Chapter 2 #2
“Leave things to me, Princess.” He looks up, his eyes narrowing as a Black woman arrives in full security uniform—white shirt, black trousers, a Taser strapped to her belt.
“What’s happened?” She kneels beside Hayami, concern etched across her brow.
“Why weren’t you watching my daughter?” The humidity in the room rises as Devall glares at the woman, who I presume is Willa.
“We don’t watch her when she’s in the house, sir,” Willa answers confidently, then looks to Markus.
“There’s no need to whilst she’s in the safety of the house, although we do monitor the security cameras. Normally, this includes the pool room, but Hayami asked for it to be switched off this morning, as she wanted privacy whilst swimming,” Markus explains.
Devall scratches his chin and eyes Markus, and I swear the sides of his eyes blink like those of a viper.
“My daughter doesn’t pay you. I do. You take orders from me. I want a female security guard to monitor the cameras in the pool room when my daughter swims, is that clear?”
“Daddy, there’s no need—” Hayami begins, but she stops the minute her father’s eyes land on her.
Surprisingly, she holds his gaze, but only for a few seconds before her head dips.
“Markus, dismiss the new recruits.” He gesticulates in the direction of the three men abandoned in the corridor, who just stare beyond the glass wall. Markus looks as if he’s ready to argue, then thinks better of it before Devall turns his attention to me.
“You. My office. Now,” he barks. “Markus, once you’ve escorted these men out, come and join us.”
I’ve often wondered how inmates feel on death row, and now I know, because Devall might as well have signed my death warrant.
The walk to his office is cumbersome, the term dead man walking ringing in my ears.
If I wasn’t worried before, I am now. Everything has changed.
I’ve manhandled his daughter and dragged her out of the pool for what seemed, to her, to be no apparent reason, although I’d argue otherwise.
But what if I was wrong and she was simply floating on her front like she said?
She hadn’t been struggling. She hadn’t been calling for help.
Yet there was the shadow that shimmered around her, marking her with her brush with death.
What will he do to me for touching his daughter?
I know how he deals with people who anger him.
I’m a Hellhound. I’m the messenger who metes out the wrath of Barrett Devall, who delivers his disappointment in whatever way is necessary.
He’s not a man to be trifled with. He doesn’t fight fair, rarely fights his own battles, and invariably uses violence to do the talking.
Enter the Hellhounds, the irony of which doesn’t escape me. What will my fate be for pulling his daughter from the pool? And who will be brought in to dish it out?
Flexing my fingers, I wonder which he’ll cut off first; I’ve laid them upon his daughter for no good reason, so therefore they will be removed from my body—a permanent reminder to never touch what does not belong to me.
And then there’s Hayami’s reaction. She was angry—clearly—but it was more than that. There was revulsion. Distaste. I saw it when she called for my dismissal, as if my scars had offended her. As if I don’t belong in her world.
And in the fleeting moment between her father calling her “princess” and her demanding I be fired, I understood exactly who Hayami Devall is.
A spoiled heiress who always gets what she wants.
The gang lord pushes open a large oak door and leads me—and Markus, who’s caught up with us—into his office. The plush burgundy carpet blends with the dark mahogany furniture that wouldn’t look out of place in a museum.
“How long have you been with us, Fenrir?” Devall asks.
I stand with my hands behind my back, chest out, and head high. This isn’t the opener I was expecting. Maybe he’s just drawing it out, toying with me. I wouldn’t put it past him. “Six months, sir.”
He eyes me as if assessing the truthfulness of my answer whilst also trying to read my scars.
“Your face?” Devall flings this question at me.
“A fire, sir.”
“Whilst you were in the army?” He arches his eyebrow.
“Yes, sir,” I lie.
“Ah.” The noise comes from his mouth as if it’s an expulsion of air.
“Why did you jump into the pool?” He changes tact.
I wonder if he’s stalling—not to draw out my fear, but for another reason entirely. Maybe he’s already sent out a signal to the Hellhounds and is just waiting for them to charge into the room and tear me apart, limb from limb. Bloodthirsty bites. Fearsome claws.
Will it be the Cyclops—one of the Hellhounds who had his eye gouged out in a fight? Or Freddy, with a blade for a finger on his right hand, after one of Castro’s men bit the original clean off?
Whoever it is, I just hope they show me some mercy for being one of their own.
“I saw her body, sir. Thought she had drowned. I just reacted.”
He glares at me and then looks at Markus.
“I called Fenrir here today because I had an assignment for him. A delicate one that would have required his… how shall we put this? His face fit the job.” He chuckles at his cleverness, but Markus shows some restraint, his face remaining impassive.
“But after this little fiasco, I’ve decided that I want Fenrir Therion on my daughter’s security team. ”
Silence devours the room, and I don’t know who is more shocked, me or Markus.
“I…. Sir, Fenrir is a—” Markus begins but doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to.
He was going to say that I’m a Hellhound—one of the most fearsome, grotesque people to walk this earth. We’re the ones hired to inflict pain, teach lessons, and carry out Devall’s dirty work. We’re nothing more than dogs, tethered beasts who do the monster’s bidding.
“I don’t give a fuck who he is or where he currently works,” Devall snaps.
“This man thought my daughter had drowned. He was the only one who not only noticed her but did something about it.” He levels his gaze on Markus, voice like steel.
“Now, if this isn’t the kind of person I need protecting my only heir, then who the fuck else is going to do it? ”
Markus looks on the brink of despair but seems to remember his place and nods. “Of course, sir. I’ll add him to the team right away, sir.”
And with that, I’m ushered out of the room with both hands still attached.
Hayami’s security team. What the actual hell?
I’m supposed to protect the woman I’ve just dragged back from the brink of death—a death, I presume, she chose for herself, no matter how much she protested afterwards.
She may be beautiful, but Princess Hayami strikes me as the kind of woman who’s had everything served to her on a silver platter… and still finds it lacking. She comes across as a spoiled brat. She wanted to die.
And I stopped her.
And just like her father, I suspect Hayami doesn’t like it when she doesn’t get what she wants.
But none of that matters now, because I’ve just been handed a pardon, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Maybe I’ve been exonerated in Devall’s eyes, but there’s little doubt in mine: Hayami isn’t going to like the newest addition to her team.
Not one little bit.