A Deal With the Devil

by Louisa George

  He stepped further into the potential trajectory of her palm. “You want to fight? You want to fight me? Right now? Do it.”

  She didn’t touch him, but the dark look she threw at him punched him square in the solar plexus. Her arm dropped to her side. “I hate you.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “No? Well, believe me, I’m trying to. Look at you.” She reached to the cut on his cheek, then ran a thumb over a lump on his brow. “Damaged.”

  “No different to normal. I’ll live.”

  “Not if I get my way.” Her nostrils flared, eyes glowered. “I have truly never met anyone so stupid.”

  He dragged her fingers from his skin, tried to suck oxygen into what he reckoned was a beat-up lung. None of that mattered, it was mere physical pain, he could survive any of that. But the way she looked at him, eyes black, lips peeled back, that was what could bring him to his knees.

  It flashed through his mind right then that he might love her, that doing that would be the greatest thing he’d ever achieved. This was the sweetest face he’d ever seen, blazing as it was with anger and passion. But he couldn’t love her, because this was something good; earthy, brutal and gloriously good. And he didn’t know how to do this without ruining it. So he locked that thought away. Closed off the emotions. Tried. But they lingered at the edges, threatening. He couldn’t love her, could he? After such a short space of time? That kind of romantic guff didn’t happen.

  But she’d been worried about him. Sweet Jesus. She was fit to explode with righteous anger because she was worried about him. Oh, and she hated him, too. Magnificent. If his ribs didn’t feel so broken he’d have tipped his head back and laughed. Instead he pulled her outside into the cool dark night. “So what the hell are you doing here?”

  She tilted her chin, defiant. “I wanted to see the fight club.”

  “And why would you want to do that?” Behind them the grunts and roar of men pushing themselves beyond their limits split the air. With him or without him they’d each of them seek their own release. The doc was there, some of his security team and Ted too, to scrape up whoever was left and appease the rest. Tomorrow he’d ease the waters, send them a cut of the online gambling profits, confirm it was over. They’d live. They’d grumble and moan, but they’d live. Right now Kate was his priority. “What’s this sudden interest all about?”

  “Forget it.”

  “Goddamn, Kate, you lied to me once and I let it go. Do not do it again.”

  “I wanted to see you. To stop you. I didn’t want you to get hurt.” Her shoulders slumped. “I wanted to see it.”

  “Why?”

  “I just did, okay?” She turned and began to walk quickly up the alleyway. Forcing his legs to work he matched her step for step. Trust no one. Had she really just been here to watch? He doubted it, not after everything she’d said about it being barbaric. He followed her, trying to fit all the pieces into the jigsaw—but each time there was something that just didn’t work. That and the fact she’d gone quiet on him.

  “How did you even know about it?”

  She whirled round to face him, her hair shaking lose. She was so damned beautiful, so vibrant. “Because I did some digging. I almost hacked the No Surrender codes too, almost got into the forums. FYI, I am the hacker you’ve been chasing.”

  What the …? “You? You? Why the hell would you do that?”

  “Because I’m writing an article about you. An expose about the club, about you.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re a journalist now, as well as a nurse … a waitress … an author?” A dark mist swirled in his chest, reaching deep into his busted gut and squeezing. Hard. Five minutes … he’d known her for five minutes and was thinking he loved her. Stupid. Bloody stupid fool. No, he couldn’t love her, he didn’t even know who she was. He couldn’t have risked everything on lies. Not again. When would he learn?

  “I prefer to call it freelance writing.” The thick dark night wrapped around them like a shroud. There was a bite in the air but he hauled in as much of it as he could. Coughed. She must have sensed he wasn’t quite right because she put her hand on his shoulder, ran her palm down his arm. “Are you in pain? Are you okay? Where does it hurt—rather, where doesn’t it hurt?”

  “I’m fine.” At least he had been until her bombshell, which left a crater in his chest. Lies on top of lies. Geez, he wasn’t exactly innocent, but he hadn’t lied at every turn. “I have to admire your tactics, Kate. You had me well and truly fooled—there was me thinking we had something good going and all the time it was just research. What the hell happened to the crime thriller?”

  “I never said that. You did.”

  “You didn’t put me right though, did you? This article? What’s it about?” They walked to his car, he let the bonnet take his weight and waited for her explanation. “I’m listening …”

  Her eyes focused on anywhere but him. “It was about your fight club and the harm it does to people … To Jake. My brother. The boy you scraped off the floor and took to the hospital.”

  The scrawny kid was her brother? “Ah. Of course. Now the pieces are dropping into place. How could I have been so damned stupid?” Put everything at risk? He pressed a palm onto his forehead. Dammit, he should have looked closer, looked past her instead of at her. He should have never spoken to her that first night. He should have questioned her further when he’d found her in the suite instead of taking her to his bed. His downfall was punctuated in a series of shoulds. Yet, strangely he didn’t regret a second of what they’d shared. He just regretted this. That neither of them had been honest. That everything he’d bet his heart on had turned out sour. “So that scraggy kid is your brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shit. I’m so sorry.” He raised his palms. “I take full responsibility for it. It’s my club. But why the hell didn’t you just ask me about it instead of all the underhand snooping?”

  “I tried.” Her eyebrows rose in derision. “And I seem to remember you said you don’t fight any more—but you do.”

  “That was definitely the last time.” Wincing at the sharp pain in his left side he blew out air.

  She stepped forward, looking at him in disbelief. “Yeah. Right. Didn’t your father say that too?”

  “I am not my father.” For the first time in his life he felt that. He believed that. He had never hurt someone who couldn’t defend themselves. Except, maybe, himself. By breaking his own cardinal rule; trust no one. “You heard what I said in there. I’ve closed it down. Stopped it.”

  “Because you want to show the Macanese your squeaky-clean image? And when the dust settles or the urge takes you, then what?”

  “This is suddenly about me and my failings? Very good—turn it somehow into my fault.” Indignant, he hauled himself upright. “You know your problem? You only see what you want to see. Open your eyes, Kate, there’s a lot more to everything. You just have to look.”

  “Believe me, I’ve seen enough. I stood by the side of my brother’s bed—watched as he flickered between life and death, holding on grimly—praying, begging him to survive.” Her voice cracked. “No one should have to do that … not because of some jumped-up macho need to prove yourself. I’m not doing that again for you or anyone.”

  “You won’t have to.” He wouldn’t give her the chance. He felt a sharp coil of anger rise and threaten to overwhelm him. Betrayed by lies again. He clenched his fists by his sides. The club was closed, like all access to his heart, starting now. “Was there anything that you told me that was real? Is your name even Kate?”

  “Yes. It’s Kate Wilkinson. This is me—the most honest I’ve ever been.”

  “Haven’t you said that before?” He looked at her for a moment, at the hesitant smile, the worried frown, the little nervous twitch under her left eye. She was the same woman. She was smart, fun, beautiful. Just all tangled up in a lie. The breath whooshed out of him. He looked at her some more, let the anger dissolve into incredulity. Whe
n had they ever been wholly honest with each other? The answer was burning in his gut; when they’d kissed. When they’d made love. When it had mattered. He’d believed this mattered. Now it was broken. “Why? Why do it this way?”

  “Because I love him and I wanted to hurt the person who had hurt him, and what better way than to expose your sordid secrets? At least, that was my plan. But then I met you and things changed. And you probably won’t believe this, but tonight I came because I didn’t want you to get hurt. Because people try to protect the ones they care for.” Her eyes glittered, her voice choked. “How far would you go for someone you love, Rey? Cross a line? Tell a lie? A couple more?”

  “I don’t know who you are.”

  “Me neither.” She beckoned to a cab that was waiting over in the shadows of a warehouse. It did a U-turn, then drew up alongside them. “I asked him to wait,” she explained. “I know I’ve ruined everything and I’m sorry.”

  With barely a backwards glance she climbed into the taxi and spoke to the driver. But Rey couldn’t let her go without the answer to one question. He slammed his fist onto the window as the car pulled away. It slowed. She wound the glass down. “What is it?”

  “Things changed … how?”

  “Sorry?”

  “You said, you met me and things changed.” He didn’t even know what he wanted her to say. That she loved him? That she wanted a future?

  Did he? How could they ever get over this?

  He couldn’t. Couldn’t overcome this frank betrayal. She hadn’t wanted him, she’d wanted to bring him down, to destroy The Destructor in a way that no one else had been able.

  And God knew, she was halfway to achieving it.

  This was not the messy and complicated relationship he’d been thinking about. This was not the challenge he’d expected. Neither was the bright white pain in his gut that threatened to slice him in two.

  If this was love then he’d been right all along; it made a fool out of you and it hurt worse than hell.

  She gave him a sad smile. “I thought you were a bad person, Rey, a monster. I thought that only a bad person could willingly hurt another. But now I know it wasn’t your fault, that people come to your club to feel that energy, to feed that feral rush—I saw them in there, they loved every second. I’m sure Jake just got sucked into that. Funny thing is, he didn’t even want me to find you.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I got all caught up in revenge. But from the moment I met you I knew I was wrong. I just didn’t know how to stop it. I’m sorry for everything—for breaking something so special. I created a reality for my own benefit and trampled all over your life.” She reached out and cupped his cheek. “I know you can’t forgive that.”

  Then she was gone, leaving an acrid taste in his bloody mouth and a black hole in his chest. She cared for him? Yeah right, damned strange way to show it. But he got the feeling that was the first utterly honest thing she’d said since he’d met her.

  And it was too damned late.

  Chapter Nine

  Delete. Delete. Delete. Del— Kate banged her fist against the keyboard. Every word she wrote was inadequate. Every sentence, innuendo. Everything was wrong.

  Yeah. Everything. And she had no one to blame but herself. She sat back in her chair in her tiny lounge and resisted the urge to throw her laptop at the wall. Truth was, she barely had the strength to lift the damned thing.

  “Writer’s block?” Jake smirked as he sauntered past, teen-regulation uniform of grubby slouch pants and a ghoulish T-shirt hanging on sharp shoulder blades. “I told you not to get involved. Now look what’s happened—you can’t write a word.”

  Given that Jake had clammed up completely once he’d discovered she’d actually been to the fight club, this was possibly the most he’d said to her in days. Even though it was a reprimand, it was softer than he had been, conciliatory almost. It was a start.

  “I’ve only got myself to blame, right?” Kate grimaced, the weight of her loss hanging heavily on her shoulders. How she wished her mum was here right now to talk some sense—she would know what to do. God, she missed her. She missed Rey. “Don’t worry, I’ll get there.”

  “Yeah, we both will.” Jake grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table and rubbed it on his T-shirt, a strange juxtaposition of vivid red against the black and white skull motif. He leaned in, saw the blank page and tutted. “Don’t let your emotions cloud your judgement. That’s your problem.”

  “And that’s wrong because …?”

  “Because you have to be objective in your line of work.”

  “For an exposé, yes.” She shot him a scowl over her shoulder. “But why? Why do I have to stick to objective facts? Or always be negative? Why can’t I celebrate things, why can’t I live a gloriously messy life that is chaotic?” But even as she said the words she wasn’t sure whether she believed them. Black and white had been easy to quantify, easy to box up, easy to deal with. The myriad shades of colour she saw when she thought of Rey were too blinding in their intensity.

  “Because sometimes, sis, it’s just too hard.” For the first time since the hospital Jake came close and put his hand on her shoulder. Pecked a kiss on the top of her head. A simple brotherly gesture that had been missing for too long.

  And she closed her eyes willing herself to not pull away from physical contact, because every touch made her soften, reminded her of Rey and what she’d done. Of how much she missed him. Jake was back in her life, but there was a gap in her world—a chasm, a loss so keen that she wanted to scream.

  Because yes, she loved Rey.

  The acknowledgement of that simple truth split her heart into a thousand pieces all over again. Even though it had only been a matter of hours that they’d spent together he’d left an indelible stain on her soul, like a bruise that wouldn’t heal. There was something there between them that, if nurtured, could have grown into something amazing.

  And she’d blown it all. He’d reached out to her, broken down barriers that years of abuse and fear had built and instead of rejoicing in it she’d done the worst thing anyone could to him—shattered his trust.

  All she wanted now was to go to him and bury her head in those expansive shoulders, kiss along the scars and piece him back together again. But she couldn’t. He’d let her go and there was no way he’d ever entertain the idea of a reconciliation. And the worst part of it was—she couldn’t blame him.

  Her throat was sore and thick when she finally spoke to Jake again, “I don’t know where to go with this. I just don’t know what to say about him. He’s extraordinary.”

  Jake gave her a lopsided smile. “You said you were going to tell the truth about him. Just do that.”

  “But which truth? There are so many facets to him, so much. I could write a book, not an article. Business Review are expecting some sort of in-depth analysis, a ground-breaking exposé.” And all she could think about was that moment when he’d learnt the truth, the steel colour of his eyes, the hardening of his features, the absence of hope. She’d done that to him.

  There was a long pause before Jake answered. When he did he walked over and sat down at the table. His hand covered hers. “Write what you saw, write your truth, sis.”

  Well hell, she was going to do exactly that.

  * * *

  Left. Right. Left. Right. Rey punched the suspended bag hard and fast, chasing it around the ring as it spun maniacally with every hit.

  Stupid.

  Bloody.

  Fool.

  The last punch was so intense it had him flying forward, missing his step. Shit.

  “Whoa.” Ted walked across the room. “Slow down, you’ve got it bad.”

  “Leave it.” He wouldn’t talk to anyone. He was done talking. Done giving his heart away on a plate. His only focus from now on would be the business, as it should have been all along. “Ten more minutes then I’ll get ready for the Board meeting. We need to press on with the Macau development.”

  Ted offered him a bottle of water
. “Drink. You need to slow up, mate. You’ve been flat out for two weeks and you’re knackered.”

  Rey refused the bottle and hauled in air. “Just getting my focus back.”

  “Well before you do anything else, focus on this.” His friend shoved a glossy magazine into one of Rey’s fists. “Read.”

  Rey looked at the headline: The Casino King and I “Who the hell thinks up this shit? I don’t need to read about how stupid I’ve been, I know that enough.” He glanced to the door. “Should we be expecting police? Lawyers? A phone call from Macau? Is that why you’re here?”

  “Calm the hell down and listen.” Ted shook his head, shook the magazine open and read snippets:

  An astute businessman with a strong work ethic, elevating the casino world to stratospheric success … guile and determination in spades (forgive the pun) … a dark past that he shares with no one. Dig a little and you find a violent history that fuelled his spirit and determination to succeed … an honourable man in a dishonourable world, a hint of unorthodox dealings, a maverick … scars not only on the outside … other secrets locked away too—a charity that helps homeless kids have a chance and a soft heart underneath that bold exterior that he shows only to those he trusts. There are few people who ever get that honour bestowed upon them. Who can blame him? Life dealt him a raw hand, and Rey Doyle plays to win. And no one deserves it more.

  It was hardly gushing or, on the flip side, damning. But it was measured, fair. She talked about the Macau deal, how he was one to watch in the London billionaire’s top ten club. She wrote with humour and, if Rey was not mistaken, humility. He saw her through her words, her phrase choice, imagined her face, her deep blue eyes shimmering. He saw her angry and passionate. Naked.

  “I’m going for a shower.” What Kate wrote was entirely up to her. He didn’t look at Ted, just began to walk towards the locker room.

  Suddenly Ted’s annoying breathing was in his face. “You don’t care?”