Chapter 4
Sophia
The Devil's Karma
Two months later
Sloshing sounds filled the silence of the car, and my fiancé groaned, breaking the peace entirely. “Ah, shit. There goes my tie. Can you drive any better? For God’s sake, Sophia, your driving instructor was the best in the state of Texas.”
My fingers constricted around the wheel at Walton’s remark, but my next words came out soft. “I’m sorry, Walton.”
“As you should be. Now I have to go to this fucking birthday party looking like an idiot. You might be fine with looking less than perfect, but you know that is not how I like to present myself.”
I held back on the roll my eyes would have freely done two months ago.
Less than perfect. I bit back on telling him wearing a suit to a Southern bar in the middle of a town with a population less than half the cost of the designer fabric on his shoulders would make him look like an idiot, regardless.
If anything, ditching the tie would help, just like tying it around his mouth would do for me.
He maneuvered in the passenger seat of the rented Tesla, removing his tie. I glanced over, checking the damage. Whatever liquor had been in his flask streaked the middle of his beige Brioni tie, the one now being undone and discarded on the backseat.
“Maybe I can take it to—”
“Don’t even bother. Just drive, babe.” Babe.
I internally cringed and bit down on my lip, tasting my peach lipgloss. “Is the rest of your suit good?”
“Clean, you mean?” Right. He hated any slang, euphemisms, or words that were indirect.
He said they made me sound less like a Pierson and more like street trash.
That’s the type of man Walton Buchanon was—firm, direct, and completely unforgiving.
For people like the Buchanon’s, one of Texas’ wealthiest families besides my own and a handful of others, money was power and anything that showed you might not have it, like the cowgirl boots and jeans I tried to wear tonight, was unacceptable.
Instead, I was ordered to wear a matching beige satin slip dress.
Clusters of diamonds lined my wrist, matching the singular, large diamond on my finger.
Both were set in gold, which I rather hated.
I’d always preferred silver, but try telling that to your fiancé who probably had no clue what your middle name was, nor would he ever care to find out.
“Yes, sorry. Is your suit still clean, dear?” More peach flavor spread to my tongue, coating it in sweetness like I was trying to do with my words.
“For now,” he grumbled.
The moment I turned into the parking lot of the bar, his eyes narrowed on me.
I didn’t have to turn to see his face, I could feel the tension in the car.
I shuffled closer to the door as I unbuckled.
If he’d seen a picture of Roland’s before agreeing to go with me to Lyra’s birthday party, I’m sure he would have hired security just to keep any sweaty bodies or dirt from touching his outfit.
“What the fuck is this, Sophia?”
“It’s where the party is.” I twisted to grab my clutch from the backseat. “I told you it was at a bar, remember?”
“A bar?” He chuckled darkly, swiping his hand over his gelled, auburn hair. The arch of his pointed nose scrunched in disgust. “This isn’t a bar. This is a wooden shack.”
I gazed through the window at the red neon letters, keeping my attention from how his expression kept contorting with a mix of anger and annoyance, which was palpable enough as it was without taking it in visually.
“It’s her husband’s bar,” I clarified.
“I thought you said her husband has money?”
“He does.”
He pointed at the bar. “That isn’t money.”
I pulled out my lipgloss and flipped the mirror down, reapplying to keep my eyes off my fiancé. “It was his parent’s, I think.”
“They should have bulldozed it. I’m sure the land is worth more than the wooden planks keeping the building together.
” I cringed, almost hearing those exact words in my head, but from my stepmother.
I shook the thought away as Walton adjusted his suit, flipping his mirror down to check his hair and adjusting the few strands that had escaped their hardened hold.
“I can’t believe you lived in the same place as the dirt that must own this bar. Absolutely frightening.”
My gut churned in anger, my fist tightening around the plastic container of gloss. “Lyra,” I corrected. “Her name is Lyra, and she’s my best friend.”
“Yeah, whatever. You have new friends now that are actually worth your time.” His door popped open, and when he stood, he adjusted the few wrinkles in his suit, cursing as he attempted to flatten them.
“We won’t be coming back here again. No wife of mine will be seen this close to something so foul.
” He glanced around, then pinched his nose. “It even smells different here.”
That’s called fresh air, asshole.
Walton exited the car and stepped up to the hood, waving his hand for me to hurry up.
I exhaled, heavy and slow, before opening the door on my own and getting out.
I told myself that Tesla’s doors were different, they opened and closed with a button and he didn’t really need to get the door for me.
It would be dramatic of me to point it out, not that I would ever dare do that.
But if the doors had a normal handle, he wouldn’t have touched it, either.
Fitting my arm through Walton’s, like I’d become accustomed to, we walked through the parked cars filling the lot.
We’d arrived a little later than we should have, mostly because Walton had been complaining about the hotel we were staying in.
Nothing was ever up to his standards, and if billions weren’t attached to my name, I wouldn’t be either.
Walton grumbled even more complaints as we dodged parked trucks and cars, his hand tight around mine as he pulled me through like a piece of luggage.
Then, suddenly, a soft thunk sounded before he shoved me away and reached up to his nose.
“What the fuck!” When he started kicking at a large truck, I took a few steps back. His temper had always been…chaotic.
“What happened?” I managed to get out, feigning concern. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. Can’t you see that? Fuck!” He pulled his hand away from his nose, and a small smudge of blood streaked his fingers. “Who puts that on their car?!”
I glanced past his shoulder, connecting the dots. “Side mirrors?”
He seethed, cupping his injury with both hands. “I should sue him. Having side mirrors that size can’t be legal.”
My gaze latched onto the truck we’d almost walked by completely. My throat ran dry, and a flicker of heat ran through my veins.
“Did you hear me?”
“W-what?” My focus snapped away from one of the stickers along the back window—a devil with bloodied horns smirking while holding the tip of his pointed tail, angelic wings burning behind his back.
“Of course, you didn’t.” His deep brown eyes darkened as a sneer curled his lip. “Give me my key card. I’m going back to the hotel.”
I stood there, frozen to the spot. Satin slid out from my fingers forcefully as Walton took my clutch. His scoff brought me back once more. “You had Chanel lipstick in here, yet you chose to wear this?”
The white truck loomed ominously high above Walton’s head behind him. “I’m—uhm.”
“God, you sound like you’re the one who got hit by a truck. Get a ride back to the hotel, and don’t be too late. You can manage that at least, right?”
“I—” I swallowed the heavy lump in my throat and nodded. “Yeah. Yes. I can be back soon.”
“Good.” Walton pushed the bag into my stomach, forcing me back a small step. “We’re leaving in the morning. I’ll probably need to see the family physician. I’ll call him and have him meet us at the house as soon as we’re in the air.”
“Good idea,” I said hollowly, unsure exactly what he’d said, but knew it was a good enough response. It must have been, because moments later, cold, hard lips pressed to my cheek, and not too long after that, a car came to life behind me.
Gravel and dirt kicked up as headlights flicked on, illuminating the back window of the truck I hadn’t been sure I’d ever see again.
I should’ve put two-and-two together and figured he’d be here.
He was Lyra’s husband’s best friend. Of course he’d fucking be here.
Why I cared so much was a whole other problem.
The last time I saw Grant was when I woke up with him wrapped around me.
A lot of that night was still hazy, but I’d dreamed about it most nights since then.
What I knew for sure was when I woke up, my underwear had been torn and I’d been unbelievably wet between my thighs.
I pulled out my phone, opening up the text from a number I hadn’t saved yet nor had I ever planned to. Rubbing my lips together, I fought the way my thighs clenched under my dress as I stared down at the words I knew were from Grant—
Unknown: You taste too sweet to be touched in a way that doesn’t make you come.