Devil you know diamond d.., p.8
Devil You Know (Diamond Devils Book 3), page 8
Sienna glances around, finally remembering I exist after getting enveloped in her Luke Valentine bubble. I stomp for the exit. If Trey wants to get laid, he has a dozen puck bunnies he can choose from.
I smack the door open, but it doesn’t swing shut behind me.
“Let me take you out tonight.” Trey falls into step too easily beside me, no matter how fast I walk.
“I already have plans.”
“What plans?”
“None of your business.”
“You committing a murder or something?”
My heart nearly stops. “No!”
“What are you hiding, Juliet Hayes?”
“Me? You’re the one with shit to hide.” I try to force my racing heart to slow. He doesn’t actually think you’re committing a murder tonight. He has no idea what your plans are. “Tell me your secrets. Tell me why you attacked Violet and Wes.”
Since Violet told me about what Trey did to her and Wes last year, I’ve been dying to prod him for answers. To poke at his brain and try to understand his reasons.
His mouth twists. He doesn’t like this change in subject. “Who can really say—nature or nurture?”
“You can. Even psychopaths have their reasons.”
He lifts an amused brow. “You think I’m a psychopath?”
“I’m still making my assessment. Superficial charm, check. Grandiosity, likely. Lack of remorse or guilt, seems that way. Criminality, check. Promiscuous sexual behavior, very much so.” I narrow my eyes at him, and he grins. “But there are other factors I’m not sure about yet—pathological lying, poor behavioral controls, lack of life goals, impulsivity, irresponsibility, parasitic lifestyle—”
“Let’s just say yes.” He scowls.
“So why did you do it?”
Silence falls between us. For a moment, I expect he’s not going to answer. He’s happy to play the game until it gets too real for him.
Without a word of warning, he tugs me to a stop and pushes me up against the wall of the athletics building. The air leaves my lungs in a whoosh, my ass and shoulders aching from slamming against the brick. Reminding me of my masked man pinning me. “The knife was dull. I knew where to cut so he wouldn’t die—just enough violence to put me in prison. A better prison than the one my father built for me.”
I roll my eyes so hard, they hurt. Does he honestly expect me to believe that? “Must be hard to have a father who bails you out of trouble.”
His jaw clenches, and my insides liquify. I’ve really pissed him off now. “You have no idea what my father is like. What he’s capable of.”
At the intensity in his eyes, a lump lodges in my throat. Maybe there’s someone more dangerous and unhinged out there than Trey Lamont.
“What about Violet?” I glance toward the door of the athletics building, bracing for the Devils and Sienna to come out and find us here.
His eyes flutter briefly shut. “Novak said we needed to get justice for his sister. I believed him. I was used to shitty people getting away with their crimes”—His throat bobs—“so I took all that pent-up anger out on Violet. Then on Novak when he stood in my way because he was falling for the villain. He was falling for the girl who killed his sister, and I know what it’s like when you’re convincing yourself to fall for the person you shouldn’t. For the person who ruined your life.”
I want to prod more, but I know exactly how he feels and I don’t want to be forced to share my trauma either.
But whoever ruined Trey’s life can get fucked.
“They said you spiked her drink, though. Violet may have pushed Chloe, but you were the reason she passed out in that pool.” My rage boils at the injustice of it. Trey spiking Chloe’s drink and letting Violet take the fall, supposedly getting her back for an offense when he knew he’d been the villain all along.
“That’s what I told Violet.” His eyes harden. “One of the other Devils, Brody, admitted he spiked a few drinks that night. Chloe’s and Violet’s were among them. I decided to take the fall for everything so I’d get locked up. Anything to get away from Charles.”
Brody. I’ll have to ask Luke about that name. Make sure he’s a real person, that Trey isn’t just making him up to explain everything away. “Who’s Charles?”
“My father. He must’ve paid the administration enough to cover everything up. He has connections. Got the charges dropped.”
“And what about the incident in the bathroom with Violet?” I fold my arms. “With the knife?”
He can’t exactly explain that one away.
“Unfortunately for Violet Harris, I have a predilection for blood.” His grin is sickening, pulled straight out of a horror film. “I’d hoped to find a girl who enjoyed it the same.”
My thighs shouldn’t be clenching. I shouldn’t be into the same fucked up shit as him.
But I am. And he fucking knows it.
I slither out of his hold. “Good luck finding her.”
His chuckle haunts me as I speed back to my dorm. “I already have.”
“Open your eyes.” The man with the dark beard and bulbous nose pants the words over and over, but I keep them shut.
I won’t let him take anything else from me. He won’t get to see the fear and horror in my eyes. That’s what gets him off most.
He’s sick and all I want to do is puke. My hands over my ears do nothing to muffle Autumn’s screams from the other cot, where another sick man has her pinned.
Open your eyes.
Open your eyes.
Open your eyes.
When it’s over, he coughs. Coughs. Such a human act for an inhuman monster.
But the nightmare isn’t over.
His eerie smirk turns to the other man in the room. The one who hurt Autumn. “Your turn, Ned.”
Since Trey has his bike, I don’t feel bad for stealing his Camaro.
The car is a bit too flashy for a getaway vehicle, but it’s not my license plate on the back, so what do I care? Even if the police somehow use surveillance footage to capture his plate and track him, his father will bail him out again. Then neither of us has to suffer any consequences for tonight.
Night has long since fallen by the time I reach the Carnival of Terrors, but the parking lot is still packed. The spooky carnival is decorated with pumpkins, witches, and clowns. Masked workers stalk around the grounds, jumping out at passersby, revving fake chainsaws, and slashing at each other with phony knives.
With my mask and axe, I blend right in.
My hair is tucked safely behind my veil, the cool autumn air slipping between my legs under the white dress splattered in fake blood.
Visitors gasp and laugh at my outfit, calling me corpse bride or vampire bride or ghost bride as I feign a threat with my axe.
Everyone thinks it’s a costume, but he’ll know the real reason I’m wearing it.
Red lights flash from the carnival rides. Laughter and delighted screams mix with the thump of spooky music. I wave my axe anytime anyone gets too close, slashing at the air and eliciting laughs.
That motherfucker is here somewhere. What if he leaves before I find him?
A high-pitched squeal captures my attention. Waiting at the front of the line for the House of Horrors is a bouncy brunette in a cop costume, the top cut low to display everything but her nipples. Beside her, a stocky, middle-aged man allows her to hold his hand while his expression contains nothing but boredom. He didn’t bother to dress up.
Relief rushes through me. They’re alone. Amelia must’ve stayed home. Judging by the misery on Craig’s face, he’s not at all happy about the last-minute change of plans, and Lindsey is doing her very best to ignore it.
My grip on the axe tightens. “Found you.”
Before I can reach them, they slip inside the House of Horrors.
I cut past the line, waving my axe and shouting, playing the part. The carnival worker standing at the front of the line barely pays me any attention as I charge past him.
Inside, groups squeal and scream as mechanical corpses and werewolves pop out at them. I navigate over the tipping floors and precariously maneuver through a revolving barrel. Most of the guests skip right past the maze of distorting mirrors, unimpressed by the uncanny changes in their reflections.
In the corner wedged between two walls of mirrors, Craig has Lindsey’s leg propped up while he grinds against her, kissing her neck.
She squeals and slaps his shoulder playfully. “Craig! What if somebody sees us?”
He must not give a shit as he thrusts his hips forward and grunts, sliding inside her. She tips her head back, emitting an exaggerated, high-pitched moan pulled straight out of a porno.
“What would your wife think if she could see us right now?” She moans again and I cringe. How does he not find that annoying as hell? “Fuck me the way your wife won’t let you fuck her.”
With that, he pulls out and spins her, lifting her dress and smacking her ass as he pumps his cock, ready to do all the things with her that he can’t do with his wife.
His spit hits his stubby cock just as the blade of my axe brushes against his throat.
“Fuck me, Craig!” Lindsey wails, eyes blessedly closed.
Craig bursts out laughing, cheeks flush with alcohol. Lindsey turns with a frown only to squeal and yank her dress down when she spots me. “Oh my god!”
She laughs and races for the exit into the dark corridor with neon-green stripes that offer a disorienting effect, making the hall seem infinite, like you’ll never escape.
And maybe some of them won’t.
Craig follows Lindsey slowly, still chuckling as I nudge him in the back with my axe. From the niches in the corridor, carnies jump out at Lindsey, making her scream and giggle as she rushes down.
I point my axe toward an empty niche.
“In here?” Craig slurs, following my instructions like he still expects this to be part of the experience.
Once we’re concealed and the screams and shouts of the carnival workers and guests mute us, I press the sharp edge of the axe into his groin.
“Whoa!” His eyes go wide and he tries to jump away, but he’s not going anywhere. “What the fuck? Is that real?”
“Where is Brandon Williams?”
“Br-Brandon? Williams?” He stumbles over the name in his booze-and-sex-induced haze. “I . . . I don’t know him.”
“Yes, you do.”
He starts to struggle, desperate to escape the axe threatening his most prized organ. “I don’t. Get the fuck off me, crazy bitch.”
I laugh, and he stiffens. “Oh, Craig. You have no idea just how crazy of a bitch I am. And you’re to blame.”
I drop my axe to the leg of his jeans and slash. He shouts and leans forward to grasp the wound until I bring the axe up between his legs.
He screams, louder and higher than I’ve ever heard from a man, and blood seeps from the injury, staining the denim. “Fuck!”
Guess he won’t be using that again.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins, the flood of dopamine nearly enough to make me float. I’ve wanted to do this to him for so long. Fantasized for years about what I would do to the men who hurt me and Autumn that night. How I would make them suffer for every second of torment they inflicted.
It’s better than I ever imagined.
I press the bloody axe to his throat as he clutches at his groin. “Where. Is. Brandon. Williams?”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Craig shakes his head, tears and snot streaming into his beard. “Last I heard he was staying with Ned, okay? That’s all I know, I swear!”
“Ned who?”
“Ned Miller!” His snot flies as he sputters, smacking the floor. “I don’t know anything else! Please!”
Ned Miller.
Your turn, Ned.
Could he be the same Ned from that night? Maybe if I find Ned, I find them both. “Tell me where they are.”
“I don’t know! I really don’t!” he wails. “Some farmland. In the middle of nowhere. Up in Massachusetts, I th-think. Or Vermont. Or something! I don’t know!”
Beneath my mask, I smile. “When I pay them a visit, I’ll let them know who sent me.”
“Who the hell are you?” Craig screeches, the blood dripping down to our shoes.
“You know who I am, Craig.” I press the edge of the axe against his throat, and I can practically feel his heart stop beating. “The girl who got away.”
Confusion is finally replaced with recognition in his beady eyes. Then true terror.
“He-he said you died!” His lip quivers. Then he squeezes his eyes shut as I dig the axe in, a trickle of blood slithering down his neck. “Please, please, please.”
His whispered pleas so much like my own that night.
I press harder on the axe and he gasps at the pain. “See, Craig, it doesn’t feel good when someone ignores you while you ask them to stop, does it? Now open your eyes.”
He keeps them clamped shut.
“Open your eyes.”
Open your eyes.
Open your eyes.
Open your eyes.
Finally, he does. Just as I bring the axe back and swing.
His head falls at my feet with a sickening thud before the rest of his body drops, blood seeping out into the corridor now. I drop the axe, arms shaky and weak, as I pick up Craig’s head by the hair and throw it.
A group of girls squeals as his severed head hits the floor in front of them and rolls.
They scramble around it, avoiding touching his flesh or blood with their heels.
“Oh my god!” the redhead shouts as another leads her away by the hand. “That looked so real!”
I leap out into the corridor before anyone can discover the dead body is indeed real.
A masked figure in a dark hoodie watches from the entrance. A neon-red mask with X’s slashing over the eyes and mouth.
My heart stutters. But no, that could be anyone. Anyone could have the same mask as my masked man, my Romeo, and there are dozens of workers and guests alike in masks tonight.
With his index finger, the masked man traces an X over his heart. Like a promise. A promise to keep my secret.
No, it can’t be him. My masked man wouldn’t follow me all the way here.
I race down the corridor and out of the House of Horrors until it hits me—
Fuck. I forgot the axe.
Heart hammering, I chew over my options. There’s no time to go back for it. Who knows how long it will take before someone realizes the blood and severed head are real. Who knows how long it will take before Lindsey realizes she can’t find Craig and goes looking for what’s left of him. Lungs burning, I hurry to the parking lot and Trey’s stolen car.
While I sneak between vehicles, I glance back over my shoulder to make sure no one’s following me. No sign of Lindsey or a mob.
A pair of heavy hands grabs me.
I scream, rattling my mask as someone pulls me with an iron grip, dragging me across the parking lot. I thrash in their hold until my ass collides with a bike resting on its kickstand.
In front of me, my masked man looms, hands flattening on the seat of the bike behind me. My heart slams against my ribcage, lungs heaving and sucking down cool night air. “What the fuck?”
His hoodie is gone. A black shirt stretches to his hips and wrists, the material snug over the muscles bulging at his biceps. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small plastic bag with something short and pale inside. A yellowed nail on the end.
A severed thumb.
Craig’s severed thumb.
He must’ve used the axe to chop off another piece of that asshole’s body. How much did he chop up while the guests egged him on? After, he must’ve discarded the bloody hoodie.
“Why did you do that?” I whisper.
He shrugs. “Trophy.”
With that, he stuffs the thumb back in his pocket and grabs my waist, hoisting me up onto the seat of his bike.
His erection digs into the space between my legs as he towers over me.
I tug him closer, even though we can’t kiss with both of our faces covered by masks. But neither of us moves to take them off.
“You’re going to get fucked now, demon.” He yanks me closer, his zipper smacking against my clit and making me whimper.
Adrenaline and arousal and fear pump through my veins. Every inch of me is aching for him. Finally. “Do it.”
He growls low in his throat before yanking his zipper down. The usual screams of delight echo from the carnival. No alarms have been pulled. Yet.
I need him to fuck me before we’re interrupted.
My hands squeeze his hips to pull him closer, but he grabs them and slams my palms down onto the seat. “Don’t. Move.”
“I’ll move if I want,” I spit back, spreading my legs for him.
He hisses at the sight of my damp panties, dragging a finger slowly up my center. I whimper, the sound foreign to my ears as my mask echoes it back to me.
“Always so ready for me,” he murmurs, adoration lining every note. “Did killing him turn you on?”
“I didn’t kill anybody.” I don’t give a shit what he saw—hell if I admit to any of it. “And no, killing someone wouldn’t turn me on.”
Although it did cause an adrenaline rush, which definitely tends to lead to horniness.
“So this is all for me then.” He pulls out his cock. My mouth goes dry. Even though I’ve seen his cock in all its glory before, the thought of having him inside me stops my heart.
This is finally happening.
“All for you,” I taunt, “if you can prove you’re worthy of it.”
“We both know I already have. Now I’m finally taking what’s mine.” He grips the back of my neck while the other hand slowly eases his cock inside me.
The stretch burns as his tip slowly sinks inside, and I cry out behind my mask. I knew by the length and girth that it would be a tight fit, but—“Fuck!”
He groans as he slides in deeper, my pussy stretching to acclimate to him. “You feel so fucking good.”
The intensity brings tears to my eyes, and instinctively, my knees attempt to clamp together, but I’m not escaping him now. I can’t move while he keeps me glued to the bike. The ache between my legs is already building, heart thumping wildly.
