AllFreeNovel
Share Us
We slow to meet the red light. Only then does the driver turn around. “I can’t do that, Miss Murphy,” he says.
The air leaves my lungs as I try the door handle. Nothing. I slam my fists and elbows and even the pointed heel of my stilettos against the passenger window, and it doesn’t even vibrate under my touch.
As the car turns into a glittery street lined with sleek bars and restaurants, I find myself squeezing my eyes shut.
What you can’t see can’t hurt you. What you can’t see can’t hurt you. What you can’t see can’t hurt you.
But I’m not a naive little girl anymore.
I know that Iwillsee the Devil tonight. And he will hurt me in ways I can’t even imagine.
Poppy
The car comes to a stop outsideLe Papillon.We’re in the rich part of town, where wine menus don’t have prices and chic boutiques are manned by burly bouncers with earpieces.
Trying to control my breathing, I scan the sidewalk. A well-dressed couple passes by, unsteady on their feet after a boozy dinner. A woman tottering across the pedestrian crossing in a skirt too short and heels too high.
“I’ll scream,” I say, digging my stilettos into the car carpet. “The second you open that door, I’ll scream like hell. There are people around, they’ll see something’s wrong.”
The driver glances at me in his rearview mirror. “I wouldn’t.”
There’s something about the venom behind his voice that makes me instantly decide I won’t.
With the laziest sigh in the world, he gets out of the driver’s seat and opens the passenger door for me. He offers me his hand. I don’t take it.
“After you,” he says, opening his arms wide enough to block the left side of the sidewalk. When I turn to my right, another man appears in a sharp suit and does the same.
The only way is forward, into the Devil’s lair.
Le Papillon.The type of restaurant that no student, even one that goes to Stanford, can afford to eat at unless their very rich parents are visiting. It has like a million dollar signs on Trip Advisor, and there’s not even a name above the door. Just a large shop window set in a steel frame with a stern-looking man out front. I have a feeling he’s not employed by the restaurant.
With a curt nod, he opens the door for me. I turn, one last time, to scan the sidewalk. The driver meets my eye, and with a short shake of his head, again mouths “I wouldn’t.”
I’m beginning to think that he’s not only a driver after all.
I step over the threshold and blink to adjust my eyes to the dim lighting from the dozen gas lamps lining the brick walls. Their amber glow washes over the small room. I can imagine loved-up couples holding hands over the small, circular tables, and the businessmen making dodgy deals in the corners of the tufted velvet booths. But tonight, there’s nobody but the Devil and me.
Despite him sitting in the shadows right at the back of the room, he’s unmissable. His imposing figure is like a black hole, sucking me in. My heavy legs take me closer to his table. I see a glint of something expensive on his wrist and hear the rattle of ice cubes as he brings a drink to his lips.
It is only when he stands does he step into the light.
Those eyes. Those wolf-like eyes haunted my dreams from nine to eighteen. They catch the amber glow and come alive, like two flickering flames.
The shock of it all snatches the air from my lungs and I stumble backward. But he’s quick, snaking an arm around my waist to steady me.
“Miss Murphy,” he drawls, all velvet and nails. I can’t escape him even when I close my eyes; the bulging muscle in his forearm is hard and cold against my back, and his oaky cologne and whiskey breath creeps up my nostrils, bringing me right back to that cold church in Boston. I suck in a lungful of air. His scent burns the back of my throat but I need the oxygen.
The scrape of a chair. “Sit,” he says, in a way that is anything but a suggestion.
My legs are like jelly and I have no choice but to sink into the seat. Silently, he slips a napkin from its glitzy holder and drapes it over my bare thighs. A shiver ripples down my spine. I feel a mix of horror and something else I can’t quite place.
As he takes the seat opposite me, a curtain twitches in my peripheral vision, its silk fabric giving way to a blonde waitress. She strides over, eyes lowered to the silver platter she’s holding in one hand. A huge chocolate cake with one, comically small candle flickering in the center of it.
She sets it down in front of me, before meeting my gaze. In an instant, I know there’s no use screaming at her for help, to beg her to call the police. The sheer terror clouding her eyes tells me she’s as unwilling in this situation as I am.
“Happy birthday,” the Devil says, bringing his glass to his smirking lips. He runs a greedy eye over my body. “You certainly dressed for the occasion.”
I stare at the candle in disbelief, watching the wax drip down the side and pool onto the glossy chocolate surface. None of this feels real.
