I raise an eyebrow, dissecting his words. “You’ve got a detail on me...” I spot a name tag stuck to his chest and play off the fitting name embossed there in gold.Richard V. H.“Dick?”
He shrugs, but there’s something smug about his expression. The buzzing at my skull perks up, but it’s only a dull whisper, sated by enough violence for now.
“Let’s be serious now, Vialle,” Van Hallen says. “A man would notice if he were being followed, wouldn’t he?”
I grit my teeth, irritated by this interesting new bit of information. “That he would, Detective.”
“A man would also try to keep things in perspective,” Van Hallen adds, and I suspect that this is the real reason why he cornered me here. Not to gloat about the fact that he had men watching me, but to spew whatever is about to come out of his mouth next. “I’ve been going through your old case file. Interesting stuff.”
I turn on my heel and head for a door, not giving a damn as to how it looks.
“You beat a man to death with a hammer...” The bastard keeps up with me. “But do you care to explain why there were no fingerprints? No hard physical evidence? Nothing we could pin on you, not even with the fuck-up at the DA’s office. A man who’sreckless enough to kick someone’s ass in broad daylight can’t even leaveonebloody smear on the end of a ball peen—”
I barrel through the glass doors and allow them to slam shut behind me. Van Hallen’s not stupid. He doesn’t follow me out of the precinct, but I feel him watching me. Then I have enough fucking sense to scan the block for any patrol car or cop who seems to be on my trail. It’s late. Pedestrians crowd the sidewalks, heading home or looking for trouble, while traffic churns through the streets.
It’ll be a long walk back to Mulligans, and I can only assume that’s why Arno didn’t send one of his thugs to collect me. He wants me to sweat it out. Clear my head. The bastard’s known me for way too long.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Daniela
They leave me here.In this room. On this bed. Drowning beneath his scent and mine. The sheets are a prison. The ones hanging from the walls drape me in shadow. I’m a twisted, shallow shell of a creature who doesn’t truly know what she even is anymore.
My head swims with him. The things he made me feel. What I wanted to feel...
I’m sore and throbbing between my legs. When I slide a hand down my stomach, there’s only wet skin, still burning from the heat of his mouth. My eyes slam shut while my fingers do things I don’t tell them to.Rub. Twist. Touch. They mimic him, but the feeling isn’t the same. It’s a slow, painful burning that only intensifies when my mind pairs my own ministrations with dangerous, twisted thoughts. Images, really. His face. Those eyes. The sounds he made when sheathed inside me to the hilt.
My head goes back as my fingers quicken. My stomach bunches and tightens into knots. My eyes roll within their sockets. I cry out once and then drive my teeth into my lower lip tosilence the sound. Breathless and shaking, I rock against my own hand, forced to picture him. Taunted by him. Haunted by him. Then everything in me loosens again, all at once, and I unravel.
My eyes are wet when my body finally goes limp, and the only thing I can do is pant. I draw my hand away and let it fall to my side, aching and pathetic. My lungs heave for air, struggling to push out the unwanted stench of musk and rage that taints a man like Lucifer.
I almost succeed. Almost. Then I move and my body flares to life with the aftermath of being filled by him all over again.
I hate him. I hate him more than Vinny. More than the red-haired man. More than Gino and Nicolai. More. More. More. No matter the evil comparison, it still isn’thatefulenough.
The only course of action I have left to take is to crawl from the mattress and stagger into the bathroom. The lights are already on, and they illuminate everything about me in harsh clarity. My bloodshot eyes watch me accusingly from the mirror’s surface. I’m dressed like a whore. Part of the duct tape on my ear is starting to peel off, revealing the gaping wound underneath. My hair is a mess. My lips are bloody. Angry little crescent-moon-shaped marks dot my skin, left by...nails. Fingernails. Greedy, grasping fingernails...
My head swims when I turn my back on the mirror and yank the lacy bra off. Then I stagger into the shower stall and turn the water on as hot as possible—the highest setting. Steam drifts up, distorting everything beneath its presence. My skin is on fire, but bit by bit, the pieces of himself that Lucifer left behind circle the drain along with everything else.
I strip myself of every inch of him. Then I recollect my thoughts, centering them around the only thing that matters: I was free. Vinny would see the video and...well, whatever happens after, I most likely wouldn’t be around to see.
The sobering thought drives me to shut the water off. With no towel in sight, I settle for drying myself off using thebedsheets. Then I re-don my video “costume” and sit, bracing my back against the wall. Then I stand. I tap my foot against the floor. I pace. Despite the restlessness, I’m fine until I misstep and my toes cringe away from something rubbery...wet. I glance down and the world sways.
The next second, I’m backing out of the room and then the apartment altogether. The hallway’s deserted. It’s late, I assume. A flickering light bulb casts unsteady illumination and even harsher shadows. The door to Lucifer’s lair is across the hall. I wonder if he’s there. Can he sleep? Does he remember his promise?
My finger drifts up to graze a burning trail across my throat. It’s not that hard to imagine it. With his strength alone, he could make it quick. With his icy temper, he could make it slow.
I’m not sure now which one I prefer.
My finger still trembles when I reach back and find the doorknob to the showroom. I should go back inside. Who knows what the red-haired man plans to do with me next. Until Vinny sees that tape, I’m still at his mercy. The fact that he went along with my little plan means nothing. Revenge taints things, even deals between enemies.
My foot twitches against the floor. Ineedto go back inside. Ishouldn’tstagger forward, trailing my hand along the wall for balance while the other tugs the apartment door shut behind me. It is a long, slow journey to Lucifer’s red door. My heart falters the entire way. When my fingers finally brush the wooden door, I can only sense silence on the other side of it. Curling my fingers into a shaking fist, I knock once to no answer.
My knees curl instinctively, and I slide down to the floor, leaning against the wall. My hair shields the rest of the hall from me. Staring at a sliver of red paint, I can almost imagine that I’m truly in hell, at the mercy of my very own custom devil.
I’mshaken awake when the world shifts under me. Something slams into my elbow, and I blink my eyes open in confusion. The red door is gone, revealing a portal of darkness in its place. A demon stands over me as if prepared to shove me through it, and I glance up into an icy-blue gaze.
He has his arm extended above me, clenching the doorknob in one hand while the other dangles by his side, curled into a loose fist. There is blood on his fingertips. Even more speckles his shirt. Fear mingles with dread, and I shift back against the doorjamb. Only now do I realize he already has the door open.
