Page 10 of My Cruel Salvation

“Mr. Stark,” Devlin said, his brows rising in surprise. “I’m going to assume you’re not out here because you wanted some fresh air.”

“I wish it were something that innocuous. No, I wanted to let you know that committee’s decision to pull your award wasn’t unanimous.” He shrugged as he pushed away from the ladder and held out his hand to shake, his dual-colored eyes meeting Devlin’s. “I also wanted to introduce myself, something I’d intended to do after your speech. But I think this is the best I can manage.”

“I’m afraid so,” Devlin said, taking the other man’s hand. “But it means a lot that you came out here. Thank you.” He turned to El. “Elsa Holmes, I’d like you to meet Damien Stark.”

“I recognize you, of course,” she said. “And call me Ellie.”

“The pleasure is mine, Ellie,” Stark said. He turned his attention back to Devlin. “It’s good to finally meet you. I’m sorry about the circumstances. By all rights, we should have met about five years ago.”

For a moment, Devlin didn’t understand. Then it clicked. “The foundation. Our offices in Laguna Cortez.” He turned to Ellie, answering her questioning look. “The architect who designed the offices—Jackson Steele—he’s Damien’s brother.”

“It’s a small world,” Ellie said.

“That it is.” Stark glanced down the alley toward the approaching limo. “Looks like your ride is here. I won’t keep you. I just wanted to offer my condolences. And my congratulations.”

Devlin’s brows rose. “Congratulations?”

“You don’t need an award, Saint. The work your foundation does speaks for itself.”

Devlin nodded, letting those words sink in. “Thank you,” he said. “That means a lot.”

“I know a thing or two about being scrutinized by the press. Even more about what it’s like to be encumbered by the reputation of a father I neither like nor respect. You’ll do fine. It won’t be easy, but you’ll overcome all this bullshit.”

“I will,” Devlin said, because Stark was right. Devlin had no choice but to overcome it.

But what he didn’t say was that while it might be easy enough to shake off the controversy of being The Wolf’s son and prove to the world at large that his philanthropic efforts were legitimate, that wasn’t the real issue.

No, what neither Stark nor the committee nor the press realized was that by outing Devlin’s parentage, those eager reporters may have just plastered a target on Devlin’s back, one at which both his father’s former allies and enemies would be taking aim.

What was worse, though, was that their real goal would be to punish him. To hurt him.

And that meant that the very press Ellie worked for had painted that same fucking target on her back as well.

Chapter Six

My heart aches for Devlin, and not just because that asshat Livingston maneuvered the committee into withdrawing the award. No, what Mr. Stark said was true—award or not, the Devlin Saint Foundation does amazing work, and the world damn well knows it. An award won’t change that.

What makes me shake with rage is that those fucking reporters have now painted him with the same brush as The Wolf. And Devlin isn’t anything like the murderous, drug-pushing, human-trafficking prick who fathered him.

We’re in the back of the limo, heading toward the hotel, and Devlin hasn’t said a word in the last five minutes. I reach over and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Are you okay?”

There’s a pause before he answers, and when he turns to me, I see the pain in his eyes. “I think I always knew the truth would get out someday, no matter how much I hoped I could bury it. I would never have chosen to associate with that man, and the fact that I managed to break from him was one of the primary joys of my life. To now have—”

He cuts himself off, his hand tightening painfully around mine as if he’s trying to funnel the pain of his parentage out of his body.

“I know,” I say. “But you’re nothing like him. The world knows that. This is just so much smoke, and once it blows over, the world will only see the good that you’ve done. The sins of your father aren’t your sins.”

He turns to face me, and I see the shadows on his face along with the doubt in his eyes. “Aren’t they?”

Fury stabs through me. “Don’t you dare say that. You don’t believe it, and neither do I.”

“Don’t you?”

I feel my shoulders sag in frustration. Not at him, but at myself. “You know I don’t,” I say. “I wouldn’t be with you if I did. Devlin, I—”

I cut myself off as I take a breath. “I love you no matter what. And Saint’s Angels is nothing—nothing—like what your father was.”

“He killed. We kill.”