Page 15 of Savage Captor (Deadly Devotion #1)

“Do you know what happened to my brother?” I ask. “After you handed him over to your father.”

She exhales a long breath. A concerning rattling sound comes from deep in her throat, maybe even from her lungs.

I ignore it; it won’t matter soon enough.

Instead, I focus in on my anger. On my rage.

On my grief and my loss. If I don’t, my respect for her might stop me from killing her, and I can’t do that. Sam needs to be avenged.

“I never handed him over to my father.” She pauses to cough. “But from what I know of Father’s… methods , what I saw growing up…” she shakes her head. “It would’ve been brutal. Nobody should have to endure him.”

“Such a pretty liar,” I mutter. My anger’s creeping in, slowly, as it always does when I think of Sam, when Scarlett continues to deny the evident truth. I feel it seep into my veins and stir something in my core. I flex and unflex my hand, glaring at her. “Look at me,” I say.

Scarlett’s gaze flicks up, fixing on mine. Her green eyes are a bit muted, but there’s clarity in them. Determination. “Tell me the truth and I’ll make your death quick.”

“I have told you the truth,” she sighs. “You might realize it after you’ve killed me, or you might not. What would it matter? I’ll be dead. I’ve accepted that.” Her bottom lip wobbles a bit and her eyes start to shine, but she gives her head a shake and fights back her emotions.

A switch takes place inside me, like the lights flicking on—or off. Any begrudging respect disappears, leaving behind rage. My mood swings from mild to furious in the span of a heartbeat, and suddenly, I want to see Scarlett dead now.

I want to see her tears. I want to see her suffering, her misery.

I want more of her agony; I want to hear her scream in pain.

An idea unfurls in my mind, stemming from my mood swing brought on by a deep-seated grief.

It’d be going against orders, all orders, but it would feel so damn good.

I want to see the realization that she’s been caught in her lies dawn in Scarlett’s eyes; to feel her helplessness and whatever cocktail of misery she serves me up.

If I do what I’m thinking, I’ll get to feed on it. Breathe it.

I stand from my chair so abruptly that it tips backwards and hits the floor. I know a way to get all the proof I need. I’ll be able to kill Scarlett with a clear mind and heart. My admiration and respect for her will disappear entirely, and I’ll get to enjoy her drawn-out death.

“Enough with the lies,” I say, rounding the table.

I pull out Scarlett’s chair so harshly it also tips backwards.

She lets out a low cry as she crashes to the ground, and weakly rolls out of the steel chair, crumpling into a heap beside it.

Pathetic . A red fog descends on my eyes as I stare at this evil murderess .

“Let’s call the man in question, shall we?” I ask, squatting beside her and gripping a fistful of her hair. Her eyes widen with genuine terror as she comprehends my meaning, and she attempts to vigorously shake her head. I tighten my hold, preventing it. She stares at me with pleading eyes.

“Monster,” she whispers. “Greyson— please , don’t. Not that. Not him, please . I’ll do anything. Kill me, hurt me, just don’t— don’t call him .”

“Still trying to protect your beloved father?” I hiss.

“Still trying to stick to your bullshit story? No, it’s time for the fucking truth.

” It’s time to have everything out there so I can finally be done with her.

Cain would disapprove, as would Boyce. Calling Luther Sharpe isn’t part of the plan, but it should be.

It’s brilliant. Maybe he’ll cave when he hears the sound of his daughter’s screams.

“Please no,” she begs, gazing into my eyes. “Not—not that.” A choked sob escapes her. “Anything but that.”

For a moment, her eyes—wide and filled with fear—get to me.

I pause, and a bit of rationality creeps back in.

Not only is calling Luther reckless, but it seems unnecessarily callous.

Scarlett hasn’t bothered begging me to stop harming her since her first days here, but now, she’s pleading with me.

She’s endured everything that’s been done to her with minimal complaints, so maybe I can make this one concession…

No . She’s corrupting me. She’s getting in my head and scrambling my thoughts, confusing me. It’s her eyes that are the issue—maybe I’ll gouge them out. I’ll certainly be safer for it.

“Shut the fuck up,” I seethe. “You don’t talk.

Rule number one, remember?” I’ve been too nice to her, too lax with her.

It’s time to remind her of what’s coming.

No, it’s time to give her what’s coming to her, but not before I get the truth.

If I can’t get it from her, I’ll get it from Luther fucking Sharpe.

“The only thing I need, want from you is to hear you scream. Think Daddy Dearest will enjoy that?”

“Greyson, please. ” The tears are spilling over her eyes and streaming down her cheeks now. The sight of them satisfies me but also daunts me, and I’m sick of feeling twisted up when it comes to this girl. She calls me a monster, but she’s the real monster here.

Luther Sharpe’s phone number was very difficult to track down. It’s a private line, one that only a dozen people in the world know, and my intent was to use it when I sent his daughter’s body to him, but there’s no harm in letting him hear her scream first.

I push her flat to her back as I find his contact, holding her with a hand to her chest and hovering my knee over her thigh. She struggles, but the movements are weak. She’s weak. A pathetic, crumpled pile of skin and bones.

I hit call, setting the phone to speaker. I want Scarlett to hear her father’s voice one last time; I want to see her expression the moment he confirms the truth.

She reaches up to cover her mouth with her hands, muffling her sobs, which are coming freely now. I’ve never seen her this afraid, and it satisfies the killer in me.

The phone only rings twice before the call connects. The voice that answers is dark, sharp, and slightly rugged—as if Luther Sharpe is a two-packs-a-day smoker.

“Yes?”

“Luther.” I let the silence hang between us. Scarlett releases a muffle sound of pure terror and squeezes her eyes shut. I press harder on her chest, keeping her in place. The fun part’s coming soon— very soon.

“Who the hell is this?” Luther demands. Anger sharpens his tone, making it sound like the swish of a knife before it tears through flesh .

“Someone you stole from.” I glare at Scarlett since I can’t glare at her father. Her entire body shakes beneath the force of her sobs, and there’s a shiver of terror rattling her thin frame. Good .

“Either be specific or stop wasting my time,” Luther hisses.

“Remember Sam Blackwell?” I ask harshly. “The assassin you tortured and killed? I’m his fucking brother .”

Silence stretches on the phone. Luther’s breathing speeds up as he realizes who I am and probably wonders how the hell I got his number and what else I could possibly know about him. The answer is a lot, though not nearly as much as I wish I did.

“You took something from me, so I’ve taken something from you.

” I press my knee on Scarlett’s thigh. She inhales a rabid gasp and holds her breath, trying to trap her scream in her throat.

So, I press harder. The wail that escapes her is almost piercing to my ears, like the shriek of a banshee.

I’ve never heard her make that sort of noise; it’s agony, fear, and desperation all rolled into a single sound.

She writhes, but I hold her in place easily. Her head turns to the side, and as I alleviate some of the pressure, her loud scream ebbs into a low, broken cry.

“Am I supposed to know who that is?” Luther says. “If you’ve got something to say, boy, say it.”

“Scarlett Sharpe, your bitch daughter who brought my brother to you, is trapped in my jailcell. You have twelve hours to turn yourself in, or I will cut her to pieces and send them to you.” For emphasis, I press on Scarlett’s thigh again, and she screams again, though not quite as loudly.

Her face is draining of color. My pants are becoming saturated with blood.

She might bleed out right here and now, while her father’s forced to listen. An appropriate end.

“Scarlett Sharpe,” Luther repeats slowly .

Scarlett whimpers out a low, “ God, no .” I don’t know if she’s even lucid at this point.

“That whore is no daughter of mine,” Luther says lowly. “She’s supposed to be dead .”

The world around me goes silent and still.

My breathing picks up, matching Luther’s pace, as shock renders me still.

I almost don’t comprehend his words, but then they hit me full-force, washing over me with the weight of a tsunami.

The fuck did he say? Because he couldn’t have possibly just disowned his daughter.

Maybe she’s on the outs with him, after all.

Maybe they had some sort of falling-out after she brought Sam to him. Maybe…

Luther’s low, taunting laugh echoes across the line, renewing my anger. This time, it’s not aimed at Scarlett; it’s aimed at me.

“You think that Scarlett would have the balls to lure one of my marks to me?” Luther laughs harder.

“You’re as stupid as your brother. I haven’t seen the bitch in years—up until this moment, I thought she was dead.

Penny’s the one who got your brother to me.

She’s my favorite whore—extremely talented mouth.

If you want, I’ll send you her location.

Since you’ll never get your hands on me, you might as well take it out on her.

” His tone hardens and deepens. “On that note, do whatever you want to Scarlett. Hurt her. Break her. Sell her. She’s as useless as her mother was.

Hell, if you want, I’ll buy her off you and put her on the auction block.

That way she’ll have some profit for me.

Don’t call me again, you piece of shit.” He hangs up with a click.

I release Scarlett and stumble back. Shock hits me with the impact of a tornado, tearing up everything I thought I knew and putting me in a strange stasis.

Scarlett did not lure my brother anywhere. Someone named Penny did. Scarlett’s father wants to hurt her worse than I have.

Scarlett is innocent .

The world dips and morphs around me. A seismic shift takes place within me.

My grief and my rage is replaced by a single, haunting emotion; horror.

Horror at myself. Horror at the state of the girl crumpled on the floor, who I’ve spent the last ten days torturing in every way I can think of.

She was innocent. She was telling the truth— god fucking damnit , she was telling the truth.

“Well,” Scarlett says weakly, her voice barely a whisper. “Now you really have to kill me before he does.”

I’m lost for words. I don’t know what to say or do.

I’m frozen in place, gazing in horror at her.

The blood leaking from her thigh, from a stab wound I put there while blinded by my grief, saturates her stained bandage all the way through and starts dribbling onto the floor.

Scarlett doesn’t say anything else. Her eyes flutter and roll back into her head.

I’m still with shock as the beliefs that have been my driving force since Boyce put me on Scarlett’s trail are upended. What the fuck have I done? I’m a killer, yes, but I kill targets. People I’m paid to kill. Not twenty-one-year-old women who’ve done nothing wrong.

I hear the telling beep of the door being unlocked, and then someone steps in. It must be Cain—nobody else comes in here unless summoned. I don’t turn to look at him, because my horrified gaze is glued to Scarlett.

“What the hell is going on here?” Cain’s tone is tinged with anger as he stalks forward. “Grey, what—”

“She was telling the truth.” My words are a whisper. A haunted echo through the silence.

“Excuse me?” Cain intones slowly. He walks up to me, but I still can’t look at him.

“I called Luther.” Guilt hits me full-force, making my chest ache.

There’s a chasm there that feels like it’s vomiting out pieces of my soul.

“ I wanted him to hear her scream.” And so he did .

“He… he said… she was telling the truth. His whore lured Sam out, not his daughter. Not Scarlett.” Not the girl I punished and tormented, taunted with promises of pain and death.

“Huh.” Cain’s response is detached, but there’s a vague note of interest. “I suspected as much.”

That finally gets my attention. I whip my head around to stare at him wide-eyed. “You what? ”

“She didn’t break,” Cain says. “Nobody can survive me for as long as she has without breaking. I suspected from the very beginning, but it’s good to know.

” He sighs, squatting down beneath Scarlett.

“In that case, we need her alive. Which means medical needs to get down here right the fuck now.” His gaze fixes on her thigh, and he clamps a hand over it, putting pressure on the bleeding.

His other hand goes to her neck, fingers pressing into her pulse.

Scarlett releases some sort of incoherent mumble, but doesn’t open her eyes. Sweat coats her body in a thin film.

“Go get the doctor,” Cain says. “Her pulse is weak. She needs a blood transfusion, and it looks like her wound is infected.” He shakes his head.

“If she dies, shit will go nuclear. There are pieces in play you don’t know about, and she needs to be alive for the puzzle to come together.

” He glares at me. “ Go get the fucking doctor! ”

His shouted words get me up. I scramble from the floor. Determination replaces my horror. Scarlett is not dying today—she’s not dying , period . For the many sins I committed, there’s at least one thing I can do right. I couldn’t save Sam, but I sure as hell will save her.