.

  “What’s that?”

  He nods at the folder. “You need to sign it.”

  “Okay . . . what is it?”

  Jericho flips it open and spins it around to face me.

  I take two steps closer on unsteady legs and look down at the document.

  * * *

  Petition for Divorce

  * * *

  I blink three times, but the title of the document doesn’t change.

  I jerk my head up to stare at him. His haggard appearance has a completely different meaning than it did only seconds ago. Disbelief tears through me as my hands go clammy and my stomach lurches, sending acid burning up my throat.

  “What . . . why . . .”

  “Because I want a divorce.”

  I choke on the sour taste in my mouth as he says the words. This isn’t happening. I’m still dreaming. Right? I pinch my arm, and the sting tells me I’m wide awake.

  “I . . . I don’t understand. Why?”

  His gaze turns flinty. “I never should have married you to begin with. It was a mistake.”

  A mistake.

  My lower lip wobbles as I try to speak, but no words come out. But Jericho—no, this is Forge—doesn’t need me to respond. He keeps going.

  “I promised you a hundred seventy-five million, but I’ve doubled it to three fifty. Half will be deposited into your account as soon as you sign. The other half when it’s final.”

  I search the harsh planes and angles of his face for an explanation as to how he could do this now, but there’s nothing there except his rigid jaw and eyes like the sea at midnight. Fathomless. Bottomless. Completely empty.

  “I don’t understand. What the hell is really going on here?” I shake my head, like it’s going to help me come up with a rational reason. Then one hits me.

  The deal with my father. Jericho only needed me as long as it took for him to close the deal.

  My stomach twists, and I stumble back. “You signed it, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. Now you need to sign.” Jericho shoves the papers toward the edge of the desk and tosses a pen on top of them.

  “You used me, and as soon as you got what you wanted, you’re throwing me out.” I choke on the words, and my voice is thick with tears. Frozen fingers wrap around my heart and rend it in half. But my devastation has no effect on him.

  He stares at me from behind his desk, his hands gripping the arms of his leather chair, like I’m nothing. “I told you, I made a mistake. I’m fixing it.”

  I jab a finger at him. “You’re an asshole. A fucking asshole. You get my father to sign the deal, and then you just—”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks, bending forward. “I didn’t sign the deal with your father. We haven’t done shit with it since before Prague.”

  Blood roars in my ears as I try to put the pieces together. “Then . . . then why . . .” I look down at the papers in front of me.

  He didn’t sign the deal, and he still wants me gone. It makes what’s happening a hundred times worse.

  “We can’t be married.” His declaration echoes in the room, and there’s no mistaking his words.

  Searing-hot rage rises from the very depths of my soul.

  I snatch the petition off the desk. “So you’re just going to shove this at me like I’m nothing? Like we’re nothing? What the fuck is going on, Jericho?”

  He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in the chair, like I’m not shattering into a million pieces in front of him. “You wanted a divorce. I’m giving you what you want.”

  I throw the papers at his face. “Well, I don’t want it anymore!”

  Part of me expects him to rush around the desk and wrap me in his arms and pick me up . . . but he doesn’t. Because he doesn’t love me. Tears burn my eyes as he rises from his seat, plants both palms on the desk, and deals the death blow.

  “Too bad, because I do.”

  I rear back, like he punched me in the gut. I never knew words could cause such intense physical pain, but his shred my damn soul.

  One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three heartbeats.

  “Why?” I whisper the question like it’s torn from my dying breath.

  “Because this never should’ve happened to begin with. None of it.”

  “This was all you!” I scream. My rage takes on a life of its own as I slam my fist on the desk. “You did this! You manipulated and coerced me into marrying you! And now you just decide you’re done? What the fuck, Jericho?”

  I heave in a breath and stare at him, but my words have no impact. He’s an impenetrable wall.

  “Sign the papers, Indy.”

  Oh no. He did not just fucking use my name like I mean something to him.

  “Don’t you dare say my name. We are not friends!” I shove the chair next to me across the room.

  Jericho pushes off the desk and stares down at me. “You’re right. We’re not. So sign it, and we can both move on with our lives.”

  Another killing blow. Tears stream down my face and I lash out, wanting him to feel the same pain ripping me apart.

  “You draw me in and then push me away, because you can’t handle getting close to anyone. All you want is your fucking business and your money and your revenge, and you don’t have room for anything else in your goddamned life.”

  It’s like watching a volcano erupt. His expression morphs from stoic to enraged in the space of a heartbeat.

  “Did it ever fucking occur to you that I’m doing this to keep you safe? And if it weren’t for my fucking revenge, none of this would’ve ever happened? Bastien would never have come after you! Bates and Donnigan and Koba would be alive, and you wouldn’t have been fucking terrorized!”

  I stumble back a step. “If you gave a single fuck about me, you wouldn’t do this.”

  His lips flatten into a hard line. “It’s over, India. Sign the fucking papers. Take your money and get out.”

  I stumble back, my body trembling so hard that my teeth chatter. How could he do this to me? I love him.

  I shove the feeling down. How could I love someone who could do this to me?

  “Fuck you, Forge.” My voice shakes as hard as my hands. “Fuck you. I hate you. You want your divorce so fucking bad, to be rid of me?”

  I grab sheet after sheet of paper off the desk like a woman possessed, trying to find the one piece that needs my signature. I spot it and grab it, not caring that the paper crumples in my hand. I snatch the pen off the desk and scrawl my signature as the shattered pieces of my heart are ground into dust.

  “Here you go. You can fucking have it. And this too.”

  I rip my ring off my finger and throw it at him. It bounces off his chest and pings when it hits the floor. As I back away, I expect to leave a trail of blood from the destruction he has caused.

  But he doesn’t seem to care that I’m broken. Jericho watches me with his stony gaze as I reach behind me for the door handle.

  Tears blur my vision as I grip the knob.

  “You can have your fucking divorce, Forge. But you should know—I didn’t want this. I wanted you. Only you. Fuck the money. I don’t want a goddamned thing from you ever again. I can take care of myself. Always have. Always will. So, fuck you.”

  His mouth opens, but I’m not waiting to hear another goddamned word.

  I rip the door open and charge out, slamming it behind me. Blind from the onslaught of tears, I almost collide with Dorsey and her armful of towels.

  “Mrs. Forge?”

  “Don’t call me that ever again,” I bite out, swiping at my face
. I don’t want to cry another tear for him, but I can’t stop.

  The steward’s face goes pale, and as sorry as I should be for taking this out on her, I can’t apologize. I’m going to pass out or throw up or both.

  “Can I . . . can I help you, Indy?”

  Another sob tears free from my lips. “Get me off this fucking island. I’m going home.”

  18

  India

  With every step away from the villa, a stupid, naive part of me hopes he’ll rush outside, chase me down, and say this was all a huge mistake. That he can’t bear the thought of letting me go. That he loves me.

  Right. That’ll never happen.

  Forge doesn’t need me. He doesn’t need anyone. The glimpse of the man I saw behind the granite wall was a mirage. He doesn’t exist.

  The memories I have that seem to dispute the fact? Lies. All lies. I was dreaming if I thought this could ever work, and I deal in reality. Always have. Always will. Whatever happened here was . . . what did he call it? A mistake.

  The word hits me like an uppercut to the jaw. I harden myself against the pain, but the anguish sneaks through.

  I won’t stay where I’m not wanted. I won’t beg for scraps. And I will never put myself out like this again.

  When I reach the bottom of the stairs, Dorsey is already firing up the engine of the boat, and I don’t wait for assistance before I jump on board.

  “Pack my stuff up and send it later. Or don’t. I don’t care,” I tell her over the whipping wind. But what I’m really telling myself is I can live without him.

  And I can. I will. I have no other choice.

  I should have known better, and that’s the part that kills me the most.

  It was a business deal. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him.

  To my surprise, and Dorsey’s, Superman and Spiderman also climb aboard.

  “What are you doing?” I ask them.

  “We’re going to watch over you for a while,” Spiderman replies, his expression creased with concern. “Just until we’re sure that . . .”