Page 1 of Scream (Duchess & Devils #1)

Sabrina .

Chelsea, England

Two Years Ago

The Alchemists – Pop-Up Show – LONDON - Tonight Only!

I stare at my phone screen in fascination. Raven would have loved to see them!

“Sabrina, phone down at the table, darling,” my mother cheerfully intrudes my thoughts before they can darken to thoughts of my best friend still locked up in that asylum.

I’m sorry – Mental Institution. I almost groan out loud.

I’d visited her every day while she was in the ICU after she was brutally attacked in the music hall back at Rayne-Moore University.

Then one day I woke up to our sorority sisters bursting into our shared room excitedly turning on the news.

Raven had been transferred to Lorne Wood for physically assaulting a nurse after having a “violent fit.” Whatever that meant.

If I knew Raven, my very own soul sibling, the one I told all of my secrets to, the one who looked at my very butthole the time I thought I had an anal contusion from, well, anal , and didn’t laugh, then I knew that bitch of a nurse probably earned getting her bloody nose broken and whatever else Raven did to her.

When I asked Axel what happened exactly later, and he told me the nurse had touched Raven’s wrists, the ones still healing from being tied behind her back by zip ties, I telepathically said, “Thatta girl,” hoping the wind or the cosmos or however this universe works, sent it to her .

I’ve spoken to her stepbrother, Axel, quite a few times over the last two years and every time he swears , she’s getting better, but they haven’t let her out of that godforsaken cage.

Every time I try to visit, they kicked me out. Or, rather, politely turned me away and I’ve left with my tail tucked between my legs. I can’t even get past the front gate. I’m not on a ‘next-of-kin’ list, which is ridiculous. But in our world… last names matter.

Axel says he’ll fix that as well every time I bring it up, but so far, no good.

I’ve lost faith in him, if I’m honest.

“Sorry mum, what were you saying?” I darken my screen and put my phone face down on the table to pick up my fork and continue shoveling more eggs into my mouth, eating quickly so I can claim a few tickets before they’re sold out.

My eyes darting from my phone back up to my mother, renowned author and large breakfast enthusiast, Matilda Barclay.

“That we’re having dinner with the Prime Minister and his wife this evening. It could be a good move in the right direction for your career. You know we’d love to have you here full-time. She's a barrister, darling.”

I groan inwardly. “You know I accepted the job at Daddy’s firm. I am going back next week and I’m starting there. I already have an entire list of clients waiting for my return, Mum.”

My mother does her best not to frown, swirling her spoon in her tea, but she does sigh.

Green eyes like mine flick up to me over her teacup as she blows on it softly.

She’s still upset because I became a lawyer and not a doctor.

I could say I wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps, but really, I picked up where my late brother, Charlie, left off.

He wanted to be a lawyer and run Daddy’s firm with him.

It was his dream, often sitting in at meetings and whatnot, going with Daddy to work.

He died ten years ago.

He was only sixteen.

The Syndicate Elders granted my parents’ divorce only six months later.

“Darling, I do wish you would have spoken to me about that first. There are so many opportunities here for you and I wish you would have gone over all your options. I miss you. I hardly get to see you now. You accepting that job with your father means I’ll see you less and Derek, your stepfather, would have loved to have you join his team. ”

Mother married Derek, her former secondary boyfriend or “high school sweetheart” very soon afterward .

I love Derek. He’s good for and to my mother.

“I didn’t go into family law for a reason, Mum.”

She swallows her tea and brushes a strand of honey blonde hair behind her ear. Old money blonde, they call it. It would be the same color as mine if I didn’t prefer it platinum and icy. “Because divorce is so fun and chirpy?”

It's a jab but I don’t bite. “Honestly, Mum. It is. Or it can be. During my internship last summer, we had a woman who was top-tier petty. She and her wife had a Precious Moments collection, do you remember those? Anyway, she had them appraised and then they held an auction between the two of them. As soon as she heard her wife say a higher number than it was worth, she would bow out. It was delicious.”

“It sounds tedious. And messy.” She holds the Y in contempt while digging into her English breakfast.

I roll my eyes. “Maybe that could be fodder for one of your books.”

She swallows down her bite. “Could be.”

Because that’s my mother - Matilda Barclay. Beloved romance thriller and suspense author. Only one of her books has ever been rated less than four stars.

We don't talk about that one.

“Oh, Mum, the stories I could tell you…” The conversation flows, then suspends, as we finish our breakfast, and then we each go our separate ways, with me purchasing the tickets to the show. Now, only to find a way to get out of dinner with the Prime Minister.

My timing is just right, when I hear my bedroom door open, I stick my fingers into the back of my throat, wiggling them around until I find that sweet spot.

My eyes begin to water, and I retch, loudly, until I heave my lunch out.

An old practice I haven’t done in a while since my little bulimia stunt in secondary where I just wanted to be sleek and thin.

But all it did was make me go to hospital, my hair brittle and my skin pale and blotchy.

I’ve resorted to counting calories and carb cycling since then along with jogging every other morning, only allowing myself one cupcake.

But what can a girl do? A fluffy little cake with frosting on top?

So many delicious little opportunities in the palm of your hand.

Also, when they're done up just right, they're pleasing to the eye.

I've had cupcakes I've almost cried over while devouring because they were adorable.

Sure, I like other sweets, but cupcakes are just… well, they're little pieces of heaven and I don't hate myself afterwards for indulging.

“Oh, darling! Are you alright?” Mum says, kneeling behind me to rub smooth circles on my back.

I groan, wiping the vomit on the tips of my fingers on my Lululemon’s. “No. I don’t think I’ll be able to make your dinner party tonight.” I sigh, wiping my tears from my face with my clean hand, making sure to sound extra sorrowful, I add, “I’m so sorry, Mum. I really wanted to be there.”

“Dreadful way to spend your evening but alright. I’ll have to let Derek know. He was so excited you were coming with us.”

“Please apologize for me,” I reply with a hoarse voice. I hate vomiting but, well, this was necessary if I'm getting to that venue.

“Of course, dear.” She says as I lean over the pale pink porcelain sink and begin brushing my teeth.

I spend the next few hours in bed. When I hear my mother call out a farewell from downstairs and the front door shut, I get up and go to my bedroom door.

Opening it, I find Parker, my super-hot, ten years older than me, watchdog.

Shit. I forgot about him.

He turns to face me, so neat and proper, from his dark blonde brows to his chin, the man is impeccably groomed.

He looks like he stepped out of a Vogue magazine in his Oscar De La Renta black uniform suit and pristine white dress shirt.

He’s been my guard since Raven’s accident, my mother not wanting me to be or go anywhere alone for more than a minute.

“Miss Winters,” he greets with a southern drawl. How my mother found him, I'll never know.The way he says my name always makes the bottom of my skull tingle. My clit too, and that irks me. The man should not be this handsome. God, he just oozes ‘I fuck with precision’ vibes.

Also, I’m pretty sure he hates me.

Then again, he has caught me in plenty of compromising positions before.

“Don’t you know you’re off the clock? I’m sick. Go away,” I order.

“No. Your mother pays me to watch you and so watch I shall,” he rumbles but it sounds like a purr.

Dammit.Why does he have to be so hot? Even the scar on his face doesn’t take away from how unnecessarily gorgeous he is .

I huff out a breath. “Okay then, make yourself a useful little guard” I make a shooing motion with my fingers, “and get Patty, please. I’ve run out of menstrual items and forgot my Diva Cup in the States.

Could you have her go and pick up tampons and the overnight-size pads with wings?

I like the kind that are minty. Nothing better than a fresh pussy. ”

He curls his lips in either disgust or annoyance, possibly both. “She’s gone for the evening.”

I know. Which is why I’m a bloody mastermind. “Then you should go get them for me,” I say between clenched teeth.

“No,” he sneers.

“You’ll have me bleed on my silk sheets?

They’ll come out of your wages. I can’t exactly lay in my blood all night.

Think of the smell. The yeast infection.

I could get bacterial vaginosis and then be put on so many antibiotics.

Oh my god, poor Thomas when he has to launder the sheets!

It’ll look like a crime scene straight out of a true crime documentary.

” I cry out as dramatically as I can, each thing worse than the last.I know, I’m awful.

“Shut your flapping jaws,” he growls. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Do not move. Do not step out of this room. I will know if you do.”

Highly unlikely. But that growl of his does send chills up my spine and out through my hardened nipples. “Thank you, Parker. You’re much too good for me.”

Twenty minutes is perfect .