The Devil We Know (Ends World #5)

1. The Aftermath

1

The Aftermath

Matt

Six months ago

When I first arrived at Declan’s estate to find it empty, I was somewhat relieved. I don’t have time to decompress very often, so I was going to take the reprieve for what it was; a gift.

That is until I saw his phone light up on the table.

Answer Me.

I blink at the screen a couple of times, then shrug, scooping it up and accepting the call before putting the phone to my ear. “Who is this?”

“Declan?” a feminine voice whispers, and I frown, momentarily startled that Declan’s “Answer Me” is female.

After a moment, I reply, “No, this isn’t Declan. His phone is here, but he must have stepped out because no one was home when I got here.”

She curses, annoyance in her voice as she replies, “Oh. Sorry to have bothered you.”

“Wait,” I interject hurriedly. “Why are you calling Declan?”

“N-n-no reason,” she stutters. “I’ll try again.”

“Maybe I can help?”

“Who are you?” she asks hesitantly.

“Mathias Shields,” I answer. “But you can call me Matt. I’m a good friend of Declan’s.”

She falls quiet, and I wait patiently, straining for some indication that she hasn’t disconnected the call. Then I say, “Hello? Are you still there?”

“Y-yes,” she stutters again, then clears her throat and adds, “I’m here.”

“Are you in trouble?”

She laughs, the sound coming off slightly crazy. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She says nothing, and after a few minutes, I add, “Tell me where you are.”

She rattles off an address, and then I hear the distinctive chatter of her teeth indicating she’s shivering.

“I’m going to stay on the phone with you,” I say clearly. “What’s your name?”

“Jessica,” she whispers, as I put the call on speaker, exiting Declan’s house and making my way to my rental car. I get behind the wheel, starting the ignition and switching the call to Bluetooth. “Okay, Jessica. Are you in immediate danger?”

“No.”

“Good,” I respond evenly. “That’s good. Do you have a sofa or a comfortable chair nearby?”

“Yes.”

“Great, that’s perfect,” I reply, maneuvering the car onto the freeway and flooring it. “First, I need you to find a blanket, and then I need you to wrap yourself in the it and curl up on the sofa or in the chair, facing the back of it. Can you do that for me, Jessica?”

“Yes,” she says through her chattering teeth.

“Are you able to bring this phone with you?”

“No, but there’s another phone beside the sofa.”

“Do you need to disconnect this call and call again from the other phone?”

“No. I’ll put you on hold and then pick the call back up.”

“Okay,” I respond calmly, doing my best to keep my tone level. “You do that now. Put this call on hold, then focus on the steps I gave you. I’ll be right here waiting. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” I whisper. “Then, go.”

The call cuts to silence, and I wait patiently, keeping an eye on the road and the clock as time seems to drag on . What feels like hours later, the line clicks and I hear her shivering breaths on the other line.

“I’ll be there soon,” I whisper.

She makes an affirmative noise but says nothing, and by the time I make it to her office, she’s borderline unresponsive, the shock taking its toll on her.

She manages to give me access to the building, and from where she falls short, I manage to get myself access to the floor her office is on.

I walk into her office to find her lying on the sofa just as instructed, a bloody, motionless body a few short feet away from her. She’s curled inward, appearing small beneath the large blanket she wrapped around herself, her hair gleaming a burnt copper even in the dim light.

At first, she doesn’t move or acknowledge I’d entered the room but then after a beat, her upper body twists, bright green eyes locking with mine, as a choked sob falls from her lips.

I raise my hands in front of me, my voice calm and even as I say, “It’s me. It’s Matt.”

She flinches ever-so-slightly, the corner of her eyes wrinkling minutely as she squints. Her lips then press together tightly, and she swallows slowly.

She says nothing, so I slowly move closer until I’m standing next to her, and then I kneel in front of her. “Are you okay?”

At first, she stares at me, then frowns and shakes her head. I nod in acknowledgment of what she’s not saying and then reply, “You stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Not waiting for a response, I rise and walk over to the obviously dead body, pulling out my phone and texting my clean-up crew. Their reply is instantaneous, confirming the vague orders and the quick turnaround for completion.

I retrieve the man’s phone, wallet, and other personal effects, securing them in the inside pocket of my jacket to be disposed of secondary to the body.

If I had more time, I’d remove his head and hands, but since I’m leaving the disposal of the body to a third party, I’ll just have to let them do whatever they think is best.

I walk back across the room to where Jessica is still lying on the sofa, kneeling in front of her and catching her eyes as I say, “We need to get out of here.”

She blinks at me a few times and opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I pull the blanket off of her, wadding it into a ball and tossing it over onto the body.

Grasping both of her hands in mine, I grimace at the blood stains on them. I grab a bottle of water from the table next to the sofa, snagging the small bar towel, pouring the cool liquid onto it before turning back to her. I gently pick up one of her hands, resting it on the wet towel and dribbling water from the bottle onto her palm.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink; she just lies there, staring off into the void as I work methodically to rid her of as much blood spatter as I can. When I’m satisfied she’s as clean as she’s going to get, I toss the bottle of water and soiled towel toward the body, knowing the cleanup crew will take care of it.

I kneel in front of her again, grasping her hands and giving a little tug, but she doesn’t move. She just stares at me with a decidedly pained expression on her face and then she shivers.

I move my hands up to her forearms, pulling on her firmly to urge her into an upright position, and eventually, she manages to sit up on her own.

“I’m going to remove your top,” I whisper. “There’s blood on it.”

She nods, and I remove my jacket, unbuttoning the necessary buttons on my dress shirt and then pulling that and my undershirt over my head. I put my button-down and jacket back on and then quickly unbutton her blouse, helping her free her arms, then tossing it away.

I pull my undershirt over her head, and she manages to push her arms through the sleeves as I pull it down her torso. She just sits there stonily, but when she blinks at me, she appears to focus a bit more. Then she says, “I want to go home.”

“Good,” I reply softly. “Can you tell me where that is?”

She blinks a few more times and swallows before she gasps out, “Yes.”

“Can you walk?”

She’s trembling, and I know we’re on borrowed time before the shock wipes her out completely, so I pull out my phone, open the GPS app, and hand it to her. “Put in your address.”

She takes it from me with shaking hands. It takes her a few attempts before she’s happy with the coordinates that pop up, then she hands it back to me.

Still, she says nothing, so I stoop down, wrapping my arms around her upper body and pulling her to her feet. She comes willingly, though the tension in her body is evident. I drop my head and whisper near her ear, “I’m going to need you to walk. I’ll wipe the cameras, but just in case I miss one and it shows me carrying you out of here, people might ask questions.”

She leans into me suddenly, her face pressed into my neck, as a deep, guttural sob wrenches from deep inside her chest. I tighten my arms around her, pulling her in for a moment until she lets out a shuddering exhalation, and then I release her, my arms moving to her biceps as I step back and look into her face. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

She nods and then steps back, straightening to her full height. I turn to walk out the door, reaching back with my hand, which she takes in both of hers. I lead her from the room and down the hall, grateful the elevator is still there.

As I step onto the elevator, I watch her facial expressions in the mirror, noting how calm she appears on the outside. It only takes us a few minutes to reach my car. I help her into the passenger side, shutting the door and going around to get behind the wheel.

Luckily, she’s only a short drive from the office. Thankfully, when we arrive, she tells me where to park.

I shut off the ignition, exit the vehicle, and walk around to the passenger door, but when I open it, she doesn’t even look at me. She’s staring at the dash, visibly shaking and teeth chattering, so I stoop down, gather her up into my arms, and ease her out of the car. I heft her up, swinging around and using my ass to shut the door, and then I ask, “I’m a little late asking you this, but do you have your keys?”

She continues to shake as she rests her head against my shoulder and whispers, “Don’t need them.”

I frown, heading toward the entrance to the building. “What do you mean? How are you going to get in?”

She laughs, short and bitter, as she mutters, “I’m the key.”

It takes me a moment to understand what she’s referring to, and then I laugh to myself as I recall Declan asking me to set up security at an apartment downtown. I’m sure she doesn’t know that that’s how it came about—not the owners of the building—but I suppose I’ll keep his cover for now.

But this also means I could easily gain access to her apartment.

“What number?”

She doesn’t answer, and as I approach the doors, the doorman comes out and nods to me, so I turn so he can see who I’m carrying as I say, “I’m afraid she’s fallen ill while we were out. Are you able to let us up?”

He steps in close so he can get a look at her face and then asks, “Are you okay, Jessica?”

She peeks an eye open, the corner of her lips turning up slightly as she nods.

The man steps back, opening the door and motioning for me to enter, and then I follow him through the lobby to the set of elevators. The elevator doors open, and he motions for me to enter first. As I turn to face the doors again, he reaches in and presses number ten, looks at me, and says, “There’s only two apartments up there. She’s apartment A. If you have any problems getting in, buzz me.”

“Thank you,” I respond politely. It isn’t that I’m not grateful for the assistance; I was just leery of any witnesses surrounding criminal deeds.

Not wanting to put her down, it takes some maneuvering to get us into her apartment.

I close the door behind us, jostling her to get her attention as I ask, “Where’s your bedroom?”

“End of the hall,” she replies.

I walk in the direction she indicated, the door at the end of the hallway being open. I enter the room, heading directly to the bed and setting her down on it gently. “I’ll be right back.”

I walk back down the hallway, quickly locating the kitchen, where I grab a bottle of juice and a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Returning to the bedroom, I find she hasn’t moved at all, so I set the two bottles on the nightstand and then adjust her on the bed, so her head’s on the pillow.

Though I managed to remove a lot of the blood from her previously, I know if she wakes up to any evidence of what happened, it could set her back.

So, I remove her shoes, walk into the ensuite bathroom, and turn on the shower.

Back in the bedroom, I see she still hasn’t moved, so I walk over to her, putting an arm beneath her and forcing her to sit up. She still looks somewhat vacant, although some of the color is back in her cheeks.

“You need to get cleaned up.” She nods but says nothing, so I ask, “Do you think you can do it?”

At first, she nods again and then moves like she’s going to stand but immediately gives up on the idea. Then she shakes her head and whispers, “No. I don’t think I can.”

“Do you want me to help you?”

She frowns, uncertainty clear in her eyes, and then shrugs. Understanding that there’s no way she’s going to manage even the quickest shower on her own, I sigh in resignation.

Not that I’m at all opposed to showering with a woman, but the current circumstances are less than ideal, and I have to be careful not to do anything that might panic her.

I lean down, pressing both my palms into the mattress on either side of her so my face is level with hers as I say, “I’ll help you, Jess. You just need to focus on remaining calm, and remember I won’t do anything to hurt you.”

She searches my eyes momentarily, her lips pressing together again. Finally, she nods, so I straighten, pulling my jacket off and tossing it in the chair that’s beside the nightstand. I strip down methodically until I’m standing there in my underwear, and I chuckle internally at the fact that she’s not even looking at me. I don’t want to sound egotistical, but that is a sure indication that she is completely fucked in the head right now.

Walking back over to her, I quickly remove my shirt and then help her stand. Her arms on my shoulders are heavy as I pull her pants over her hips and down her legs, where they pool on the floor. She steps out of them and stands before me in her bra and underwear. I was going to leave her undergarments on, but I can see where blood had soaked through her shirt and stained the lace of her bra, so I pull back and ask, “Do you want to leave it on?”

She gives me a questioning look and then glances down at the front of herself, her frown deepening as she shakes her head erratically. Her hands leave my shoulders, and she jumps back, clawing at the fabric in an attempt to be rid of it.

I reach for her, intent on helping her, but she slaps me away, her hands frantic as she manages to unhook the bra and yank it free, throwing it away. She looks down at her underwear, frantic again as she struggles to push them down. After a couple of failed attempts, she manages to coordinate herself enough to push them down to her ankles, where she steps out of them, kicking them away.

Her earlier vacant expression is gone, her eyes burning now with anger and disgust. Her chest heaves, and I do my damndest not to focus on her breasts and hard nipples.

She stares at me, unflinching, as she lifts her chin at me almost defiantly. I keep my eyes locked with hers as I ask, “Do you think you can do it now?”

She deflates a little bit, then she glances around the room as if she forgot where we are. She looks down at her nude body, her hands coming up to cover her chest, but then she looks down further, and one arm drops down in front of her, and the other one crosses over her breasts as she groans, “I’m sorry.”

I chuckle, shaking my head as I reply, “No reason to be sorry, but you’re going to have to tell me what you need me to do.”

She stares at me, contemplating the question before answering, “It’s probably safer if you help me. If you don’t mind.”

“Don’t worry about me, Jess” I respond. “I’m here to help you. Anything you need, all you have to do is ask.”

Indecision crosses her features again, quickly replaced by sadness, and then she says quietly, “Just help me. I don’t even know what that means, but please help me.”

I do have an idea of what she means. Having grown up in less-than-desirable circumstances, I certainly didn’t take my first kill to heart, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t bother me.

Even killing in self-defense. It’s all the same torment.

I say nothing further, instead extending my hand to her which she takes it without hesitation. Turning, I lead her to the bathroom, walking directly to the running shower and opening the door, motioning for her to enter. I step in behind her, close the door then turn back to find her standing on the edge, just outside of the spray of the water. I smile, urging her under the warm spray with my hands on her upper arms.

She stands there motionless and emotionless, water pouring down on her as she stares at the ground, her hands now grasped in front of her.

I turn her until the spray of the water hits her in the chest, so she has to tilt her head back to avoid getting hit in the face. For some reason, I prefer her looking at the ceiling than the ground, and I laugh to myself at the lack of sense it makes.

I stand just outside of the spray of the water, trying to give her some space to get her bearings. Her eyes close, then her hand comes up, fingers outstretched, reaching. Every nerve ending in my body tells me to ignore it, to step back where she can’t touch me, but I don't. Instead, I extend my hand and grasp hers, allowing her to pull me closer.

I stand there with the front of my body pressed into her side, and her lips twitch, the corners turning up slightly. If nothing else, I’m glad that the natural instincts of my body has worked to at least cut some of the tension in the air.

I press my hips forward, bumping her side with the obvious erection in my underwear, and she giggles. I shake my head as I say, “Don’t judge me. Dicks don’t have brains.”

She giggles again, one of her hands coming up and covering her mouth as she attempts not to laugh, and I add, “Go ahead and laugh. Dicks don’t get offended.”

She drops her hand and gives up all semblance of not being amused by the betrayal of my own body. Then, she parrots, “Dicks don’t have brains.”

Now, I laugh as I reply, “It really is that simple. Some men like to pretend that it’s not, but they’re also usually fucking stupid.”

She laughs for a moment longer and then sighs, some of the tension leaves her body, but I can sense she’s still on edge, hovering over the precipice of being fine and complete lunacy.

“Hand me that washcloth,” I say evenly. “And whatever soap you want to use.”

She does as I ask without comment, handing them both to me and then standing there, waiting.

I soap up the washcloth and hand her back the bar of soap that she puts back on the shelf, and then I step back and turn her so she’s facing me. “Put your head back into the water, we’ll wash your hair next.”

Again, she does what I ask without comment, and I slide the washcloth along her neck, down around one shoulder, and back across the top of her chest to the other shoulder, swooping back down, quickly washing across her breasts and circling down around beneath them. I follow this path, over and down, over and down, until I have to kneel to wash her legs.

I slide the washcloth along her outer thigh, behind her knee, along her calf, and then start my way back up the inside. At mid-thigh, her breath catches, and I stop, intent on going to the other leg and doing the same path, but her voice stops me. “Don’t stop.”

I freeze with the washcloth pressed against her inner thigh. I look up and see her watching me. My eyes meet hers, and she says louder, “Please don’t stop.”

I give her an assessing look, unsure how to proceed, given the trauma she has suffered and what she is asking me. I don’t get the impression Jessica is the type of woman who jumps into bed with a man without proper consideration, and the last thing I want to do is cause her more harm, even if I’m only doing what she’s asking.

I ignore her request, moving the washcloth to the outside of her other leg and following the same path down, around, and back up, where once again, I pause at the inside of her thigh. She adjusts her stance, giving me better access as she says more firmly, “Fucking Christ, don’t stop.”

I clench my jaw, my cock throbbing at the sound of her voice making demands of me, but again, I ignore her request, rising to my feet and turning her so she’s facing the spray of the water.

The tension rolls off of her and I see that she’s starting to tremble, though I have no idea if it’s from shock, hunger, or anger.

I grab the soap off the shelf, sudsing up the cloth and then putting the soap back again.

This time, I use the same cross-wards sweeping motions down her back, kneeling and doing the backs of her legs before wiping the slick cloth along her ass cheeks. She pushes her ass back against me, agitation evident in her voice as she croaks, “Please, Matt. Please.”

I grit my teeth again, reaching in front of her and rinsing the cloth off before squeezing the excess water out of it and hanging it on the bar.

I grab the shampoo, dump some in my hand, put the bottle back, and quickly work it into her scalp as she leans her head back, moaning softly at the press of my fingers.

I move around her, turning her so I’m still behind her. I help her rinse the soap out of her hair, turn the water off, and walk back in front of her, intent on finding a towel, and that’s when I see it’s not just water on her face but also tears.

I stop, my hand extended to the shower door as a sob breaks free, and I reach for her just as she falls forward, collapsing into me.

I wrap my arms around her, one hand pressing into her back, the other coming up to tangle in the hair at the back of her head as I whisper, “It’s okay. Just let it out.”

She stiffens in my embrace, her hands coming between us as she pushes against my chest almost violently, and I stumble backward. Her eyes are wild as she screams, “Give me what I want.”

My heart gallops in my chest, stupidly caught off-guard by the volatility of her emotions, even knowing that this is the stuff that will happen.

I keep some distance between us, bringing my hands up so she’ll know I’ll hold my ground for as long as she needs me to, and I say, “You’re okay, Jess. I’m still right here.”

She launches herself at me, knocking me backward into the wall, and she comes with me. I all but have the wind knocked out of me by the force, and then her fists are connecting with my chest as she’s shouting, “Please. Just do it. Make me forget. Take it away. Please.”

I barely manage to grasp hold of both of her wrists to put a stop to her assault on me. I manage to take her feet out from under her, and then we slide to the floor, my body taking the brunt of the fall. I get my legs around her lower body, one arm wrapping around her front, pinning her forearms so she can no longer flail at me. But now, she’s crying—more like sobbing, gasping, begging—and that dark part of me wants to give in.

I push it down, refusing to take the excuse, refusing that lifelong calling to cause harm to a person who clearly does not deserve it.

We sit there, long minutes going by, as she continues her anguished crying. I ignore her begging words until finally, she calms enough that I say, “It’s okay. I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

After a few more moments, she manages a shuddering inhalation and a steadier exhalation, and then she quiets and whispers, “Why won’t you just give me what I want?”

I hesitate to answer, and then she must take my hesitation as a cue because she starts to squirm. I tightened my hold on her and then respond, “I can’t. Not after all you’ve been through.”

She chokes out a bitter laugh and struggles as she says, “It’s okay. I get how it wouldn’t be an appealing idea.”

Now, I laugh bitterly as I spit out, “Seriously?”

I push my hard dick against her, where she’s sitting in my lap, and then add, “I don’t think not being interested is the problem.”

She presses back against me, and I repress the moan that builds in my throat at the pressure and friction.

Ignoring her teasing, I manage to get my feet beneath me and use the leverage against the wall to bring us both to our feet. I step away from her, moving over to open the shower door, where I reach out and grab two towels that are hanging there.

Wrapping one around my waist, I then motion for her to step out of the shower. She’s standing there, glaring at me, so I glare back and grab a second towel, stepping into her. I lean in close so my nose is only an inch from hers, our eyes locked as I say clearly, “You, listen to me. Obviously, I’d like nothing more than to fuck the shit out of you right now, but given everything you’ve just been through, I’m not going to do that.”

She glares daggers as she retorts, “You know, I think I’ve heard stories about you.”

I raise a brow at her and say blandly, “Oh, yeah?”

The corner of her lip turns up as she sneers, “Yep. Always the fucking boy scout.”

My fucking blood boils in my veins, and my hands fist in the towel, my urge to throttle her skyrocketing. It takes every ounce of self-control in my body to refrain from bending her over my knee and slapping her ass.

I lean in a little closer, sure my breath is painting her lips as I say, “Don’t be getting any grand ideas that I’m a fucking boy scout, a gentleman, or even a good man. At some point, you’re going to find out exactly how fucking false that is, but that day isn’t going to be today.”

She jerks back as if slapped, her mouth snapping shut, and so I add, “I’ll make a deal with you.”

I pause, my eyes searching hers until she finally nods and asks, “What kind of deal?”

I step back, moving around behind her and using the extra towel I’d grabbed to dry her hair. I lean in so I’m speaking right near her ear, “Let’s get you taken care of tonight. Calmed down to the point where you’re no longer volatile, where you can think objectively and process what has happened. And after that, if you still feel this urge to find pleasure, then we’ll take care of it.”

She twists her body, so she’s looking me in the face, and she says, “Really?”

I nod, my eyes locked with hers. “Yes, but there’s a catch.”

She frowns. “And what might that be?”

“That you take what you want from me.”

Her frown deepens and she steps back abruptly as she says, “What do you mean?”

I close the distance between us again, forcing her to look at me as I reply, “You can use me for anything you want. But you’re not in any condition for me to be taking anything from you.”

Her breath catches, and then she shudders, her eyes squeezing shut, and I use this moment of silence to finish drying her hair.

I move to walk toward her closet. Her hand on my arm stops me, and I turn back, and she answers clearly, “You have a deal.”

I nod in acknowledgment and continue toward the closet.

But then I hear her whispered words behind me.

“Thank you.”