Page 10 of Veiled Vengeance (The Devils of New York #3)

SPENCER

T he drive back to my apartment is quiet.

I shouldn’t expect anything else, but that doesn’t make the ride any less uncomfortable.

We’re in the same SUV we stole, and everyone is in the same spots as before, but this time, Asher sits upright, with one arm around me and the other in a sling.

This type of contact between us is new but somehow familiar.

One of the nurses was able to find a pair of scrubs for Asher and me, which was a miracle. I don’t know how Asher finds clothes that fit him.

Asher, Rio, and Zane all have their heads on a swivel, watching the traffic around us. We’re safe, but the tension is as thick as the heavy humidity outside.

“So how ‘bout them Astros?” I ask with a nervous chuckle.

Solid icebreaker. Good job.

Rio laughs from the passenger seat. “You’re in New York, remember? It’s the Yankees.”

Hayes perks up in the backseat. “You’re from Houston?”

Asher and Zane tense and my stomach hollows. I never told Hayes, or anyone else at the studio, where I’m from. Not even Iris—Dahlia.

Maybe she already knew.

When no one answers, Hayes turns to Dahlia. “Did you know?”

She bites her lip and looks out the window.

“Iris?” Hayes urges.

“You probably shouldn’t call her that, man,” Zane proclaims from the driver’s seat.

“Zane,” I chastise, hoping to shut him up.

How does he know? Did Asher tell him?

“What are you talking about? Why not?” Hayes asks with an irritated frown.

Zane lets out a forceful laugh. “I’m saying you should ask your little girlfriend-slash-spy what her real name is.”

Shit. This isn’t good.

“Z,” Asher warns, “stop it. We said we’d talk about this at Spencer’s apartment.”

“Spy?” Hayes questions as his head flinches back slightly.

Zane spews venom from the front of the car. “Tell him, Dahlia . Tell him who kept tabs on Spencer for months. Tell him why you were there.”

Dahlia gasps, and her eyes widen.

“What?” Hayes asks, bewildered.

Leaning forward, I place a hand on his arm. “Zane, stop. It’s okay.”

Zane gives me a quick glance over his shoulder.

“She’s been feeding him information, Spencer.

She’s been his little spy from the beginning.

” His words remind me of the stinging betrayal I felt when Anthony first revealed who Dahlia was.

But then the images of what happened next cause my heart to ache.

Hayes raises his voice. “Whose little spy?” We all ignore him and continue with our conversation in the front seat.

“She had to, Zane. If I were in her shoes, I would have done the same thing,” I defend.

Zane’s jaw clenches. “I know her reasons, but that doesn’t mean I have to be okay with her choices.”

My body tenses, and my blood boils. “I don’t care what that sadistic bastard made her do! She’s just as much a victim in this as I am! Same as all those kidnapped women that Anthony hurts!”

“Spencer . . .” Rio interjects. His eyes are soft and worried.

Asher brings his arm back around me and pulls me into his chest. The warmth from his body seeps into my bones. He clutches me tighter to him to get my body to stop trembling. “Let’s finish this conversation when we get there.”

Zane eyes me in the rearview mirror. His face is apologetic. I know he didn’t mean to hurt me, but he wants to blame someone for what happened to us.

We all do.

And the person to blame will get what’s coming to them. I’ll make sure of it.

Zane parks unapologetically and illegally in front of my building, and he and Rio exit the car, scanning the street. They help Asher and me out of the back seat.

I inspect the windows of Abstract Dreams and Clay Creations. The lights are off, the stools are on the worktables in the studio, and all the art sits untouched in the gallery. Things look normal—nothing has changed, but at the same time, everything has changed. It’s an odd feeling.

Asher holds his gun in his free hand and walks closely behind me as we all make our way up my stairs with Hayes and Dahlia in the middle and Rio and Zane in the front.

“Wait here while we clear the apartment,” Zane instructs, then opens my door with a key I definitely did not give him.

He catches my puzzled look and answers with a shrug. “I needed a way to get it inside in case you needed me.”

“So, you stole my spare key?”

He smirks. “Sure—that’s what I did.”

If he didn’t steal my spare, then where did he . . .

“You’re thinking a little hard over there, Princess.” Asher winks.

“Between the two of us, someone needs to,” I quip and cross my arms.

A few minutes later, Rio pokes his head out of the open doorway. “Clear. Just be prepared, Mama.”

My eyebrows squish together as I take a few steps forward.

I should have heeded Rio’s advice. My apartment is destroyed.

All the kitchen cabinets are open, with their contents strewn about the tile.

My TV is smashed to bits, and the cushions on my perfect couch are ripped apart—the white, wiry stuffing lies all over the floor.

I walk through the chaos straight to my room and find my clothing ripped to shreds. The fabric leaves a trail from my closet to my bed to the bathroom. My bed is torn apart just like my couch. Tears line my lashes as I take in the destruction all around me.

They’re only things. Things can be replaced.

I breathe in for four, allowing my feelings in the moment to consume me.

Grief, loss, pain.

Then, I breathe out for four, letting go of the mindset that holds me back.

But it’s not that simple, is it?

Because you need to talk about what happened.

A pair of tattooed hands land on my shoulders. “It’ll be okay, Mama. We’ll get it cleaned up and everything replaced.”

I bite my lip, unable to form a response and nod my head. He wraps his arms around me and holds on tight.

Inhaling and exhaling shakily, I grasp onto his forearms to ground myself. He delicately places a kiss on the top of my head, and I lean back into his strength.

That’s where Zane and Asher find us, not much later.

They silently enter and offer me their comfort.

Zane stands next to me and takes my left hand in his, lacing our fingers together.

Asher places himself right in front of me and follows Zane’s lead, grabbing my other hand.

He leans his head down and rests his forehead against mine.

“We’re here, Princess. We’ll always be here.”

Giving him a wobbly smile, I reply, “Stop calling me that.”

His smile is full of male satisfaction. “You love it.”