Page 99 of The Devil's Deceit

It’s a picture of a happy family scene taken at Christmas, four people grinning into the camera in front of a roaring fire. An elegantly dressed tree stands in the corner, its lights twinkling.

My gaze skims over Drew and Grania, and the son, too. It’s the daughter that draws my attention. Grace.MyGrace. Except… different. The nose, the chin… it’s her but altered.

I-I don’t understand.

Taylor chuckles. “It’s funny watching your brain deny what your eyes are telling you. Maybe I hit you too hard. I tell you what. I’ll make it easy on you. Your wife is my niece.Your wife’s real name is Grace Taylor, daughter of Drew and Grania Taylor. Lady Grace Ambrose is as fake as your marriage. You think you’re so smart, but a slip of a girl got one over on you. You’re not smart. You’re gullible. You’re stupid. And you’re going to tell me everything about what happened to my brother and his wife.”

His words swim around inside my head, bouncing off my skull like a pinball. It wasn’t only our marriage that was fake, but also the woman who calls herself my wife. The entire thing was a setup from start to finish. Deeply entrenched beliefs bubble to the surface. This wouldn’t have happened to Xan, Nicholas, or even Tobias. They’d have seen through the subterfuge. Whereas me… I fell for it hook, line, and fucking sinker.

I’m the sucker. The fool. The one lacking the intelligence to see through the bullshit.

And what’s worse… I love her. I fucking love her. Except how can I be in love with a woman who doesn’t exist other than in my imagination?

Raw anger rises inside me. My tied hands shake. Blood rushes through my ears, and adrenaline fills my veins. She lied to me. Shefucking lied to me.The whole time, from that first meeting at the masked ball right up until today, and all to uncover a truth I’ve worked so fucking hard to keep under wraps.

For her.

Okay, for me, too, but that’s a moot point now.

After this, I’ll have to tell my father everything. I never wanted Drew and Grania’s kids to find out what really happened, yet all this time, they’ve been plotting and scheming, oblivious to what really happened and how much it would hurt them to know the truth.

Fuck it. Fuck them. Fuck this piece of shit in front of me.

Grace wants the truth? She can have it—with both fucking barrels. But if this prick thinks I’m telling him anything, he can fuck all the way off.

“Oh dear, oh dear. Someone’s having their eyes opened.” He grabs me by the jacket again. Spit gathers at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes gleam with murderous intent. “You can deny what happened as much as you like, but I know the truth. You rich bastards are all the same. You think you’re above the law, and the worst of it is, you are. But you’re not above my fucking law. After I’ve killed you, I’m going to mail you back to your family in fucking pieces. They’ll come for me, but I don’t care. I’ll die happy knowing I avenged my brother’s murder.”

A shadow moves behind him, arm raised.

I grin. “Something tells me that’s not going to happen.”

A second later, Taylor’s sprawled on the floor, unconscious.

I glare at Patrick Mahoney, head of the Irish mafia. “You took your fucking time.”

“Your watch signal died the second he brought you inside this row of warehouses. Think there must be lead in the walls or something. We had to check them all to find out which one you were in.” He unties me.

I stand, rubbing my wrists. “Marshall and Dawson okay?”

“Yeah. They’re outside waiting to take you home.” He gestures at my face. “Might want to see a doc first. You look a bloody mess.”

“Still got that Irish charm, I see.”

“For sure.” He toes Taylor, who hasn’t stirred. “What do you want me to do with him?”

If he hadn’t told me about Grace, I’d have had Mahoney give me a gun and I’d shoot him in the head. But that revelation has changed everything.

“Hold him for now. I’ll decide when I can see out of both eyes, and I haven’t got a nose clogged with blood.”

Mahoney nods, crouches, and tosses Taylor over his shoulder as though he’s six stone wet through. I follow him outside, glancing along the row of identical warehouses. His brothers, Liam and Darragh, emerge from the last two and make their way toward us.

“Christ, all three of you showed up,” I mutter to Patrick. “That’s a hell of a retainer my father’s paying you.”

Patrick grunts. “We were in London for a meeting, otherwise I’d have sent someone else.”

“Well, fuck me. I’m honored.”

“Jesus, what happened to yer face?” Liam asks, eyebrow arched before his brother can respond to my sarcasm.