Chapter 16
Damien
It’s four a.m. when I return, exhausted, my head aching, and on edge from dealing with the absolute clusterfuck that is the Cole situation.
Endless meetings with politicians in D.C., then a stop at Angel headquarters, trying to placate them, even though the more I try to, the more I have a weird, sinking conviction that they’re pulling the strings.
No one but Devil is supposed to pull the strings.
But I trust Vale. I have to. He’s a Devil, after all. Once a Devil, always a Devil. Devil protects its own.
I’m aware how lucky I am to have Logan on my side, though. Even though sometimes he gets just a bit overprotective.
Over the years, he’s had a tendency to go nuts when he’s sensed threats to me, real or imagined. Mostly, I’m thankful for it. A guy in my position is always one switch blade away from losing it all.
Right now, the real exhaustion comes from trying to keep the Feds at bay. We have pull in this state. A lot of pull. But nothing at the national level. I’ve spent the past few days meeting one politician after another, renewing relationships with old friends, bribing new ones.
Things have been so busy, I haven’t even had time to get a guy to repair the fourth-floor cameras. There was some technical failure, Logan told me, and the cameras have been turned off. I wonder what my little pet has been up to.
The thought that she’s probably struggling, just a bit, from my prolonged absence, especially after that balcony incident, makes me feel oddly satisfied.
Not that I actually want to cause her pain, well, not the emotional kind.
But she seems to thrive on pain and fear.
My absence is the only thing that seems to have any effect on her.
To keep her in her place. To remind her who owns her.
And the truth is, if I were back at Devil Tower, I probably wouldn’t be able to stay away. My obsession is slowly becoming tinged with something deeper, something dangerous. Something I desperately need to quell.
Not only because Damien Wells doesn’t do feelings. But also, because I need to protect her. How the fuck am I supposed to protect her from Vale and the other sharks out there if I’m falling for her?
Plus, when I saw her studying me, I got the uncomfortable feeling that she was growing... a little curious.
In this line of business, curiosity gets you killed. I’m doing everything I can to keep her completely out of the loop. But if she starts asking questions... sooner or later, she’s bound to find out something.
And if that happens, she’s as good as dead.
“Here you go, boss,” says Vincent, handing me a cup of coffee. “Careful, it’s hot.”
I snort and gulp it down, welcoming the burning sensation down my throat. Vincent is a sweet kid. He shouldn’t be here. Hell, he shouldn’t be anywhere in a five-mile radius of us. Too bad he’s ambitious.
I walk into the conference room where all five of us Devils are meeting, as we do most mornings. The others are already there, Vale typing fast on his phone, Everest hunched over a sugarless caramel macchiato, his go-to order.
Logan’s sitting on the far side of the table, his feet kicked up on another chair, a cup of black coffee in his hands. For once, he looks more tired than me. Dark circles under his eyes mar the usual slick handsomeness of his face.
“Rough night?” I tease, sitting down in front of him.
He shrugs and doesn’t answer, which feels even more out-of-character.
“Not in a joking mood?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
I know times are serious, but that doesn’t usually prevent Logan from cracking a joke or two.
“This isn’t the time for jokes,” says Vale, his brusque voice making me feel, as I often do, that he doesn’t quite belong. He just doesn’t get it. “Anyway,” says Everest, flipping open his laptop, “let’s talk about the situation.”
“What exactly do the Feds know?” asks Logan, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Too much,” mutters Vale.
“We still have a hold on the situation,” says Everest, “thanks to Damien. He’s been leaning on our contacts. We’ve built up a good wall. It would take some serious persistence for them to get anywhere close.”
“The Feds are nothing if not persistent,” growls Vale.
“I have a feeling they wouldn’t be so persistent if someone wasn’t feeding them information,” comments Logan bitterly.
Vale’s brow furrows furiously. “You’d better take that back. I’m sick and tired of your insinuations. I’m a Devil.”
“I was talking about the rat who continues to elude us, and our friends,” cuts in Logan quickly. “Angel.”
Vale relaxes at once. “I don’t see why Angel would feed anyone information.”
“That makes one of us,” says Logan drily.
I lean forward, wincing as my splitting headache gets worse. “If we’re right about that, Logan, you know we have a trump card.”
Everest gestures toward the closed door. Vincent is visible through the glass, waiting patiently on the other side.
“The kid?” he mouths.
I nod.
“A trump card… or a spy,” mutters Logan.
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” I quote under my breath.
Vale looks away as I stand up, massaging the bridge of my nose.
“Alright. Fuck this. I’m gonna go visit the girl.”
Is it my imagination, or does Logan’s tired face grow a few shades paler?
He stands up too, so abruptly that his coffee splashes to the ground.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Sure,” I shrug.
He follows me outside the room, his face tight.
“Listen,” he says, “you know I’ve always been loyal.”
I nod, a bit perplexed.
“I’ve done a lot of shit over the years, but it was always out of loyalty.”
“Yes,” I say impatiently. “And?”
He hesitates. “The thing is, I would do absolutely anything for you. Because I have your back. You know that, right?”
“Alright, Logan. Where’s this going? Or is this some kind of love declaration? I’m not looking for anything serious right now.”
“Fuck off,” he snorts. “I mean… I just mean… I hope you think of that when…”
“When what?”
He pauses another beat. “Never mind. See ya.”
I stare at his retreating back as he walks down the hallway toward his office.
My head is still pounding and the lack of sleep is making my thoughts muddled. Otherwise I’m sure I’d see what he’s getting at. Instead, I shrug again, and call the elevator.
Time to visit the girl. My pet.
I smile at the moniker, and my headache ebbs at the thought of seeing her again. She’s like crack cocaine or something.
Okay, Damien. Easy. Don’t let them see. Don’t let her see.
I calm my breathing and walk toward the door of the apartment, fumbling in my breast pocket for the key.
She’s not in the living room or in the kitchen.
It’s only 9 a.m., maybe she’s still sleeping.
My cock twitches in anticipation at the thought.
If she is, I’ll have the perfect excuse to punish her.
I already do, though. I shake my head as I remember the one time I checked on her before the technical issues that led to the feed being shut off. I saw her nails digging hard into her skin. Poor girl. Guess she’s really suffering.
Still, she has no right to ruin what’s mine.
I open the door to her room, expecting to find her in bed. But it’s empty.
I frown, then train my eyes toward the floor. I find a huddled mass there, hidden by a thick towel.
I reach a hand for the towel and peel it back, and she lifts her head, blinking in the light in that cute, confused way of hers.
I chuckle softly, remembering her first night here, when she slept on the carpet in the living room.
“Is this a habit of yours, sleeping on the floor?”
She looks up at me, her face whiter than I’ve seen it yet, tears trembling on her lashes. Just when my chest begins to constrict at the thought that something is seriously wrong, she lunges toward me, and lands, shaking, in my arms.
I’m taken aback by the hug, but I return it without thinking, breathing in the flowery scent of her shampoo.
Then she lifts up her quivering lips, clearly waiting for a kiss. She looks so cute with her eyes closed and her lips pursed that I can’t help but chuckle again. Her eyes fly open in an angry confusion that might have touched me if my cock wasn’t already hard.
Grabbing her so swiftly that she doesn’t have time to react, I lift her onto the bed, realizing, as I do, that she’s stark naked.
“Naughty girl,” I whisper in her ear.
She inhales sharply. I’ve put her down so that she’s lying on her stomach, and she starts to turn around to look at me. But I push her back down, my hand lightly trailing her back then working its way down toward her bottom.
Her body relaxes when I glide my hand over her ass, stroking her. But I have no plans to soothe her today.
I sink my fingers into her cheeks, admiring her perfect globes as they turn white then red under my nails. I pinch them, softly first, then much harder, leaving angry crescent shapes on her smooth skin. She whimpers in surprised discomfort.
“We’re going to have to cut your nails shorter,” I grunt. “I saw what you were up to, my pet.”
She buries her head in the sheets, then lets out a gasp of surprise when my hand travels up to her nipple and clamps down on it.
Her entire body starts to convulse under my torment. It’s addictive to watch, and I find myself pressing down a lot harder than I mean to. She squeaks out a series of indecipherable words and I smile, amused at the sound of the high-pitched, breathy voice she uses so infrequently.
“Do you want me to stop?” I ask teasingly, my finger still on her nipple, the other hand reaching up to tug back a lock of her hair.
“No!” she squeaks out so fiercely that I can’t help but laugh. At the sound, her hands ball into fists, and I let go of her nipple to stroke her back soothingly.
My pet is a bundle of dynamite. I’ve never met someone who felt so many things, so intensely.
Still stroking her, I drag her over my lap, admiring the red marks my fingers have left on her smooth bottom, drinking in the sight of her body quivering helplessly under my touch.