Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

THE DEVIL I REMEMBERED

WHITNEY

There were approximately seven thousand restaurants in Los Angeles.

We somehow chose one where my father could ruin dinner from two thousand miles away.

I should have expected it.

The evening had started well.

Suspiciously well.

Enzo had eventually allowed us to leave Avery’s compound without forcing me upstairs to change, although allowed was probably the wrong word considering I had informed him that if he tried to stop me, I would scream loudly enough to convince every armed man on the property that he was murdering me.

He’d stared at me for several seconds.

Then muttered something in Italian.

I was beginning to suspect most of his Italian vocabulary around me consisted of profanity.

Now the five of us sat around a table on the rooftop terrace of an expensive restaurant overlooking Los Angeles.

Sierra.

Aurora.

Cassy.

Piper.

And me.

No Dwayne.

No Avery.

No armed men standing within six feet of me.

Technically.

I glanced toward the bar.

One of Avery’s security men stood near it.

Another waited beside the elevator.

I sighed.

Fine.

Almost no armed men.

“This place is gorgeous,” Aurora said.

She was right.

Strings of tiny lights stretched above us. Music drifted through the warm night air. Beyond the terrace, Los Angeles glittered endlessly beneath the darkening sky.

For the first time since leaving Martago Island, I almost felt free.

Almost.

Cassy lifted her wine.

“To Sierra.”

Piper immediately raised hers.

“To Sierra.”

Aurora smiled and lifted her glass.

“To the bride.”

I picked mine up.

“To Daniel surviving marriage to Sierra.”

Sierra glared.

“Excuse me?”

“I love you.”

“That wasn’t nice.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

Everyone laughed.

Sierra raised her glass.

“To four days without responsibilities.”

That one hurt.

She didn’t know.

None of them did.

Four days.

Then I’d return to Martago Island.

Then Dwayne would continue negotiating with Nikolai Volkov.

Then eventually—

No.

Not tonight.

I lifted my glass.

“To four days.”

We drank.

The wine was good.

Expensive.

Cold.

I drank half the glass before putting it down.

Piper stared at me.

“Planning to remember dinner?”

“Debatable.”

“She’s nervous,” Sierra said.

I looked at her.

“About what?”

“Avery.”

“I’m not nervous about Avery.”

Aurora took a sip of wine.

“You threatened your phone after he hung up.”

“I did not.”

Cassy laughed.

“You said, and I quote, ‘If that arrogant son of a bitch tells me what to wear again, I’m shoving this phone directly up his—’”

“Okay.”

Aurora laughed.

“I didn’t finish.”

“You don’t need to.”

Sierra grinned.

“He still got under your skin.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You’ve been arguing with a man who isn’t even in the country.”

“Exactly. Imagine how annoying he’ll be if we’re ever on the same continent.”

My phone rang.

I looked down.

DWAYNE.

The laughter died inside me.

Sierra saw the screen.

“Don’t answer.”

I almost laughed.

If only it were that simple.

“I have to.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes.”

“Whitney.”

“I’ll be right back.”

I grabbed my phone and stood.

Aurora watched me carefully.

I walked away from the table until I found a quieter corner of the terrace.

Then answered.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?”

No greeting.

Of course.

“Dinner.”

“Where?”

I gave him the restaurant name.

“Who is with you?”

“The girls.”

“Names.”

I closed my eyes.

“Sierra, Cassy, Piper and Aurora.”

“Security?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

I looked across the terrace.

One of Avery’s men was watching me.

“I don’t understand why you need to know where I am every second.”

“I told you the conditions of this trip.”

“I’m twenty-six.”

“And?”

My fingers tightened around the phone.

Nothing.

There was no point.

Dwayne changed subjects.

“I spoke with Volkov.”

My stomach dropped.

Every sound around me seemed to disappear.

“What?”

“Nikolai.”

I turned toward the edge of the terrace.

“Not here.”

“You’re alone?”

“Enough.”

“Good.”

My heart started beating faster.

“What did he say?”

“The arrangement is moving forward.”

My mouth went dry.

“What arrangement?”

Silence.

Then Dwayne said quietly:

“Don’t be difficult.”

A laugh escaped me.

“I’m being difficult?”

“Whitney.”

“You told me yesterday that some man I’ve never met wants to marry me because I accidentally found information about him. Excuse me if I’m having trouble adjusting.”

“Lower your voice.”

I looked around.

Nobody was close.

“I am whispering.”

“Nikolai has agreed not to pursue retaliation against you or Clara.”

My stomach turned at my mother’s name.

“What does he want?”

“You already know.”

“No. I know what you told me. I want to know what he said.”

Dwayne paused.

“He wants the marriage.”

I gripped the railing.

“When?”

“Within six months.”

For several seconds, I couldn’t breathe.

“What?”

“The wedding will take place within six months.”

“No.”

“Whitney.”

“You said you were discussing terms.”

“We did.”

“And somehow you negotiated my entire fucking life down to six months?”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Fuck my mouth.”

Silence.

That was probably the first time in my life I’d said anything like that directly to Dwayne.

Fear immediately followed.

But he was thousands of miles away.

For once, I let myself keep going.

“I haven’t even met him.”

“You will.”

“When?”

“That hasn’t been decided.”

“I want to speak to him.”

“No.”

“He’s apparently going to be my husband.”

“Do not contact Nikolai Volkov.”

“Why?”

“Because I told you not to.”

I laughed bitterly.

“Of course.”

“Whitney.”

“What?”

“Do you remember what is at stake?”

My anger died.

Mom.

He didn’t have to say it.

“You.”

Then he corrected himself.

“Your mother.”

Of course.

I swallowed.

“Yes.”

“Nikolai agreed that nothing will happen to Clara provided the arrangement proceeds.”

“And me?”

Silence.

That silence answered too much.

“What about me?”

“You’ll be his wife.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“You will be protected.”

“By him?”

“Yes.”

I stared at Los Angeles.

Hundreds of thousands of lights.

Millions of people.

And I’d never felt more trapped.

“What happens if I refuse?”

“You already know.”

Death.

Maybe mine.

Maybe Mom’s.

Probably both.

My eyes burned.

I refused to cry.

Not here.

Not because of him.

“I understand.”

“You tell nobody.”

“I know.”

“Especially Avery.”

That caught my attention.

“Why do you keep mentioning Avery?”

“Because I know you.”

“You haven’t known me in years.”

“I know enough.”

I laughed softly.

“No. You know how to control me. There’s a difference.”

Silence.

My heart hammered.

I’d gone too far.

I knew it.

Dwayne’s voice changed.

“Enjoy California, Whitney.”

Cold.

Measured.

Terrifying.

“When you come home, we’ll discuss your future.”

The call ended.

I stood there holding the phone.

Six months.

I had six months before I became Mrs. Nikolai Volkov.

Maybe less.

I knew nothing about him except black hair, gray eyes, Russian mafia, and the fact that he’d threatened my mother to force me into marriage.

Prince Charming.

I returned to the table.

Aurora noticed immediately.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

Sierra frowned.

“That wasn’t a nothing face.”

“Dwayne.”

“What did he want?”

“Control.”

Technically true.

I sat down.

Piper pushed my wine toward me.

I picked it up.

Drank the rest.

Then grabbed the bottle.

Cassy raised an eyebrow.

“Okay.”

“What?”

“You’re drinking directly from the bottle.”

I looked down.

Apparently I was.

“Efficient.”

Aurora’s eyes stayed on me.

“Whitney.”

“Don’t.”

Something in my voice made her stop.

I softened it.

“Please.”

Aurora nodded.

“Okay.”

I poured another glass.

Sierra studied me.

Then smiled.

“You know what?”

“What?”

“Fuck dinner.”

Cassy gasped.

“The bride has spoken.”

“We’re going dancing.”

Piper slapped the table.

“Yes.”

Aurora laughed.

I looked at Sierra.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

I thought about Dwayne.

Six months.

Nikolai.

Rules.

Threats.

Marriage.

My entire future being negotiated between men while I sat thousands of miles away drinking wine.

Something inside me snapped.

I stood.

“I want tequila.”

Piper grinned.

“Oh, we’re getting drunk.”

“Yes.”

Sierra laughed.

“We have created a monster.”

“No.”

I picked up my purse.

“Dwayne created the monster.”

The nightclub was exactly what I needed.

Loud.

Dark.

Crowded.

Music slammed through the floor hard enough that I could feel the bass in my bones.

Nobody knew who I was.

Nobody cared who my father was.

Nobody knew Nikolai Volkov apparently owned my future.

Nobody knew Avery Cole had rules about who could touch me.

I wanted to disappear into the noise.

So I did.

Tequila helped.

One shot.

Then another.

Then another.

Sierra dragged me onto the dance floor.

Aurora came with us.

Cassy disappeared toward a group of men near the bar.

Piper immediately followed.

For a while, everything disappeared.

Dwayne.

Nikolai.

Avery.

The scars.

The rules.

I danced.

I laughed.

I drank.

And for several beautiful minutes, I belonged only to myself.

A man approached me.

Tall.

Blond.

Attractive.

He leaned close enough to be heard.

“Dance?”

I smiled.

“Sure.”

His hands settled carefully at my waist.

Nothing inappropriate.

Nothing threatening.

Normal.

I wanted normal.

We danced.

Then Sierra suddenly appeared beside me.

Her eyes widened.

“Oh shit.”

I laughed.

“What?”

She pointed.

I turned.

Enzo stood at the edge of the dance floor.

He looked murderous.

I grinned.

“Oh, this should be fun.”

Aurora caught my wrist.

“Whitney.”

“What?”

“Maybe don’t antagonize him.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because you keep antagonizing armed men.”

Fair.

Enzo reached us.

His gaze dropped to the blond man’s hands around my waist.

The man noticed.

“Problem?”

Enzo looked at him.

“Remove your hands.”

The blond frowned.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Someone asking nicely.”

I laughed.

“That’s Enzo’s version of nicely.”

The blond looked at me.

“You know him?”

“Unfortunately.”

Enzo’s jaw flexed.

“Whitney. We’re leaving.”

“No.”

“Now.”

“No.”

Sierra stepped backward.

Traitor.

Aurora joined her.

Double traitor.

I folded my arms.

“I am having fun.”

“You’ve had enough fun.”

“You’re not my father.”

“No.”

“You’re not Avery.”

His eyes narrowed.

“No.”

“Then you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I was instructed to bring you home.”

“By whom?”

He just looked at me.

I laughed.

“Avery.”

No answer necessary.

“He’s in Florence.”

“Yes.”

“And he’s monitoring my nightlife from Italy?”

Enzo’s expression said enough.

“That’s fucking insane.”

“Come with me.”

“No.”

“Whitney.”

“I said no.”

I turned back toward the blond.

“Where were we?”

Enzo caught my wrist.

Not hard.

But firm.

My body reacted instantly.

I jerked away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Enzo released me.

Immediately.

Something changed in his face.

He looked at me differently.

Carefully.

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“I won’t grab you.”

“Excellent.”

I turned away.

Then the world flipped.

I screamed.

Enzo had bent, caught me around the thighs and lifted me straight over his shoulder.

“ENZO!”

People turned.

Sierra doubled over laughing.

Piper screamed, “OH MY GOD!”

Cassy pulled out her phone.

Aurora grabbed it.

“Do not record this!”

“PUT ME DOWN!”

Enzo started walking.

I hit his back.

“PUT ME THE FUCK DOWN!”

“No.”

“I WILL KILL YOU!”

“I’ve heard.”

“ENZO!”

“You said I couldn’t grab your wrist.”

“That DIDN’T MEAN THROW ME OVER YOUR SHOULDER!”

“You should have been more specific.”

I slapped his back again.

“You Italian asshole!”

“Very original.”

“SIERRA!”

She was following us.

Laughing.

“I can’t help you!”

“YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND!”

“HE HAS A GUN!”

“So do I,” Enzo said.

I stopped struggling.

“What?”

“Kidding.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Neither are you.”

He carried me through the club.

Actually carried me.

Over his shoulder.

Like a fucking sack of potatoes.

People stared.

Some laughed.

One woman applauded.

I pointed at her.

“THIS IS NOT ROMANTIC!”

Enzo kept walking.

We reached the exit.

Cool night air hit my legs.

“Put me down.”

“No.”

“I swear to God—”

“You’ve sworn to several people tonight.”

“Enzo.”

“No.”

“Why does Avery care?”

That finally made him pause.

Only for half a second.

Then he continued toward the SUV.

“Ask him.”

“He’s not here.”

Enzo said nothing.

I stopped fighting.

Something about his silence bothered me.

“Enzo.”

Nothing.

“Is Avery really in Florence?”

His shoulder moved beneath me.

“Put me down and answer me.”

He reached the SUV.

Set me carefully onto my feet.

I immediately shoved him.

He barely moved.

Bastard.

“You humiliated me.”

“You humiliated yourself.”

“I was dancing.”

“With a stranger.”

“So?”

Enzo stared at me.

“You really don’t understand Avery.”

“No.”

I stepped closer.

“And whose fault is that?”

For once, Enzo had no answer.

A black vehicle pulled into the parking lot behind us.

Not ours.

Enzo’s entire posture changed.

So did the security men.

Hands moved toward weapons.

My drunkenness disappeared remarkably quickly.

The vehicle stopped.

Rear door opened.

A man stepped out.

Black trousers.

Black shirt.

No jacket.

Broad shoulders.

Dark hair.

Caramel eyes.

My heart stopped.

No.

Impossible.

He was supposed to be in Florence.

Eight years collapsed into one second.

Avery Cole stood beneath the parking-lot lights.

Older.

Harder.

More dangerous.

There was blood on one of his knuckles.

His jaw was shadowed with stubble.

His eyes looked exhausted.

And there was something else.

Something wrong.

His gaze found me.

Locked.

Stayed.

My entire body remembered him.

The driveway.

His hand against my cheek.

I think about kissing you when I shouldn’t.

The car leaving.

The scars that came afterward.

Avery took one step toward me.

Then another.

Slow.

Controlled.

Except his left hand wasn’t controlled.

It trembled.

Barely.

He shoved it into his pocket.

I noticed.

Of course I noticed.

His eyes looked too bright.

His pupils—

No.

I didn’t know what I was seeing.

Maybe exhaustion.

Maybe anger.

Maybe jet lag.

Maybe something else.

He hadn’t slept.

That much I could tell.

There were shadows beneath his eyes.

His jaw kept tightening like he was grinding his teeth.

He looked thinner than the photograph in the house.

Sharper.

Beautiful in a way that should have been illegal.

And dangerous in a way that probably was.

Enzo muttered:

“Fuck.”

Avery ignored him.

Ignored Sierra.

Ignored Cassy.

Ignored Piper.

Ignored Aurora.

He looked only at me.

His gaze traveled slowly from my heels to the black dress he’d ordered me to change.

Then back to my face.

Eight years.

Eight fucking years.

And those were the first eyes I saw.

The same eyes.

Not the same man.

I folded my arms.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Florence?”

His jaw moved.

“I was.”

“Then go back.”

Sierra whispered my name.

I ignored her.

Avery stopped several feet away.

“You’ve been drinking.”

I laughed.

“And you’ve apparently become a detective.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Get in the car.”

There it was.

Another order.

Something inside me erupted.

“No.”

“Whitney.”

“No.”

His head tilted slightly.

The movement was almost lazy.

But nothing about him felt relaxed.

“Eight years,” I said.

His expression changed.

Barely.

“You don’t call. You don’t write. You don’t come home. Then I walk into your house and discover you have armed men under orders about who can touch me, flowers waiting in my bedroom, and apparently a fucking international surveillance system dedicated to my wardrobe.”

Cassy whispered, “International surveillance system?”

Aurora shushed her.

Avery stared at me.

I stepped closer.

“And now you fly back from Italy because I went dancing?”

His nostrils flared.

“I didn’t come back because you went dancing.”

“Then why are you here?”

Silence.

I smiled bitterly.

“Exactly.”

His eyes moved over my face.

Then something happened.

His fingers twitched.

A tiny movement.

His jaw clenched.

He rubbed beneath his nose quickly.

Restless.

Agitated.

His gaze moved toward Enzo.

Then back to me.

I noticed all of it.

But I said nothing.

Not yet.

Something was wrong with Avery Cole.

I simply didn’t know what.

He stepped closer.

Close enough that the air changed.

Close enough that I could smell him.

Cologne.

Smoke.

Something bitter beneath it.

His eyes dropped to my mouth.

My heart slammed.

Then he looked back into my eyes.

“You want to hate me?”

His voice was low.

Rough.

I swallowed.

“I don’t have to want to.”

Something almost like amusement touched his face.

Gone instantly.

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Hate me.”

His eyes hardened.

“It’ll make this easier.”

“What easier?”

He leaned slightly closer.

“Staying away from me.”

My breath caught.

Eight years ago, that sentence would have broken me.

Tonight it pissed me off.

I smiled.

“Don’t worry.”

I stepped around him.

“I learned that lesson from the best.”

I walked toward the SUV.

My legs felt surprisingly steady.

I opened the door.

Then stopped.

Looked back.

Avery hadn’t moved.

He watched me.

Enzo stood beside him.

The girls were silent.

And beneath the parking-lot lights, Avery’s hand began trembling again.

He curled it into a fist.

Hard.

So hard his knuckles whitened.

He caught me looking.

For one second, something flashed across his face.

Not embarrassment.

Not fear.

Warning.

Then the mask returned.

Cold.

Controlled.

Ruthless.

Avery Cole.

The man I’d spent eight years pretending I didn’t love.

The man who’d returned from Florence without warning.

The man whose own security chief seemed afraid of what happened when he got quiet.

I climbed into the SUV.

I didn’t ask why his hand shook.

I didn’t ask why his eyes looked wrong.

I didn’t ask why he seemed like a man being held together by anger and sheer fucking will.

Not tonight.

But I knew one thing.

The Avery Cole who had left Martago Island at twenty years old was gone.

Whatever had come back in his place was darker.

Meaner.

And infinitely more dangerous.

And despite every instinct telling me to stay as far away from him as possible—

I wanted to know what had happened to him.