Heart of a Devil

Chapter 19 – Sebastian

Chapter

Nineteen

SEBASTIAN

I ’m wearing a tie, and as usual, I feel like someone’s strangling the life out of me. They’ve never made any sense to me, ties. It’s like providing your enemies with a ready-made killing tool—or maybe, as Sam says, I’m overthinking it.

The tie, the new suit, the freshly trimmed beard, it should all be making me feel better. It all fits in with my developing image as a legitimate businessman, club owner, hotelier, and now restaurateur. I’ve never bought into that shit about the clothes making the man, though, and beneath the designer duds and fancy shoes, I’m the same old Seb. The body of a thug and the heart of a devil. I’m not really in the mood for this shit, but it needs to be done. People need to know that the deal has gone through, that we got what we went after. It’s important in our world to look as tough as you are.

We’re holding the shindig in the location nearest to Archangel, which is on a busy high street packed with bougie little bars and places that sell you Spanish chorizo for the same price as a whole pig in the old-school meat market. Like ourselves, the area has gone upscale in the last few years. We invited the McIversons, giving them the opportunity to save face and make it look like they chose to sell rather than the reality— that they sold to avoid the loss of life or limb at the hands of the Carney brothers. Only Kenny has turned up, and I can’t say I’m upset at his fuckwit little brother giving the proceedings a miss. Kenny can be useful, and I get the feeling he’s still invested in the business and wants it to succeed. Gabriel and I have discussed it, and we might give him a job as a manager—his name is still on the front door, after all.

The place is packed mostly with locals, along with all the Archangel staff and their other halves if they have them. Not many do. I guess it’s not exactly the most stable of industries, and Gabriel is the exception, not the rule.

Taylor Grant is here, as ever his eyes glued to me from the other side of the room. I’m waiting for our former detective buddy to see what he can find on the kid. He makes me uncomfortable. Maybe I wasn’t far off the mark when I called him my boyfriend that time we went to see Frankie. The boy could have a crush on me—in which case I’m flattered, but not interested. It’s possible that something deeper is warning me about him, a gut instinct that I’ve learned not to ignore. He’s hiding something for sure, which isn’t necessarily a problem. We all are. But secrets make me nervous, and I hate feeling nervous.

Sasha has turned up, accompanied by Elizabeth and Carla again. The latter looks a little sheepish when she walks in, so I go over for a chat to put her at ease. After our reckless vodka session, she ended up spending the night in my spare room. She tried it on in the morning, though, crawling naked under my covers, looking for action. She’s a nice enough girl, and I told her not to take it personally when I explained I wasn’t interested.

I chat to them for a while, make sure the drinks are flowing, and then start to circulate. Samantha is here with the gang from the office, and from the looks of them, they got an early start at O’Malley’s, the pub nearest to the firm. I had one of the lads in there, keeping an eye on things, making sure nobody got into any trouble.

The meeting with Caroline today was fucking upsetting for everyone, and it made me and Gabriel edgy. Abused women and kids are a sore spot for both of us, and although I couldn’t be prouder of Sam for the work she does, I sometimes wish she had a boring job, like working in a library or writing fucking instructions for vacuum cleaners or some shit. But what she does is part of who she is, and I love who she is, so I suppose I’ll have to deal with it. She’s safe enough with Gabriel, I know. Unlike Lauren.

As soon as her name pops into my mind, I frown. What the hell am I going to do about her? Since that night in her apartment, I’ve tried to shut down all thoughts of her. She might think I have a thick skull, but her message has well and truly sunk in. She’s not interested in anything more serious, and that’s fine. That’s good. That’s absolutely fucking fantastic. Except, of course, that it’s not.

I keep sneaking peeks at her on the surveillance system, which is on permanently but only sends us an alert when the motion sensors are triggered. I’ve seen her cooking, working out, lying on her couch and using her phone. Most days, she gives the cameras a little wave when she gets back from work, a kind of “Hi honey, I’m home,” thing, and it makes me smile every time. I tell myself I’m looking out for her safety, that I’d do the same for any client, but I know different. It’s because I can’t get her out of this thick skull of mine, and it makes me feel like a voyeur. I never watch for more than a minute or two, and I’m damn glad she banned us from installing devices in her bedroom. I’d be walking around with a stiff dick twenty-four seven.

Today was the first time I’ve seen or spoken to her in person since I walked out on her to meet Sasha. If she’d contacted me, maybe I’d feel different about it all. We were both angry that night, both lashing out, but it was nothing we couldn’t figure out together. Figuring shit out, though, requires two willing participants, and she clearly wasn’t willing.

So we blanked each other like a pair of kids for a whole week. I was in a foul mood for the lot of it. I’m not used to feeling like this, and I can’t say that I like it. Finding women has never been a problem for me—sticking to one has been the problem. Now I go and finally meet the one I want to stick with, and she’s more of a fucking psycho about relationships than I am. Go figure.

It was tough seeing her earlier. She looked so damn beautiful in one of her little black business outfits. She was as polite as I was, both of us setting aside our personal feelings while we concentrated on Caroline. Afterward, though? Afterward, I went back to Archangel, got out of my fine new suit, and punched the shit out of an innocent hanging bag. That poor bag will never play the violin again, and neither will I—I didn’t bother with gloves, and my knuckles are paying the price.

It was what I needed. A little good old-fashioned physical pain to deal with. Now I’m here, and I’m working this room and doing everything a good host should do—but the only person I want to see isn’t here yet. She said she was coming, but it’s possible she changed her mind. Maybe she went home or went out for the night. I hate the thought of her wandering around the city without protection and hope she’s at least carrying the pepper spray I left for her.

I pick up a bottle of Bud from the bar and approvingly note that the staff are all being attentive and polite. Gabriel grins at me from the other side of the room, and I raise the bottle in acknowledgment. It might have taken a bit of a push but we got here in the end, and I know he’s thrilled about it. It seems like a very long time ago when it was just the two of us against the world, scrapping our way to the top with our little security firm.

Things seem to be entering a new phase, and it’s one we both feel is better for Samantha, Max, and any future kids they might have. Still, I can’t help wondering what might be next for me. Truth be told, I find the business stuff boring. I like the rough and tumble. I like the conflict, the push, getting my hands dirty. Could be I branch out, start something new. Something a bit less… civilized.

I’ve been watching the door since I arrived, which is partly habit and partly because of Lauren. When she finally deigns to make an appearance, I clock her immediately. My first reaction is fucking hell!

She looks stunning. Red is most definitely her color, and the tiny scrap of a dress she’s wearing emphasizes her tan skin and breathtaking curves. Her hair cascades over one bare shoulder, and her legs end in the same high-heeled red shoes she was wearing the first night we met. The ones she was still wearing when I fucked her. All of this registers in a split second, and my dick goes hard right away.

The next thing I notice is the man who walks through the door behind her. He’s staring right at her ass, and why the fuck wouldn’t he. It’s the best ass on the planet. He trails behind her, and she waves at her friends before settling on a table for two. My blood starts to boil as I realize that she has in fact brought a date. She brought a date to my fucking restaurant launch. Not only is that enough to make me want to rip this guy’s bollocks off and shove them down his throat, it’s just plain rude. I stay where I am, trying to calm my breathing, telling myself that I can handle this. That we’re not a couple. She’s a free agent and can do whatever the hell she likes with whoever the hell she likes, even a prick like this with his little glasses and his floppy Hugh Grant hair and his stupid athletic-looking build. What a cunt.

She looks up unexpectedly, instinct telling her I’m watching. I want to do more than watch. I want to chase her, capture her, pin her down, and screw her. Show her she belongs to me and nobody else. She nods once, her face showing signs of anger I don’t understand, and goes back to her date.

I fully intend to walk away. To get her out of my line of sight and out of my head. I might need to leave the building to do it, but so what? I’ve showed my face; I’ve played nice. Now I feel like fighting, and I know plenty of places where that isn’t hard to come by. I’m sick of pretending to be a man I’m not, sick of swallowing down my instincts. If I stay, I’ll say or do something that we all regret, and I don’t want to spoil the night for Gabriel.

I glug down the rest of my beer and fasten my jacket, ready to slip away. It’s a good plan, but it all goes to shit when I glance at Lauren’s table. The dickwad she’s with is holding her hand and has got her fingers spread out. It looks like he’s reading her palm or some such crap. She laughs, throwing her head back in a way I’m achingly familiar with. The sight of her laughing with him stabs as deep as him touching her, and the fucker doesn’t let go of her hand. He keeps it in his, and I know exactly what he’s thinking. He’s thinking he’s on a promise. He’s thinking he’s in. He’s thinking about getting his mouth on her tits, his hands on that ass, about spreading those luscious legs of hers.

I slam the bottle down and try to count to ten. I get as far as two before my phone is in my hand.

I type, stabbing the screen like it’s the enemy.

End the date right now.

I hit send and lean back to see her reaction. Her eyes widen when she sees the message, but she stays calm and doesn’t look back at me. Her fingers fly, and her reply lands.

The fuck I will.

She puts the phone down again and carries on chatting to the guy as though nothing happened. As though I don’t bloody exist. He leans forward, whispers something to her, and wraps a strand of her curly hair around one of his fingers. Fuck me! It takes every scrap of control I have in me not to march over there and break his damn wrist. I glance at Samantha and Gabriel, reminding myself why I can’t do that, why I need to resist the urge to grab the cheeky cunt and slam his head down on the table until every bone in his stupid face is smashed to pieces. I take a deep breath and go back to my phone.

End the date now, or I end him. I’m not joking here Lauren. Get rid of him or I’ll do it for you.

She looks shocked when she reads it and looks over at me. I guess whatever she sees convinces her that I’m not playing. She looks back at the arsehole who is ogling her like she’s dessert. I’m too far away to hear anything, but she stands up suddenly and gestures to her phone. She’s probably making up a story about an emergency or whatever. I don’t actually care, as long as she does what she’s told. She looks furious. There will be hell to pay for this little stunt, but I don’t give a fuck. Better she gets mad and yells at me than I get mad and kill someone just because he dared touch her.

He argues a bit but eventually shrugs and gets the message. I consider following him out the door and still beating the crap out of him simply for looking at her ass, but I don’t get the chance because Hurricane Lauren is striding toward me, hair flying and eyes sparking. Fuck. She’s hot when she’s angry.

“Don’t cause a scene,” I say quietly as soon as she’s by my side. “Gabriel and Sam don’t get out together often—let’s not spoil it.”

“I had no intention of spoiling anything until you started acting like a possessive asshole. What gives you the right to say who I can see? I thought we agreed we were both free agents.”

“I didn’t agree to anything, and I certainly didn’t agree to you acting like a bitch and flaunting your latest fuck buddy in front of me and everyone I care about.”

Her eyes flash and her nostrils flare, and for a moment, I genuinely think she might be about to take a swing at me. Annoyingly, all that temper and passion goes straight to my dick. “Don’t you dare call me a bitch, you hypocritical jackass. One rule for you and another for me, is it?”

I glare back at her, feeding off her energy. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

She turns to look at the corner booth where Sasha is sitting with his lady friends, a predictably empty bottle of vodka in front of him. “Her,” she announces, pointing in Carla’s direction. “She’s your new squeeze, isn’t she? And before you bother to deny it, Seb, I saw you together. I saw you outside your house. Couldn’t wait to carry her to bed, could you?”

I blink in confusion, then feel like someone has punched me in the gut. “What? You were at my house that night? Why?”

“What does it matter why? I was there. You were busy. I left. End of story. And now here she is again, presumably waiting until you’ve finished up being a dick to me so you can get back to manhandling her again. Well, feel free. I don’t give a shit anymore.”

Angry tears shining in her eyes, she spins around and tries to storm off, but I grab her arm. She slaps at my hand, swearing and struggling, and I remember how much fight she had in her the night we played our hunting game. “Behave yourself, sweetheart. Sam’s watching, and you’re coming with me.”

She calms slightly at the mention of Samantha, fakes a smile, and replies, “I’m going nowhere with you. Go screw yourself, douchebag.”

I’ve had enough of talking. I grip her hand in mine and tug her toward me. “You’ll do as you’re fucking told. If I have to pick you up and carry you over my shoulder, I will. Might be tough for your colleagues to take you seriously once they’ve seen your arse dancing in the wind though. We need to talk, and we need to talk now.”

For a split second, I think she’s going to go for option B, and part of me hopes she does. But she obviously knows me well enough to realize I mean every word—she nods once, a sharp, staccato jolt of her head. I keep a firm grip on her arm in case she tries to bolt and drag her behind me through the crowd, toward the corridor at the back of the room. We’re doing up the rooms at the back, renovating the staff rooms and what used to be the ladies’ toilets. For now, the door has a “no entry” sign on it. I shove her roughly through it, and she staggers on her high heels, almost falling.

God, she’s gorgeous. All spit and fire, sky-high heels, and sparkling dress, fury in her eyes that seems to dare me to touch her. I growl and close the distance between us, loving the flash of fear that crosses her face as she backs away. She lands hard against the tiled wall, her eyelids fluttering and her breath coming in panicked little gusts. She’s trapped and she’s mine, and she knows it. “Seb! You said we needed to talk.”

“Yeah, well. I changed my mind.” I lock the door behind us and walk very deliberately toward her. She tries to shimmy past me, but I catch her and spin her around so she’s facing the mirror above the sink. I yank her head back with a rope made of her own hair and run my other hand down her throat, squeezing it in that way she loves. Our eyes meet in the glass, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on. My big hand on her delicate skin, the trembling of her full lips, the single tear that is flowing down her cheek. I need to be inside her, now. I need to fuck this pain away and remind her who she’s dealing with.

I let go of her throat and use my free hand to shove her tiny dress up over her ass. Fuck. I want to choke her and slap her and roll her nipples. I want to stroke her and caress her and run my fingers over her hot, wet pussy. I want to touch her everywhere, all at once. I just don’t have enough goddamn hands for everything I want to do to this woman. She groans as I tear off her flimsy panties and shove the soaking wet fabric beneath her nose. “You want this as much as I do, sweetheart. Don’t lie to me or to yourself.”

That’s as far as it goes for foreplay. This isn’t a foreplay situation, and she’s wet enough already. I take my cock out, huge and hard for her, and slam it straight inside her tight, soaking pussy. She yells at the sudden invasion, and I press her neck down so she’s bent over the sink, her fingers grabbing onto the porcelain as I slam into her. Keeping one hand on her hip, I put the other in her hair and tug her head up so she can see her own face in the mirror. So she can see herself getting well and truly fucked. Her eyes don’t leave mine, not for a second.

Neither of us looks away as I grunt like a rutting animal, her body shuddering with the force of each ferocious thrust. It doesn’t take long for me to feel the delicious rippling of her internal walls, the telltale squeeze around my shaft that lets me know she’s about to orgasm. I’m desperate to shoot my load inside her but make myself hold on until she finds her release. She screams my name, her perfect pussy clenching and vibrating all around my cock, her cum rushing out to coat us both as she trembles and shakes beneath me.

“Fuck,” I yell, my own climax ripping through me so bloody hard I forget to breathe. So. Damn. Good.

I collapse on top of her, and she yelps at the extra weight. “Seb, I’m done. I can’t hold us both up.”

I laugh into her neck and inhale her familiar jasmine-scented shampoo and the sweat of freshly fucked Lauren. When I stand, I drag her with me and stagger toward the big chair in the corner of the room. She lands in my arms, and I clutch her tightly. We’re always good during the sex. We’re good in the immediate aftermath too. Beyond that, we tend to screw things up, and I don’t want her running before I’ve had the chance to explain a few things.

“This is super romantic,” she says, glancing around. “Very sexy.”

There are bags of building supplies, a stack of cleaning products, and one random green rubber boot standing next to a tin of paint. “You’re sitting in here, sweetheart, therefore it’s the sexiest place on earth. Now we’ve both got that out of our systems, we need to talk.”

She squirms on my lap, trying to escape, and I clamp down on her so hard she squeals. “Nope. You’re going nowhere, Hot Sauce. Why did you come to my house that night? I don’t care if the answer is to set it on fire—I just need the truth.”

She bites her lip and gazes down at her hands. She looks uncomfortable, almost embarrassed, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen that on her before. I wonder if she’s about to lie to me, which I’ve also not seen on her before—she’s usually way too honest for comfort. “I wanted to apologize for the way I behaved. For the things I said.”

“Like saying I had a thick skull?”

She gives me a quick smile and runs her hand over my head. “Well, it is pretty thick, to be fair, but… Yeah. I shut you out and was harsh, and you were right. After you left, I missed you. It freaked me out, but I missed you, so I jumped in a cab and went to your place, and I intended to ask you if I could sleep over. Which now that I say it really makes me sound like a teenage girl.”

I take all of this in and feel sick to my stomach at the thought of what she accidentally saw. I know how much it must have taken for Lauren to even consider admitting she was wrong, to take a step back from her deeply engrained and ferocious sense of independence. She reached out, and I unwittingly slapped her away. I stroke her curls back from her face and kiss her forehead. She feels good on my lap. I think I might keep her here permanently.

“Lauren, sweetheart. Nothing happened. She wanted it to, and I knew that she did and maybe that’s why I let her get into the cab with me. But I didn’t do anything, I swear. Besides, she threw up all over me and I had to carry her to my place because the cabbie wouldn’t drive her. She slept in the spare room, baby.”

“But you took her home knowing she wanted something with you?” There’s no accusation in her tone. She sounds like she’s fact checking. Like a good lawyer.

I wince. “Yeah. She was warm and willing and she wanted me, and… Well, I needed that.”

“Because I was cold and unwilling and didn’t want you?”

I shrug. No use sugar-coating it. “Maybe. Look, it’s not a black-and-white situation. We both played our part in that fight. I reacted like a prick and got my head turned by the first woman who showed an interest. I’m sorry for that. I never meant to hurt you, but I’m old enough to understand that actions have consequences, and it was a dick move. I felt rejected by you and pissed off at how much that stung, and I suppose I wanted to feel like me again. Like a man who listened to his body more than his fucking feelings . I hate how many fucking feelings you make me have, Lauren. But I did not sleep with her, I promise you. I didn’t even kiss her.”

“Why, then? If she was willing, and that’s what you wanted, why couldn’t you sleep with her?”

“Well, she was practically passed out by the time I got her home. I might be into some questionable kinks, but consent is number one on my list of must-haves. But… I wouldn’t have slept with her anyway. She wasn’t who I wanted. She wasn’t the woman I couldn’t get out of my mind. She’s not the woman who makes my dick hard with one raised eyebrow. She’s not the woman I want to laugh with, to play with, to talk to every hour of every day. She’s definitely not the woman I’m falling in love with.”

Her head snaps up, her eyes going wide. I know exactly how she feels. I surprised my fucking self with that little speech. This could go either way. She could run screaming into the night, never to be seen again. And if she does, so be it. I’ve had enough of this bullshit now. Enough stupid games and dancing around reality.

“Am I that woman?” she asks quietly, winding her arms around my neck.

“No, I was talking about Taylor fucking Swift—of course you bloody are, Lauren.”

She raises her lips for a kiss, which I am more than happy to provide. Afterward, she shakes her head and says, “If we’re going to try to make a go of this thing, Seb, I really need to ask you to do something for me.”

“Anything, baby.”

“Never take Tay Tay’s name in vain again.”