Page 101 of The Devil

I look up at her face. She can’t breathe. She’s trying to breathe.

I grip the lace that binds her face and, with an animal roar, I tear it in two. A sound comes from her, a gasp, and I know it’s her last. I know it as I stare down at her.

At her beautiful face.

But it’s not Amal’s face.

It’s not Amal.

33

AMAL

Itry to scream. I fight against grips of iron and try to scream from behind this gag of lace. It’s no use though. No use.

In a flicker of time, a split second, they tore me from him. They timed it perfectly. Of course they did. One minute I was holding Jet’s hand. I was so close I could smell his aftershave. It was familiar and comforting. I thought the worst was over. I was with him. He had me. I had him. We would be safe.

Then the lights went out and in that same instant, hands grabbed me, one closing over my mouth as if I could scream. As if I could make a sound with this suffocating gag of lace.

And I watched in horror as a second me, another woman in this terrible red, took my place. Just like that, she stood where I had stood. Unreal how quickly it happened. I watched her slip her hand into his before that secret door slid closed and I was dragged deeper into the bowels of hell, a room black as night. Black as that corridor had been for just that instant.

Now I watch in fresh horror from behind a sealed window as below, on the water’s edge, Jet and Severin and that other me climb into a boat, Jet holding her like she’s the most precious thing in the world. Jet not letting her go, not for a second. Too late though. Too late for me.

I pound my fists against that impenetrable glass and scream and scream for him to look up. To see me. To see it’s not me he’s holding.

But I’m too high up and even if the window were open, the storm would carry my screams away, somewhere no one will ever hear them.

“Such dramatics,” a man says from behind me as the boat pulls away from the pier and they set off into a too-angry sea.

Jameson.

I spin around, my hands fists at my sides, my cheeks hurting from where I scratched my own face open as I ripped that lace apart, my head aching for the hair I pulled out in my desperation to free my voice.

“What did you do? What did you do?” I scream, the salt of tears burning the fresh wounds. I lunge toward him, but I’m caught by two men and even fighting with all I have left, I can’t get free of them. “What did you do?” I demand again, my voice sounding like I feel. Like it’s done. Like they’ve won.

“Are we finished?” he asks, talking to me like I’m a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“What the hell do you want with me?” I ask, my voice breaking. “What is this?”

Jameson holds up a finger as if telling me to be quiet, makes like he’s listening hard and a moment later, I hear a distant pop. My heart stops because I know what it is. I know. And for as completely as that storm drowned out my screams, how cruel to let me hear that nothing of a sound. That so final a thing.

But no. No. It can’t be that easy. They couldn’t kill him so easily, that tiny little pop. Not Jet.

“There we go. Will we hear another?” He pauses, then shakes his head. “Well, no matter. The deed is done and, quite frankly, it’s a mercy. The sea is far too wild for that boat tonight. Of course we’ll have another to bring our boys back. We look after those who serve us.”

He’s talking like he did when he was showing me to my room. Like I’m at some resort, as if I’m here willingly and we’re having a simple conversation about the history of the place.

“No. No, I don’t believe you,” I say. “You were going to let them go. You said⁠—”

“Ah, youth. I wonder if I was once so naïve.” He walks toward me and I flinch when he brushes back a ringlet of hair that I freed as I tore the lace apart. “Jethro Blackstone was never going to walk away. He wouldn’t leave you. That was clear from the start. So, we had no choice, really. I mean, if you think about it, he left us no choice. His fate, the fate of his brother and that other you, it’s on him, isn’t it?” He shrugs a shoulder. “Everything has a price. Jethro Blackstone of all people should have known that. Now, let’s see this mess you’ve made.”

“I don’t believe you. I don’t fucking believe you.” I hear how crazed I sound. How out of control while he just stands there, calm and infuriatingly collected.

“Language, my dear. Certainly, your new husband will not put up with that. We do things differently here in The Society. Of course, I realize you are unfamiliar with our ways. Your mother saw to that. But that shall be remedied.”

My brain rattles in my head.

“What?” I hear myself ask.