Page 35 of Blind Devotion (Letters of Ruin #1)

I sucked on the fingers that had been inside her moments before. She was sweet and heavenly with a touch of musk. Everything I never knew I needed.

The way I touched her—she was my first. I’d kissed a girl once when I was sixteen.

I found it so unpleasant that I washed my lips with soap to replace the sting.

I had sex with escorts, but it was cold and stale.

The women never faced me, and they never touched me.

The extent of my contact with them was the condom between us and the harness that held them in place.

The world was bland, marked only in shades of pain and hurt.

Relief was temporary, either in sex, exercise, or violence.

With Tessa, colors swarmed. I saw possibilities. I hungered for what I’d never wanted. Her hands on me. Her mouth on me. Her body pressed to me. I yearned to give her more. More pleasure. More time. More safety.

Ma petite tigresse slept snuggly against me, her nose to my jaw, lips to my neck. I wanted her closer. I wanted to absorb her. I couldn’t get over the feel of her skin beneath mine.

If my father were still alive, he’d say I was behaving like that eight-year-old boy again, hesitating and making the wrong call. Perhaps he’d be right, but this was a matter of want. I didn’t want her life to be snuffed out. I didn’t want to continue existing without these bursts of color.

“Tessa,” I whispered, “what are you doing to me?”

Her head twisted slightly, and she moaned. “That’s…not…my name.”

I muffled a chortle into her hair. “Oh? What is?”

“Per-setta.”

I pulled back from her, my mouth going dry. I swept a hand down my face. She said…no, that…I was hearing things. Persetta was in California. Persetta was safe at home under her brother’s care. There was no possibility that she was part of a sex trafficking ring.

I went over everything I knew about Tessa.

Late teens, early twenties, by Margaux’s estimates.

Smooth features, with a chin slightly squared at its point, a soft jawline, a thin nose, kissable fucking lips.

Green eyes the color of a blade of grass seen through sunlight.

Not a blonde. In the last four weeks, the dark roots of her hair grew longer.

She had thin bone structure, not a fighter’s body.

But the name, Persetta, was unique. Other than her , I’d never known another person with that name, but Tessa couldn’t be her , because if she was…I could have killed her. The number of times I almost did made me sick.

The moment the bedroom door clicked shut behind me, I rang Franc. One, two, three rings. He only picked up on the fourth as I stormed down the hall.

“Boss.” He yawned. “Another late night? You know, I answer much better before one a.m. Is it—”

“What’d you find?”

“I need more time. A day’s not much.”

“Don’t bullshit me now.” I slammed my office door shut behind me.

“I’m not, boss. The things I found, they need verifying. There are inconsistencies, and I haven’t been able to pick up a trail yet. It’s like someone erased all traces.”

“Then give me the basics. Give me fucking something!”

“All I know is she’s gone. Missing just over eight months. Picked right off the Iannelli estate. Mom hung herself the day after she went missing. Brother killed dad a month and a half later. No one’s heard from or seen Persetta Iannelli since.”

“Who did it?”

“I’ve got information on a San Francisco MC’s involvement, but the trail goes dead after that.”

I snatched the Macallan from the bar in the corner and poured myself two fingers. The bottle of whiskey clinked against the glass, my hands shaking.

“What else?”

“I need more time.”

I pounded my fist against the closest cabinet. “That’s not good enough.”

“You’ve got to chill, boss.” He was lucky he wasn’t in front of me, or I’d have him by the throat. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I’ve got nothing yet. Whoever took her, they’re ghosts. I mean, her brother’s—”

“What about Renzo?” If he was involved, I’d gut him.

“He’s looking for her. As far as I can tell, he killed his old man because of what happened to her.

His IT guys, they’re good. Not as good as me, but they’ve been at it since the beginning, and they’re stumped.

Been running around in circles, backtracking.

Every step forward, they go two steps back.

This is going to take me a few days if I’m lucky. ”

“You don’t need luck. Start with Xhafer Bogdani and work your way back. You’ll find her.”

“Fact or hunch?”

I hung up, not willing to answer, and dialed the Californian number I never made the effort to delete.

“De Villier.” My teeth gritted. I swore Renzo Iannelli butchered my name in that American accent of his on purpose. “I thought we agreed our talk was over.”

I didn’t have time for his posturing. Missing for over eight months. Those words were on a sick echo in my head. All while I avoided her, and for what? Almost fourteen years ago, fate flew her into my life, then stripped her out of it nine years later, and now dropped her right back in.

“Are you too fucking arrogant to ask for my help?” I snapped at him.

“What are—”

“Persetta. Renzo, what the hell were you thinking? Putain , you should have told me she was missing eight months ago.”

“Like you’d give a damn. Nine years you knew her, and you dropped her and never looked back for something that was never even her fault.

Not once did you make the effort to contact her.

I watched her suffer after you broke her heart.

My mother and I worked to pick up the pieces when it wasn’t our place to. ”

“We don’t need to rehash this.”

“Convenient for you. You were her idol, her best friend. She loved you.”

“She was a kid. She didn’t know what love was.”

“You’re an idiot if you really think that. You know she blamed herself for what happened. She thought you did too.”

“We both know that’s not what happened.”

“Like you said, she was still a kid, and she needed her best friend.” His lips trilled loudly across the line. “You know, I even deluded myself into thinking you loved her in your own way.”

“Not into the whole underage thing.”

“You were only five and a half damn years apart.”

“She was fifteen to my twenty.”

“And you were eleven to her six when you first met. Don’t forget, no matter how old you were, you two were inseparable for almost a decade. Until the day you threw that away. Tell me why, exactly, I would ever put faith in you for her sake?”

“You should’ve tried at the very least.”

“You should’ve been there. Listen up, coglione , and think on this.

You broke the contract. If you hadn’t, you would’ve married her almost two years ago.

My father would have had no control over her.

She would have been safe at your side. She would be in your home, and none of this would have happened.

This, everything that happened to her, whether she’s dead or alive, is your fault.

She’s gone because of you . Live with that, fucker. ”

The call dropped off. One second, the phone was in my hand.

The next, it was crashing into the wall.

My glass of half-finished whiskey followed, splintering into pieces, alcohol spraying the area.

All it needed was a lighter for my sanctuary to burst into flames to match the chaos of my life.

My chest heaved. My arms and fists trembled with the need to hit and pound and grind until everything around me was razed to the ground.