Page 8 of Savage Captor (Deadly Devotion #1)

Grey

T he whisky burns as it makes its way down my throat, but it doesn’t give me the edge of numbness I’m craving.

I can’t stop hearing the Sharpe bitch’s words, insulting my brother’s memory and me in the same breath.

I should’ve slit her throat right then and there.

She doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as me or anyone else.

No matter how stunning she is.

No matter that her composure, up until the moment I sliced through her flesh, was impressive.

She’s the scum of this earth. A nobody. And if she won’t give me information, then her only usefulness is to have a gory death.

Knocks sound on my apartment door. I slam my tumbler of whisky down on my coffee table and stand from the grey couch, going to the door and swinging it open.

Cain stands in my doorway, hands hanging by his sides. One of his hands is stained dark red; looks like he kept up the torture after kicking me out.

“You’re a prick,” I hiss.

“And you’re an idiot,” he responds tonelessly. “You can’t even follow simple instructions, stick to a simple agreement. That’s pretty goddamn disappointing, Grey. I thought you were better than that. ”

I turn away, disgusted with him. Disgusted with the world at large, and especially with the bitch breathing air she doesn’t deserve.

I stumble my way back to the couch and drop down to the cushions.

I’m already halfway through the bottle of whisky I opened just half an hour ago, and despite my quickly-climbing alcohol tolerance, I’m feeling the liquor hit. Not hard enough, though.

“Did she talk?” I ask, pouring another few fingers into my glass.

“Insisted she has no contact with her father and knows nothing about him,” Cain responds, stepping in and closing the door behind him. He grabs himself another tumbler, takes a seat on the couch, and pours himself one finger.

“She’s lying,” I grunt.

“Perhaps.” Cain shrugs. “Doesn’t matter much either way, does it? I’ll work on her. If she has any info to spill, I’ll make sure she spills it.”

“No, I’ll fucking work on her,” I insist. “She’s the cause of my brother’s death. Her life is mine.”

“You can kill her when it’s time, but I don’t trust you to keep her alive until the right moment,” Cain replies.

“Therefore, unless you’re visiting her with me, you’re out for now.

You’re volatile, Grey. Drinking yourself stupid, moaning about all day.

It’s undignified. Until you find your dignity, keep your shit to yourself. ”

I want to snap, to shout at Cain. But I can’t, because he’s right.

I am volatile. My behavior is undignified.

I’m mourning the loss of my twin and best friend, grasping for vengeance as if it might grant Sam peace.

Clinging to the desperate, fragile belief that eliminating those responsible for his death will offer me relief, even though I know it won’t.

I don’t know if anything will make me feel better.

For now, revenge is the only thing fueling me to live, so I have to hold fast to it.

If I let go, even for a moment, I might slip into a void.

I might decide that life isn’t worth living, and I can’t risk that.

Not before Sam’s avenged. Afterward… well, I don’t know what comes after that, and I don’t want to think about it right now.

“She might be telling the truth,” Cain says. “You stabbed her, and she kept to her story.”

“If she was raised by Luther, then she’s a master liar and manipulator,” I respond. “You can’t trust a word out of her mouth. Not until she’s broken.”

She has to be lying—she has to be. I refuse to believe anything else. I’ve seen the proof of her collaboration with her father, and once she’s broken, she’ll tell us everything we need to know.

“I guess we’ll find out. On another note, there is one thing I’d like to talk to you about. Something you need to be read in on.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Too fucking bad.” Cain’s tone hardens, as do his eyes. “You said you’re with me. So be with me. At least have the decency to listen to me when I’m speaking rather than spending all your time wallowing like a miserable prick.”

“Fine,” I mutter. “What’s so important that we have to discuss it now?”

“I’m in the process of brokering a deal with a weapons trafficker,” Cain says. “Negotiations are slow and convoluted, but he’s coming around. The situation’s complicated because the guy doesn’t want to work with Boyce.”

Why the hell is this important? “So have him work with you.”

“That’s the plan,” Cain says with a nod. “But Boyce won’t be happy about it, so he’ll stay in the dark.”

“What’s special about the weapons guy, anyway?” I ask. “We’re already well armed and armored. What could he give us that we don’t already have? ”

“More manpower and influence,” Cain says. “He’s deeply entrenched in the underground. Well enough connected that he might be willing to help us bring down Luther. It sounds like he has a bone to pick with the old prick.”

“Fine,” I say. “Whatever. If he can help, great.”

“I’ll be meeting with him soon,” Cain goes on. “I think it’d be good if you joined me.”

“Behind Boyce’s back?” I ask. “That’s dangerous.”

“Many dangerous things are in the works, and they’re all meant to better the Nighthawks,” Cain says with a careless shrug.

“You said you didn’t want details, so I won’t give you details…

yet. But when I think you’re ready, I will.

And, Greyson,” I meet his eyes, feeling a small shiver crawl up my spine at his deadened glare, “you better be with me. Because if you’re not, then you’re against me, and that’ll end very poorly for you. ”

The threat is clear, and I don’t mistake his words to be anything else.

I nod slowly. Even in my current downward spiral, I’m still loyal to Cain.

He’s saved my ass and had my back many times, so I’ll always be loyal to him.

He’s a soulless prick, but he’s also smart, sharp, ambitious, and capable. A good mix, if not a dangerous one.

“I’m with you.”

Cain inclines his head. “Good. Meeting’s in two days—be ready for it.

Sober the hell up and work through your shit.

I need you sharp for this.” Something in Cain’s expression softens.

A barest hint of humanity that indicates he might not be a complete soulless asshole, after all.

“I’m sorry you lost Sam. We’ll get revenge—you have my word on that.

But you need to start living again, Grey.

You’ve been a shell the last few months. ”

I let out a humorless laugh. “The day I find some life inside me, I’ll let you know.

” I swallow, gazing at the whisky. I’m quickly developing a drinking problem, and I don’t think Sam would condone that.

No, my twin would tell me to clean myself the hell up and move on.

I can’t keep disgracing his memory. “And I’ll cut back on the booze. ”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Cain knocks back his drink and stands. “If I see you doing better, you can join interrogations. Until then, focus on getting your shit together.” He walks out of the room, leaving me alone in my misery, drowning in memories with Sam.

Turns out, laying off the booze is even shittier than drinking myself into a stupor and horrible hangover.

I go through the next few days like a zombie, avoiding the bottle, and it sucks.

I train with the other operatives who live in headquarters, eat my meals in my room, and studiously avoid human interaction to whatever lengths I possibly can.

Cain visits me in the morning and evening.

I think he’s making sure that I haven’t returned to drinking or found another method of self-destruction.

The day when we’re supposed to meet the weapons trafficker, he comes to my room in the morning, covered in splatters of blood.

His white button-down is saturated with a bright red, and there’s no mistaking that he’s just wrapped up a torture session with Scarlett.

Something twinges in my stomach at the sight of the blood.

Not discomfort, I don’t think, but… something.

I ignore the strange feeling and push it away. “Has she talked yet?” I ask.

“She talked plenty,” Cain responds. “But she hasn’t admitted to any contact with her father or involvement in Sam’s death. And I went hard on her.” A slight smirk tilts up the corner of his lips. “Subjects usually start talking when I start taking fingernails. She didn’t.”

“She’s her father’s daughter,” I reply, even as questions niggle at the back of my mind. Is it possible that she might really know nothing?

No. No, Boyce has evidence. Indisputable evidence. I won’t ignore that. I won’t feel bad for the spawn of the most evil, vile man walking this earth. If Cain hadn’t blocked me out, I might go kill her right now just to prove to myself that taking out the trash is both necessary and what I do best.

Cain shrugs. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. She’s still a useful asset, and her greatest usefulness might very well lie in her death.”

“She’s just manipulating you. You’ll see. Keep working on her or let me work on her. I’ll get the truth out of her.”

“More likely, you’ll kill her without meaning to, which I can’t risk.” Cain shakes his head. “No, I’m keeping control of the situation. When you’re ready, I’ll let you back in.”

I want to argue and rage at him, but there’s no point. Cain’s higher up in the food chain than I am. He’s second in command of the Nighthawks, while I’m third. His word will always trump mine, no matter how unfair it is.

“What if I just talk to her?”

Cain tilts his head to the side, considering me. “If you give me your word to control yourself, fine. Otherwise, no.”

“I’ll control myself. You have my word.” I have to see the girl again. See how much pain she’s in and take pleasure from it. Her pain is my vengeance, her agony my justice. If I can’t deliver it, then at the very least I should be allowed to observe it.