Chapter 11
ELEVEN
HAYAMI
PRESENT
There’s a bitter taste in my mouth. My tongue’s furry, like something’s growing on it, and my head feels like my brain is loose and sloshing around in my skull. This isn’t the first time I’ve woken up like this.
I try to recall what events led me here, but there’s a new sensation, one I haven’t felt before: a chill in my core, as if someone has frozen my insides, including my memory.
Flashes come back to me.
The club.
The beat of the music.
The guy’s hand on my leg.
Following him to the toilet.
The widening of his eyes as he pulled down the strap of my dress.
The tingle of his tongue over my nipple.
And even though his touch felt like sandpaper and his lips like jelly, I wanted it. It—not him, just it. Because I want the touch of a man to be on my terms, not anyone else’s.
Then the Beast arrived. The noise of the door being kicked in, the rage on his face as he’d ripped the guy from my body, and the quiver in my core as he’d shoved the barrel of his gun down the guy’s throat.
I don’t know what to make of the fact that the Hellhound shoving his gun down the guy’s throat turned me on far more than the guy had when he flicked his tongue over my nipple. Despite the heat that’d burned between my legs, I cursed the Beast for interrupting us.
My throat swells as I try to swallow, and I recall screaming at him.
“I hate you! You’re a fucking monster!”
There was no way I was leaving that club. No way I was having them dictate my life to me for one more second.
Then the Hellhound picked me up, threw me over his shoulder. The heat had brewed under my skin as I’d fought, kicked, punched—and then nothing.
And by my raging headache, blurry eyes, and fog surrounding my brain, I know they’ve bent to my father’s will and drugged me, again.
There’s anger somewhere amongst the haze. Raging, lethal anger. But right now, rather than burning brightly in my gut, it’s smouldering under the aftermath of whatever shit they injected me with.
It’s abuse. Plain and simple. But what police officer or doctor would listen to me, Hayami Devall?
Which upstanding citizen would come to my rescue and arrest my father for illegally drugging me?
Because, as much as I want to, I don’t blame Willa or even the Beast. They’re only following orders, and I know what would happen to them if they don’t do as they’re told.
It’s my fault they end up drugging me. My defiance. My reluctance to do as I’m told. My resistance to fall in line with my father’s demands. But it doesn’t take the sting out of any of it.
Normally, after I’ve been sedated, I wake in my bed, but this doesn’t feel like my soft mattress. Nor does it smell like the usual lavender I spray my pillow with. So, where the fuck am I?
I try to blink, but my eyes are sticky, like they know that when they open, they won’t like what they see. But I force them to face whatever shit’s awaiting me.
An orange glow greets me, along with a damp, musty smell accompanying the dark furnishings and rich colours.
Strange.
Blinking, I adjust to my surroundings. With the lull in my brain, I’m struggling to process that I’m somewhere I’ve never been before. If I have, I don’t recall it.
“Where the fuck am I?” My voice sounds weird, a deepness to it that feels rough inside my ears.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Willa’s voice pierces the panic that’s begun to balloon. Her hand’s on my arm whilst her body blocks out the size of the room along with the enormity of my current predicament.
“Where the fuck?” I push up onto my elbows, taking in the large room, the dark cornices, the shadows that dance upon the darkened walls.
“It’s okay,” Willa repeats, using that voice she saves for when I’ve lost my shit and she’s trying to calm me. “You’re safe, and that’s all that matters.”
“Like fuck it does.” There’s a blanket over me, which I push away. My dress is gone, replaced with sweats and a hoodie. I glance at Willa, and then I feel him.
The Hellhound.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I turn to face him, all of him.
The man who won’t let me breathe.
The man who stalks my every movement.
The man who is ruining my life—albeit less than my father is.
“There was a code red,” the Beast says.
“I remember.” I lower my tone, signalling my annoyance at how they interrupted my night for a stupid code red. “We have a code red nearly every week.”
“This one was different,” Willa explains. “They made threats against you, specifically.”
“And?” Again, this is nothing new. My life has been in danger since the day I took my first breath. Disgruntled gang members, people who have a grudge against my father (that list is endless), and anyone who opposes his reign on this city. I’ve been threatened by them all.
“Like I said, this was different.” She swallows, which unnerves me. It takes me a second to realise why. I’ve never seen her like this. Hollow. Shaken. “They killed some people at one of your father’s clubs.”
“They?” I quirk my head to the side, but it isn’t Willa who answers.
“Robert Castro has been assassinated,” the Beast tells me, and my stomach plummets.
I try to keep out of the gang shit, but I know enough to understand the significance of this. Robert Castro is—was—the brother of Vincent Castro, the head of the Castro family, my father’s biggest rivals.
“Of all the lame fucking ideas, that’s got to be my father’s worst,” I say, looking back at the Beast.
“It wasn’t his order. He’s not to blame for Robert’s death.” The Beast eyes me cautiously.
The large grandfather clock in the corner of the room beats steadily as I gather my thoughts.
“Then why are we being targeted?”
“Because Devall is the obvious suspect.”
“Why?”
He glances at the floor, and my hackles rise. “I’m not a fucking child. I deserve to know what’s happening when my life is supposedly at stake because of this shit.”
“Some of Castro’s men have been killed. Tyrone Miller was shot six months ago, and before him, Morris Hamlin was beaten to death outside a club.
The Castros have had us in their sights since then, and this has simply forced their hand.
They have to blame someone, have to act; otherwise, they will appear to be weak,” the Beast explains, flexing his biceps whilst Willa tenses her jaw.
She knows he shouldn’t be telling me this stuff.
But even though I loathe him, I do appreciate the fact that he seems to be the only one on my security team who doesn’t shield me from the reality of my father’s world.
He keeps me up-to-date on the rumblings within the gang world.
Maybe he’s just unprofessional, or maybe he knows that knowledge can be powerful.
“They mean business, Hayami,” Willa cuts in, but the Beast won’t be pushed aside that easily.
“They killed a bunch of people in one of your father’s clubs and then sent an email saying the Devalls will be next, specifically the heir.” The Beast crosses his arms as Willa rolls her eyes.
“And that’s why your father has sent us here,” she adds, shaking her head at him.
“And where exactly is here?” I ask.
Willa sighs before she answers. “Belial House.”
All I can do is laugh. It’s manic, high-pitched, more of a shriek, but it’s the only way I can respond to this shitstorm that’s supposed to be my life.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” But by the look on Willa’s face, I know this is no joke.
I glance once more at the room—its vaulted ceiling, the enormous fireplace that houses crackling flames, and the oversized sofa I’m spread out on.
“So, this is the house of horrors?” I whistle through my teeth. “Well, fuck me. Things must be serious if my father has resorted to packing me off to this little hellhole. Or was this your idea?”
I look at the Beast, who glares from under his scowl, arms folded across his enormous chest like he’s still standing guard over me—though there isn’t a chance in hell anyone could get to me here.
He looks like the pillar of strength. Willa, on the other hand, fits the scene—her eyes wide, the whites ablaze like she’s staring down the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.
But the Beast? He isn’t afraid.
“Does he know about this place?” I tip my thumb at him.
“What’s there to know other than rumours?” Willa bites her bottom lip. It doesn’t suit her, this frightened rabbit look.
“She hasn’t told you?” It’s a question, even though Willa has just given me the answer.
My eyes lock with his, and I wonder what he’ll make of it all. Willa is scared shitless. So why aren’t I? I should be. Should be pulling the blanket up to my chin and asking the Hellhound to frighten the monsters away. Instead, I welcome something other than the shit show that is my life.
The Beast shakes his head.
“Well, why don’t we pull up a seat, campers, and stoke the fire, ’cause this shit’s about to get spooky.
” I rub my hands together, assessing my audience of two.
But my skills are wasted on them. Willa is too fucking scared, and the Beast is…
well, he’s just the way he normally is—unaffected by everything and everyone, unless someone is trying to breathe near me.
“Believe it or not, this place used to be a holiday home,” I begin.
“We’re talking years ago, at the time my father was married to his first wife, Eileen.
I’ve been told they bought it because of how remote it is.
A place for when they just wanted to get away from life for a bit.
Sounds perfect if you ask me. But it wasn’t.
This place….” I glance around the room for dramatic effect.
“My mum came here once with my father before I was born and swore she would never return, and they never have.”
The Beast rolls his eyes.
“Am I boring you, big man?” I ask.
“No, but I’m guessing something happened? A shadow on the wall one night? A candle blown out during an important dinner?” There’s a dry smugness to his voice, one he saves for talking about the super-rich.