Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls) (17 page)
Read Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls) Online
Authors: R.C. Matthews
“No!” he bellowed.
His voice was so cold; it chilled the blood in her veins. She couldn’t allow him to do this, to follow this path. Although he couldn’t see it now, he would regret his decision in the end.
“Please, don’t do this,” she said, twisting her hands together. She had to make him see reason. Touch the part of his soul still filled with the grace of God. “You’ll hang for killing your mother. Is that what you want? Maribeth surely doesn’t—that child loves you, she depends on you.”
“That’s enough, Grace.” He stood so close his hot breath seared her forehead. “My soul is my own.
I
decide my fate, not you, and certainly not
your
precious
God. Maribeth will be well cared for on all accounts. Please, you must help me.”
He sounded so desperate. Her heart ached for him, but she couldn’t give in to his demands. “Come pray with me in the chapel, just once, and then we’ll talk.”
“When Hell freezes over!”
She was losing him, was grasping at straws. “I’ll speak with Victor. Surely he’ll knock—”
His steely grip held her captive, and he snarled. “Stop it, Grace! You cannot draw me to the light, I’m too far gone. Go to the gatekeeper, negotiate on my behalf.”
She steeled her back. “No, I won’t help you.”
He fell silent, and she held her breath. The air thickened with the intensity of his frustration, pressing in on her from all angles.
“Oh, yes, you will.” His voice dropped an octave, his words delivered with measured precision. “Because if you don’t, I’ll drive you to Waverly Hills myself for an extended stay at the asylum, and believe me, when I’m done talking to the caretaker, he’ll lock you away in the darkest, dampest cell. You’ll survive on bread and water in solitary confinement with only your tormented thoughts for company. Do you hear me?”
He wouldn’t dare. Or would he? Nothing she had believed about Devlin was true. By his own admission, he had murdered countless men and would see her waste away in the asylum if she didn’t do his bidding. Horrible, horrible man.
A wave of nausea hit Grace full force, and she clutched her stomach as an even more disturbing realization hit her. Josephine hadn’t been lying. She’d been right all long. Grace fought against the inevitable truth screaming to be acknowledged in her head, but there was no denying it anymore. Josephine was drawn to the darkest depths of Grace’s black soul, and in turn, that gruesome part of her was attracted to a killer.
“You have one week to decide your fate, Grace!” The door to his chamber whooshed open, and the venom in his tone pierced her skin, setting her insides to burning. “Now get out of my sight before I change my mind and haul you out of here this instant.”
• • •
Devlin slammed the door and leaned his forehead against it, forcing himself to take deep breaths. His heartbeat pummeled his ribs as blood raced through his veins. He wanted to shout in triumph, and curse the devil. All at the same time. Pounding his fist against the door, he growled and stalked to his bed and back.
He would as soon cut his own throat than repent before her God, the One who’d abandoned him long ago. And forgive his mother?
Never.
Grace had no bloody idea what he’d suffered at the bitch’s hands. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. He dropped to his knees, fighting to suppress the memories.
“Enjoy this, Devlin, it’s your last,” the Butcher said, licking the pre-cum off the tip of his swollen shaft and pumping vigorously.
Devlin’s semen shot out of his manhood in a hot stream all over his abdomen, searing him with shame. How could his body betray him and find pleasure in his tormentor’s touch? Tears threatened to spill over his eyelids, and he shut his eyes to block out the leering face peering at him. For once he wished to be blindfolded against the horror to come. A red-hot poker branded the flesh at his hip, and the stench of burning skin filled his nostrils. His eyes flew open, and he roared, shooting daggers with his eyes at the Butcher.
“Do not look away!” the pirate said with a sneer. “Your mother begged me to castrate you. To finally bring an end to your lineage. Even put it in a bloody contract. Stupid bitch.” The Butcher trailed kisses across Devlin’s stomach, lapping at the spunk. He breathed deeply and sighed. “From the moment I laid eyes on you, I had to have you. I’ll spare you the humiliation if you willingly become my lover. We both know your soul is as depraved as mine. Admit it. I feel the way your body trembles under my touch. Look at the evidence of your desire. Relent.” The Butcher’s pupils dilated, making them appear as black as his soul. The cold edge of his scalpel pressed against Devlin’s scrotum. “Though I’ll take great pleasure in severing your bollocks if you decline.” He cupped Devlin’s sack and licked his lips. “Choose now, my pet.”
Something died inside Devlin as the full truth of his mother’s betrayal slapped him in the face. No doubt the woman had suffered horribly at the hands of his father, but to turn her hatred on her own son? She would see him castrated, her flesh and blood—her child. He swallowed, fighting the hopelessness rising in his gut, struggling against the cold, rank bitterness seeping into the core of his heart. But he didn’t have the strength or the desire to fight it anymore. He finally accepted the truth. His mother was a deceitful bitch, and one day soon she would regret everything she’d put him through. Starting now …
“I choose you,” Devlin whispered.
The Butcher stiffened and narrowed his stare on Devlin’s lips. “Prove it.”
“Come here,” he said with a sultry voice.
When the pirate climbed onto the table and crawled up Devlin’s naked body, he lifted his head and met his mouth, crushing his lips over his enemy’s, knowing it would spark the man’s desire and rob him of his senses. Devlin drove his tongue into his prey’s mouth and groped frantically within, reveling at the moans he elicited. Victory would soon be his.
He nipped at the Butcher’s lip, drawing blood and licking it away. “Untie my hands so I can touch you.”
The pirate drew in a sharp breath.
“I need to feel you. Taste you,” Devlin said, keeping his eye contact steady. The man’s shaft came to life, poking hard against Devlin’s hip, and he lifted his bottom off the table, grinding into him. “Let me touch you, bring you pleasure.”
Indecision flashed across the Butcher’s features, and Devlin held his breath. This had to work. He leaned up and licked his enemy’s jawline, trailed his tongue through the crease of his chin and up to his lips before exploring once more in the recesses of his mouth. “Please, I want you.”
The Butcher untied his wrists and held the scalpel to Devlin’s throat. A smile curved up the corners of Devlin’s mouth as his hands rolled over his captor’s arse, pulling him snug against his body. He moaned and groped the well-muscled back until his fingers slid into his thick, black hair. Tightening his hold with an iron grip, he dragged the man’s mouth to his and kissed him with a passion he did not feel. The scalpel eased from his neck, and his heart began to thump madly in his chest. When their heavy breathing filled the small space, Devlin loosened his hold, running his fingers gently through the Butcher’s tresses, down his neck. The man shuddered against him, and Devlin pounced.
He grabbed the scalpel and drove it into the Butcher’s neck with quick efficiency, watching the blackheart’s eyes bulge with shock and anger as he twisted the knife deeper. Blood gurgled in his throat and spurted everywhere, covering Devlin’s face and chest.
Devlin heaved a gulping breath and rolled to his back on the floor, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. That memory remained etched into his brain, so deep and intricate he could not free himself of it. Would never be free of it.
Repent and forgive his mother?
Never.
Grace ran from Devlin’s bedroom as if the hounds of Hell were hard on her heels. She collided with the opposite wall of the corridor and stumbled in the direction of the stairwell, moving as quickly as her legs would carry her. A loud crash boomed against Devlin’s door, spurring her on. Fear leaped from her gut to her throat, and she thought she might be sick. Was he hot on her trail? Had he changed his mind and would drag her to the asylum now?
She lost count of her steps and cried out in frustration, groping at the wall until she finally connected with the balustrade. This couldn’t be happening. With little thought or care, she flew down the stairs, intent on escaping Devlin’s haunting threats. Footsteps pattered against the wood floors, and in the back of her mind, she thought she heard Maribeth call to her, but she pushed it away and counted down to the remaining steps. Soon she would be through the door and out of Devlin’s reach.
Six.
Five.
Four.
A strangled cry wrenched from her lungs when she was shoved forward.
Get out!
The malicious murmur echoed in her ears, a whisper on the wind, and she was falling, her hands flailing hopelessly in front of her.
Maribeth’s scream trailed behind her as Grace landed against a rock-solid form. The air slammed out of her, and she grunted, trying to make sense of what had happened.
“What the dickens are you doing?” Hatchet asked, his large hands gripping her upper arms and righting her. “You’ll kill yourself running down the stairs that way. Have you lost your good sense?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose. Someone pushed me; you must’ve seen it.” Grace struggled to free herself, panting for her effort but unable to unleash his hold. “Unhand me this instant!” she said, putting every ounce of anger and reproof in her voice that she could muster.
“Grace.” Hatchet shook her once, his tone gentler. “There is no one here; you’re imagining things in your haste to leave. I fear for your safety. Please. If you require assistance, ring for Emma. Or me. We are ever your servants. You almost fell to your death. Scared the wits out of me.”
Grace bit back the harsh words sitting on her tongue. He wasn’t at fault, wasn’t her tormentor. That charge belonged to his captain alone. Had she imagined Devlin shoving her and telling her to get out? He wasn’t present—it must’ve been in her head. She hung her forehead against Hatchet’s chest for a brief moment, reclaiming a steady breath.
Maribeth’s scrawny arms encircled Grace’s waist a moment later, and the girl cried, “Don’t scare me like that again. I beg you.”
All the anger deflated from Grace, and she turned to wrap the girl in a hug. “I’m sorry, Poppet. I didn’t mean to scare you.” After placing a kiss on the child’s head, she stepped away and ran her hands over her skirt and hair, checking best as she could that everything was in order. “I must seek solace in the chapel and then visit with Brother Anselm. Please let Abigail know that I’ve lost my appetite this morning, but I’ll return in time for the midday meal.”
“Let me come with you,” Maribeth said, clenching her hand.
“Not this morning, Poppet.” Grace attempted a smile. “I would appreciate a bit of solitude. Later, after we’ve eaten, we can do anything you like. I promise to take care and follow the path to the chapel.”
Hatchet insisted on retrieving Grace’s pelisse and assisting her to the main pathway. The air was still damp from the morning rain, and without the sun shining down on her, it wasn’t long before she felt the cold skin-deep. She walked at a brisk pace, but her mind was in such tatters that she zigged and zagged her way toward the chapel. If it hadn’t been for the gravel path to help her navigate, she wouldn’t have made it on her own.
The chapel was quiet as she entered, and the scent of incense welcoming. Peace came over her as she knelt in the first pew and bowed her head, reciting the prayers Brother Anselm had taught her so many years ago. She became lost in the words as she gave herself up to the Almighty and let go of all that had happened in the past three days.
When her knees ached from kneeling, she sat in the pew in utter silence, alone with her thoughts.
“Why have you abandoned me, Lord? Is this a test of some sort? Because if it is, I’m failing miserably.”
“He will always come if you call,” Brother Anselm said, resting his hands on her shoulders from behind.
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to know that you’re feeling troubled, my child.”
He stood and joined her in the first pew. The wood groaned under his weight, and she smiled. How did he always seem to sense when she needed him most? She knew instinctively that he wouldn’t judge her, but still, she couldn’t bring herself to share her dreams with him. But she would unburden the rest and seek his advice. She reached for his hand and wrapped it around hers, taking comfort in his company.
“Tell me what troubles you, Grace.”
“Josephine visited me this morning in my bedroom,” she said. She paused, feeling worse than when she confessed her sins for the very first time. It made little sense. She hadn’t done anything wrong, and yet she felt sullied by the confrontation with Josephine.
“I’m listening,” he offered in his steady voice.
And with a detachment she hadn’t imagined possible, she relayed the events of the morning, careful to leave out only the parts unsuitable for a monk’s ears. He didn’t need to hear the particulars of her bath, but she shared the undeniable attraction she felt toward Josephine, wanting him to put it all in perspective somehow. She spared no details on the sounds she’d heard and the scales she’d touched, shuddering at the memory of her terror. But it was her argument with Devlin that taxed her the most, because she felt him slipping away, and she clung to the hope of getting through to him. Somehow, in the past three days, she’d come to realize her purpose at the manor was to help his soul more than any others. But how could she help him when the state of her own soul was in doubt?
“That blackhearted pirate!” Brother Anselm growled. “How dare he threaten you while you’re under his protection?”
Grace shook her head, unwilling to condemn Devlin’s actions without further information. There must be more to his relationship with his mother to spur him into taking such drastic measures, though Grace could not fathom what would incite such hatred. But how could she persuade him to share the details of his past? If only Devlin would open his heart to God’s loving embrace, she was certain he would find peace of mind.
