Chapter Seven
Damien
T alking to my Amelia for the first time was like setting fire to my own skin. A million fire ants crawling under it, stinging, tearing, burning. My mind was never quiet to begin with, but now it’s fucking ruined. She’s in my head.
I need to know her. Need to take her apart piece by piece and see what makes her her .
But right now, I have business to attend to. Richard Davis has summoned me again.
Richard sits across from me, his daughter draped in a dress that barely qualifies as one. It’s something better suited for a strip club than this cigar lounge. Her manicured fingers toy with the rim of her glass like it’s the tip of a dick. She’s looking at me with her lips pursed, eyes wide, like a fish out of water. If this is her attempt at being seductive, I’d be shocked if she’s ever gotten laid in her life.
Richard exhales a cloud of smoke. “Linda asked for you.”
I grunt.
She uncrosses her legs, shifting forward. “I need you to kill someone else for me.”
“Another job?”
“There’s this girl who won’t stop running her mouth about me. Always talking behind my back, spreading rumors—”
I tune her out, jaw ticking. A girl? Not a rat. Not a threat. Just some spoiled little princess with a vendetta over gossip.
I turn my gaze to Richard. “I don’t do unjustified targets.” My voice is cold. “That’s a sure way to get lazy. And lazy men get killed.”
She pouts, leans in further, giving me a view of what she clearly wants me to see. “Didn’t you kill someone for me already? What’s another one?”
And there it is. She’s overthinking. Twisting it in her head, thinking it meant something personal. It didn’t. It never does.
“I’m a hitman. Not a fucking errand boy.”
She doesn’t like hearing no . I can tell no one’s ever told her that word in her entire spoiled existence.
Richard laughs, tapping ash from his cigar. “Told you he’d say that.” He smirks. “But I’ve never seen my daughter so bloodthirsty before. Thought it was worth a shot.”
Linda crosses her arms. She’s pissed. Too bad. I’m not here to coddle overgrown children.
I glance at her once more, bored. I stand, pulling on my jacket. “You want someone dead, make sure they deserve it.”
I walk the fuck out of whatever game she thought she was playing. I shake off my irritation, it’s irrelevant. The only thing that matters is her . My angel. My Amelia. She’ll see soon enough that I take care of what’s mine. That flimsy bed she slept on? It wasn’t fit for a queen. So, I replaced it.
I exposed myself to her tonight, just a little. I gave her a hint, that I’m the monster under her bed, the shadow in her walls. I thought meeting her in the restaurant would make it easier, gentler, but she was still petrified.
She’d better never think of escaping. Not when I’ve seen her. Not when I’ve watched the way her foot dangles off the mattress, just barely, teasing me like she wants me to crawl out from underneath and press my mouth to her skin. To taste her fear. To tell her that even monsters fall for softness.
I reach the restaurant, and the back door is locked this time. Good girl, Amelia. A tiny, foolish attempt at keeping me out. I pick the lock in seconds. The scent of warm bread and something sweeter— her —wraps around me as I move through the empty kitchen, down the stairs.
The storage room door is heavier than before. She’s barricaded it. Again, good girl. Again, not good enough. She doesn’t understand that I would walk through fire to get to her.
I shove forward, and the stand she propped against the door crashes to the ground as it swings open violently.
She screams like her soul is being ripped from her body.
My angel is perched on the bed I left her, breath ragged, eyes wide and wild. A knife trembles in her grip, her fingers locked so tight around the handle they’ve gone white.
That won’t do.
I take a slow step inside, drinking in the sight of her fear. Beautiful. Fragile. Mine.
“Now, now, Amelia,” I murmur. “What are you going to do with that?”
I crawl onto the soft bed like a predator savoring the chase.
“Stay back,” she breathes, pressing herself against the headboard.
She could scream, fight, beg; and I would still come to her. I was made for this. For her.
I grab her wrist and guide the blade forward, pressing it to my throat just enough to split the skin. A warm trickle of blood slides down my neck.
“Do it,” I whisper with a Cheshire smile. “Cut me open, angel. Spill my blood. Make me yours.”
Fire flashes in her eyes, the first flicker of real defiance, and she shoves the blade deeper.
Yes.
For a moment, I think she might actually do it. I almost want her to. But then her body sags, and the fight drains from her bones.
Weak, sweet thing.
I rip the knife from her grip and fling it across the room.
"All I want is to talk," I tell her, my voice dripping with mock patience. I reach for her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She flinches. The reaction slams through me like a bullet to the skull. I want to rip her fear out of her, carve it away with my teeth.
"Talk? You brought me a severed tongue," she screeches. "You sleep under my bed, you maniac."
A grin I can’t help splits my lips.
"I do," I say simply.
She recoils as I pull a rope from my waistband and hold it out to her. Her face drains of color.
"If you’re so scared," I sigh, "tie me up."
Her throat bobs as she swallows.
"Go on," I press. "Make the knots tight. Unforgiving." I coax her. "If it makes you feel safe, I’ll let you."
She thinks it’s a trap of some kind; it isn’t. She takes the rope with shaking hands. I let her. For her, I’d endure anything. She binds my wrists together tightly so the rope bites into my flesh. The pain is exquisite. She’s touching me. That’s all that matters.
She steps back to study her work. "That was stupid."
"Was it?" I tilt my head.
"How do you know I won’t hurt you?" Her voice gains strength. "Call the police? Run?"
A laugh rips from my throat, low, dark, unhinged.
I lean forward, even with my hands bound, and she stiffens.
"You underestimate me, angel," I say. "Hurt me?" I shake my head. "You don’t have it in you."
If looks could kill, my little flower would have successfully killed me.
"Call the police?" I continue. "You don’t even have a phone. And every shop on this street is closed. No one to help you. Run? You don’t want to run, Amelia." I drink in the scent of her fear, her skin, her everything. "You want answers."
And I’m going to give them to her.
She stares at me like I’m something out of a nightmare. Maybe I am.
"What’s your name?"
"Damien. Damien Reed."
"And you," I mumble, "are Amelia Ward. Soon to be Amelia Reed."
"You’re insane."
I watch her like a puzzle I’ve already solved. "You say that like it changes anything."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what? Protecting you?" I ask. "Making sure no one lays a finger on you? Spoiling you the way you deserve?"
I see the conflict in her eyes. There’s a part of her that wants to understand.
"Couldn’t you just approach me like a normal person?"
A normal person.
"Why would I hide myself from you, Amelia? This is how our life is always going to be."
"If someone hurts you," I continue, my voice dropping lower, "I’ll bring you a piece of them. So you’ll know I avenged you." I smile. I hope it comes across as comforting, but I know it terrifies her too. "If we argue? If you tell me to sleep somewhere else? I’ll crawl under your bed and stay there until you want me back in it. I won’t pretend to be something I’m not. I won’t lie to you."
"You’re insane," she repeats. "Absolutely insane. A maniac."
"Your maniac. I would burn the world for you," I hiss. "I would rip through hell just to bring you to me."
She grips the sheets like they’re the only thing holding her together.
She stutters out, "Are... are you the Hellkeeper?"
The words catch me off guard. I frown. "The what?"
"The Hellkeeper."
"No, angel." My fingers graze her thigh, just a whisper of touch. "I’m the man who will bring you heaven."
I make a mental note to research the “Hellkeeper”.
She recoils. Good. I like her like this; trying so hard to be strong.
"How many other women have you terrorized?"
"If you mean obsessed over—only you," I say. "And if you think making you drip in diamonds and silk is terrorizing, then you’re very, very wrong."
It’s the truth. She’s the only one who’s ever sunk into my bones like this. Other women? They were nothing. Just flesh. A means to an end. A scratch to an itch.
But her? She’s fire licking up my spine. A hunger that won’t quiet.
Enough of her questions. It’s my turn. "Why don’t you have any records here?"
"No school history, no university, no doctor visits, no bank accounts." I cock my head. "It’s like you’re a ghost."
The bewilderment on her face is hilarious.
"I did my research."
"You had no right."
"I answered your questions, didn’t I? It’s only fair you answer mine."
"I’m not from here." She relents.
I arch a brow. "Then where?"
She hesitates.
"Hell."
I turn the word over in my head. Hell. Hell. It clicks. That little village just outside the city. There are a shit-ton of rumors surrounding it. Lots of people theorize it’s a cult. The pieces fall into place. Her naivety. Her shyness. The way she clings to prayers like they’re armor.
She ran.
She left them behind; whatever fucked-up things they did to her, whatever lies they poured into her head. The thought of something—anything—terrifying her makes something vicious curl in my chest.
I growl, low and feral. "I am the only one you’re allowed to be afraid of, Amelia. Whatever monsters you think are out there, real or not, I will hunt them down. And I will end them."
I mean every word. When she seems to close off again, I put an end to our conversation.
"This was a productive talk, don’t you think?"
I flex my wrists, testing the ropes she so carefully tied. Cute. With one sharp pull, the fibers snap like thread.
She screams and bolts for the door. I catch her before she even gets close. My arms wrap around her waist, lifting her clear off the ground. She thrashes, kicks, nails clawing at my skin. I only tighten my hold, dragging her back.
Her body crashes onto the mattress, the sheets tangling around her as I tuck her in like a precious little doll. Her chest heaves, terror painting her delicate features.
"Shhh," I murmur, pressing my lips to her temple. "I told you before, angel; I won’t hurt you. Not unless you ask me to."
"Good night." I brush the strands away from her face, watching her pupils blow wide. "You know where to find me."
I rise, moving to my place beneath the bed, where I’ve been sleeping since I met her. Because I know she isn’t ready to have me next to her.
But she will be.
I close my eyes, listening to the frantic beat of her heart, to the sharp little breaths she takes as she forces herself to stay calm. Her foot slips out from the bed. She’s trying to escape. I wrap my fingers around her ankle before she even makes it an inch further. She yelps, but I press a lingering kiss to the inside of her foot.
"You will sleep in the bed I spent a fortune on for you tonight," I order. "If I find you anywhere else..." My grip tightens just a little. "You won’t like it."
She curls back into the sheets. Smart girl.