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But in the moment of desperation, I squeeze my eyes shut and clamp my hands together.
Please, God, please save me.Save my father.
My father stiffens beside me. But as I glance at him, I notice he shows no emotion. He’s been trained, trodden on, to behave like this in the Devil’s presence.
A pang of pity, and disgust, shoots through my chest.
“On January 11th, you were the doorman on duty at the Quinn warehouse. You deemed the package to be safe, you signed for it, and then you handed it to my father.” His eyes glower, but his body language remains eerily calm. “You didn’t do your job, Murphy. Your incompetence is the sole reason my family has been taken away from me.” His gaze slides from my father to me. Once again, I’m frozen under the intensity of his stare. “And for that, I will take yours.”
His words reverberate around my brain, bouncing off of the sides of my head as if they are balls in a pinball machine.
“Sir—”
Like Eleana, it only takes a certain look to silence my father, before he turns his unwanted attention back to me. “Poppy Murphy,” he mutters, rolling my name around on his tongue, like he’s seeing how it tastes. He drags a knuckle over his bearded jaw. “The day you turn eighteen is the day you belong to me.”
Drawing in a lungful of ice-cold breath, I turn to my father in desperation. I don’t know what I’m expecting him to do, but I’m expecting him to dosomething.A real man, areal father, would never let another man claim his daughter. They’d fight to the death to protect her. At the very least, tell the Devil to take him instead.
But it’s in this moment I realize my father isn’t just a bad man. He’s a coward. One that stares at his shoes and clenches his fist and swallows his anger as his boss stakes a claim on the child he brought into this world.
And it’s in this moment I realize I’m nothing like him.
I’mnota coward.
I can’t be. Even if it’s instinctive to squeeze my eyes shut and clamp my hands over my ears, I have to be brave. Because the only person in the entire universe willing to fight for Poppy Murphy, is, well, me.
“Go to hell.”
The words come from my mouth like a hiss of steam. Only now does my father make a sound. A weird, strangled noise that sits deep in his chest. But still, he makes no move to come to my defense. The boy with the steel-gray eyes and the Doc Martens twists and stares at me, an amused smirk dancing on his lips.You’ve really fucked up now,his expression reads.
I stare back at him because I’m too frightened to lift my gaze to the Devil. The silence radiating from him is the scariest sound so far. It’s interrupted by slow, deliberate footsteps.
Thud, thud, thud.
The sound of the Devil descending the three steps leading down from the sanctuary.
Thud, thud, thud, thud.
The sound of him walking down the aisle, stopping at the third pew.
What you can’t see can’t hurt you.
I’m not looking directly at the Devil, but his presence is suffocating so much that itdoeshurt. When Doc Martens boy turns back to face the lone coffin at the front of the church, I have no choice but to face him.
With only a few feet and a pathetic excuse for a father between us, I could reach out and strangle him. Wrap my weak hands around his thick neck and squeeze the breath from his lungs. Choke the evil out of him, at the very least. But as he towers over both me and my father, I know the idea is nothing but a sick fantasy.
“Move,” the Devil says simply at my father, not taking his eyes off me. The coward slithers past his imposing body, stumbling to get out of his way. Now there’s nothing between us but hatred. “Repeat yourself.”
Inches from me now, I can barely breathe. He was scary when on the sanctuary, but up close, he’s petrifying. It’s not just his larger-than-life build or the way he carries himself like he’s a million miles above the law. Because, in the ten minutes I’ve been in his presence, it’s as clear as day that he is.
It’s his eyes. Swirling around in the whirlpools of citrine and amber is a glint of something deeply unsettling.
A look of a man who has nothing to lose.
I take a deep breath like it might be my last. My life has been short and miserable and gloomy.
Looks like I have nothing to lose either.
“I said, go to hell,” I say evenly, forcing the tremor out of my voice.
