Moonlight Scandals

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  Both brothers had gone silent as tears crowded her throat. “Have either of you ever seen the scars? All over his back? I’m guessing you haven’t. And I’m guessing neither of you pulled your heads out of your asses long enough to even wonder why Devlin is the way he is or to realize that while both of you were out there living your lives and doing whatever the fuck you all wanted to do, he was trapped with those monsters. So, no. He didn’t keep you in the dark. He kept you all in the light. Think about that while you’re dragging him through the mud he’s been living in for years.”

  Rosie didn’t wait for them to respond, she left the room and started looking for Devlin. She found him standing in the foyer, under the gold chandelier. He was staring up the grand staircase.

  “This . . . this fucking house,” he said as she walked up to him. Her gaze followed his, but she didn’t see anything. That didn’t stop the goose bumps from spreading across her skin when he said, “This house is haunted by the dead and the living. I wish I never brought you here.”

  “Devlin. . . .” She touched his arm, but he didn’t look down at her. “Are you okay?”

  He laughed.

  “I know that’s a dumb question.”

  “It’s not, but you shouldn’t be asking me that.”

  “Your brothers—”

  “They have every right to be mad. I did lie to them.”

  “No.” Her grip on his arm tightened. “You protected them. You gave them their lives while sacrificing your own. Yeah, they get to be mad, but they also need to get the fuck over it. Which I pretty much just told them. So, hopefully you don’t get too mad at me over that.”

  Devlin turned to her then, his eyes wide with surprise. “You did . . . what?”

  “Um, well, I did basically tell them to pull their heads out of their asses. I said other things, but um, yeah, that’s the gist of it.”

  He stared down at her.

  She started to get a little worried. “They needed to know what you’ve done for them. They—”

  “Thank you.” Devlin’s head swept down and he kissed her. “No one . . . has done that. Stood up for me. Thank you.”

  “You don’t need to thank me. I did it because I—”

  “Don’t,” he said quietly, as if he sensed what she was going to say. He kissed her again, softly at first, but the touch of his mouth quickly deepened. The kiss turned fierce, desperate even, and when he finally lifted his mouth from hers, she was shaken and felt . . . felt a little like the end. “What I need from you is to just go home. Okay? You were never here.”

  “What? I thought everything was taken care of?”

  “It is, but just in case. There’s something I need to do.”

  He held on to her cheeks, his gaze pleading. “All right? I just need you to leave. I’ll be in touch. I promise.”

  “I don’t want to leave.”

  “But I need to do this alone and I need you to leave.”

  “Do what?” she asked.

  He turned from her and stared up at the staircase. “I think it’s time to rid this land of those ghosts.”

  “Then I’m your girl. I’m—”

  “Not those kinds of ghosts, Rosie.” He made his way to the stairs. “Please go. This is something I need to do myself.”

  A different kind of anxiety blossomed to life.

  Blinking back tears, she felt herself nod and she heard herself say yes, but she reached for him, coming up with nothing but air.

  “What I said was true.” Devlin’s gaze met hers. “I love you, Rosie. I know it seems impossible, but it’s real.”

  “Devlin—”

  He’d already started up the stairs, and Rosie heard the door swing open behind her. She spun, expecting to see someone, but no one was there. Just her and the wind, stirring the ivy.

  Dev was a murderer.

  He’d long since accepted that.

  He’d killed Stefan thinking it was Lawrence. He’d ordered the death of the police chief who covered up Lawrence’s crimes.

  Dev had killed.

  He didn’t and wouldn’t regret what he’d done, and maybe that spoke of the darkness in his soul—he didn’t know and he didn’t care.

  Earlier that night, he’d been ready to turn himself in. Now he was ready to do what should’ve been done decades ago.

  His brothers were gone when he returned downstairs, bag in hand. He placed the black duffel bag by the front door and then he picked up the can he’d retrieved from the garage. He wasn’t all that surprised. Instinct told him that Gabe had gone to Nikki, and Lucian and Julia were together, safe and far from here.

  Would they forgive him? Understand?

  He took in the intricate woodwork Gabe had crafted with his own hands and the arched doorways as he moved through the house. There were no photos, just the morbid yet beautiful paintings rendered by his brother’s and sister’s fingers. He stopped at his office and thought about the irony of paying off the medical examiner. If he hadn’t, the coroner would’ve surely discovered that it wasn’t Lawrence’s body wheeled into the morgue, but Stefan’s.

  Both men had been complicit in some of the most atrocious crimes out there. Both men had been not only a curse upon this land and home but also everyone they came into contact with.

  His steps echoed through the silent, dark third-floor hallway as he passed the bedroom of his mother, who had been just as trapped as he’d been. He walked past Lawrence’s private quarters and tasted the bitter fear that always consumed him as a child and the red-hot hatred that had festered from that. He made his way through the second floor, throwing open all the doors as he went, remembering Nikki as a child, running through the halls, and then he stopped, and he could recall him and Pearl doing the same.

  A tickle danced across the back of his neck, and he swore he heard the faint sound of a man laughing.

  Dev started walking, slowly, meticulously making his way downstairs. He stopped at the back window, the one that overlooked the rose garden and the pool.

  And he saw his sister, not facedown in the pool but standing by it staring up at the window, her pale blond hair blowing in the wind. Maybe it was just a memory. Or it was a ghost. Maybe he’d lost his fucking mind, but he saw her, and in those quiet moments, he heard his mother whisper thank you.

  Maybe they’d all be freed now.

  Dev returned to the foyer and breathed in the pungent scent of gasoline as he picked up his duffel bag. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a lighter he’d found in the pantry. His thumb rolled over it. It clicked and a flame sparked to life.

  The walls of the house were like the scars on his back, the floors like the bones Lawrence had tried to break over and over, and everything inside of the house was nothing but tainted meat and torn muscle, stretched too far.

  And it was all going to burn.

  Chapter 36

  Scandal after scandal consumed the local news and newspapers, and then, like a wildfire, it spread nationally.

  First it was the report of Sabrina’s death, and somehow, and Rosie was guessing the de Vincents had had a hand in this, what was fed to the public was a tragic robbery gone wrong. Nothing of what Sabrina was involved in was revealed.

  Then the . . . Senator Stefan de Vincent was reported missing by Gabe. That news replaced the talk of Sabrina. Rosie had no idea what truly happened to Lawrence’s body and she didn’t want to know, and as sick as it was, the only thing she cared about was the fact that two very evil men, Stefan and Lawrence, were no longer walking this earth.

  The news of fake Stefan’s disappearance had overshadowed something else, something that Rosie understood but had not expected. Something that was so heartbreakingly powerful.

  Devlin had burned down the de Vincent mansion.

  The whole thing was gone. The fire was ruled an accident—the home was razed to the ground and, according to what Nikki told her, no one could understand how the whole place had gone up, leaving absolutely nothing but charred wood and ashes.
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br />   There’d been something unnatural about the fire, and that had been Gabe’s wording.

  The brothers and Julia and Nikki knew that Devlin had started the fire, and Rosie had thought they’d be angry, but all of them had seemed oddly . . . relieved that the place was gone.

  And at first, Rosie had experienced mind-numbing panic. Devlin was . . . he was gone, and she’d feared that he’d burned down with the house, but then she’d learned that he’d been seen after the fire.

  He’d been to Nikki’s parents’ house, to Richard and Livie, and apparently given them a duffel bag full of money, shocking the Bessons, Nikki, and his brothers.

  But it didn’t come as a shock to Rosie.

  There was an innate goodness inside of Devlin. It was just buried under a lot . . . a lot of darkness.

  Two weeks had passed since that night—a night that had started so beautifully and ended so darkly.

  She had not heard from Devlin. Neither had Gabe or Lucian. He, too, seemed to have disappeared after going to Nikki’s parents’ house, and Rosie . . . God, she was heartsick with worry and then furious that he’d left her.

  “You okay?”

  Jarred from her thoughts, she blinked and focused on Jilly. She was at Jilly and Liz’s place and she was supposed to be paying attention, but obviously wasn’t.

  “I’m sorry.” Rosie forced a smile.

  “It’s okay.” Concern filled Liz’s gaze. “We can talk about this later.”

  “Totally,” chimed in Sarah. “We don’t have to talk about this right now.”

  “It’s fine,” she insisted.

  The three women stared back at her and their looks said they knew it wasn’t fine. She’d told them what she could, which wasn’t a whole hell of a lot, but they knew Devlin had left and they knew . . .

  They knew that Rosie had fallen in love with him.

  When that had happened, she had no idea, but she knew it was either the first time she’d seen a hint of a smile from him or when she first heard him laugh. How corny was that? Totally. But it was true. She just didn’t realize it until after he was gone, and how . . . how ironic was that?

  But she realized it when she’d heard that Devlin had given Nikki’s parents more money than they’d ever need and it was confirmed when she heard from Ross and he’d told her that the photo album had been anonymously delivered to him. He’d believed it had been her, but Rosie knew it had been Devlin.

  Ross was having a field day with all the recent developments, and Rosie knew it would be a long time before he let his quest go, but she also knew he was never going to find out the truth. It was hard not confirming his suspicions about Andrea being dead, but she feared if he did discover that, then he’d learn that the woman he’d loved and lost had been having an affair with Stefan.

  Sometimes secrets were better left buried.

  “Okay.” Sarah nodded. “So, I’ve done a walk-through of the Mendez house, and I can tell you there are no spirits there now. I’ve saged the hell out of it and put up a barrier just in case any spirit tries to worm its way back in.”

  “You mean when the ghosts decide to leave Lucian’s place again?” Jilly supplied.

  After her walk-through, Sarah believed that the ghost pestering the Mendez family had originated from Lucian’s house, which was not exactly something Julia had been happy to hear.

  “Like I told Lucian, when the remodeling is done, I will do the same to their home, but I don’t think they’re going to have a problem anymore.” Sarah’s gaze met Rosie’s. “I think someone else got rid of those ghosts.”

  Rosie’s breath caught. She hadn’t told Sarah about what Devlin had said to her before the fire.

  Sarah smiled, and yeah, that kind of creeped out even Rosie.

  The discussion ended there and Sarah followed her out onto the porch. “Man, it’s gotten really cold,” Rosie said, tugging the thick cardigan close. “I can’t remember—”

  “I know,” Sarah cut in.

  Rosie turned to her. “Know what?”

  “He just needs some time to get his head in the right place.” She winked. “To get that . . . light back in him.”

  “Okay.” Rosie glanced around, unable to suppress a shiver. “Is there a spirit whispering this in your ear or something?”

  Moving down one step, she grinned up at Rosie. “He’ll come back,” Sarah said, and she said this in a way that made Rosie wonder if she really did know. “And when he does, try not to yell at him too much.”

  A weak smile tugged at her lips as a bubble of hope swelled in her chest. “Can’t make any promises with that.”

  He was sitting on a bench in the middle of a meadow full of peonies and even with his back to her, Rosie knew who it was and she couldn’t believe it as she walked up to him.

  Tears filled her eyes, threatening to choke her as she walked around the bench. Her heart didn’t stop in her chest, but it felt like it was being squeezed in a juice grinder.

  It was him.

  And that was how she knew she was dreaming.

  “Ian,” she whispered as she sat down on the bench beside him.

  He didn’t look at her, but stared out over the bright meadow. “Rosalynn.”

  Her breath caught on a knot of raw emotion. His voice. Oh my God, that was his voice. “This . . . this is a dream.”

  Ian smiled as a warm breeze rolled through the meadow, stirring the crisp white peonies. “Is it?”

  She drew in another breath but it ended in a soft sob. “I don’t know. I don’t want it to be.”

  “Does it matter?” he asked, and then he lifted his hand, opening it. Resting in the center of his palm was her gold wedding band. “It’s time.”

  “I don’t understand.” There was a chirping in the distance, growing louder and louder.

  The wedding band vanished. “It’s time to let go.”

  Rosie woke, gasping for air as she jerked upright. The chirping was the alarm on her cell phone. She reached for it, turning it off as she tried to slow her breathing. In the darkness of her bedroom, she reached for the chain around her neck and pulled the ring out from underneath her shirt. She folded her fingers around the warm metal.

  It’s time.

  The knot in her throat expanded and she closed her eyes tight against the sting. In the ten years since he’d been gone, she’d never dreamt of him. Ever. Not even once, and this dream, God, it felt so real. She could still hear his voice, see that smile, and feel the warm breeze on her skin.

  It’s time to let go.

  Her shoulders shook as the tears snuck through, coursing down her cheeks. The dream could’ve been some kind of subconscious message or maybe . . . just maybe Ian was finally reaching out to her from the beyond.

  She didn’t know what to think.

  Falling backward, she shifted onto her side and pulled her legs up to her chest as she held on to the ring. The tears . . . they came, quiet at first, and then they shook her entire body. She had no idea if she was crying because of the dream or because it really was time to let go or because of everything she’d learned about Devlin and what she’d seen or because she hadn’t heard from him.

  And maybe it was because there was this fear that she’d never get the chance to tell him that she loved him.

  It was as if a seal had cracked inside her, letting the raw emotions slide through, but they’d gathered behind that crack, pushing and piling on until the fissure gave way and the seal exploded.

  She didn’t know how long she cried for. It felt like hours, but finally, she got it all out of her.

  Eyes blurry and achy, she sat up and folded her legs under the blanket.

  It was time.

  Lifting the ring, she pressed a kiss to it and then she lifted the chain, removing the necklace. She rose from the bed and walked over to her dresser, picking up a small wooden cigar box that had belonged to Ian. He hadn’t smoked cigars, but he liked to collect the boxes. After his death, she’d given the boxes to his family, all except t
his one. Opening it, she placed the ring, along with the chain, inside the box and closed the lid.

  It was time.

  A strange box showed up on her doorstep the next afternoon, after she returned from a shift at Pradine’s.

  “What the . . . ?”

  Rosie picked up the medium-sized box. It wasn’t all that heavy. Her name was written in a rather elegant scrawl on a white shipping label. There was no address on it—not hers or a return one. This package was definitely dropped off here.

  Frowning, she quickly unlocked the door and stepped into her apartment. She nudged the door shut and then carried the box over to the table.

  She dropped her bag on the couch and then walked over to the kitchen area, flipping on lights. A buttery soft glow filled the large room as she grabbed an old steak knife out of the drawer. A box cutter would work better, but box cutters kind of creeped her out. It was the whole blade breaking off in whatever it was cutting into thing.

  Rosie shuddered.

  She stabbed the steak knife into the packing tape on the box, slicing it open. A woody, almost sweet smell greeted her. She recognized the scent immediately. Sandalwood. Yum. Brown paper hid whatever rested beneath it. She wanted to rip the paper apart, but there was a small white card folded in the center.

  Knocking a curl out of her face, she reached into the box and plucked it out, placing it aside. She reached for the brown paper and pulled it apart.

  “Holy moly,” she gasped.

  The brown paper slipped from her fingers and floated to the worn, hardwood floor, landing with a dry whisper.

  Inside the box was the most stunning display of carved wood she’d ever seen, but it wasn’t just a plank of wood. It was sandalwood, which she knew was absurdly expensive. The pieces were round and cylinder-shaped beads separated by shorter, oval-shaped pieces.

  Stunned, she reached in and picked up the beautiful, tan-colored pieces, eyes going wide as the strings of wood delicately knocked off one another.

  It was a beaded curtain.

  A beaded curtain that probably, no joke, cost more than her Toyota Corolla. A tremor coursed through her arms as she stared at the beaded curtain, openmouthed since it felt like her jaw had come unhinged.