Page 11 of Veiled Vengeance (The Devils of New York #3)

SPENCER

I t doesn’t take as long as I anticipate to clean my apartment. Everyone, including Hayes and Dahlia, pitched in. Hayes left to take the trash down to the dumpster with Rio and Zane—they had to make a couple of trips and took the couch and bed as well.

And by “trash,” I mean the life I’ve built here.

They’re only things. Things can be replaced.

Speaking of which, Rio ordered a new bed and couch, Asher said he would take care of my dishes and other kitchen items, and Zane said he would restock my wardrobe.

I gave him a skeptical look, but then he reminded me of the clothes he had stocked for me at their brownstone.

I think I can trust him to get me the things I need and like.

The guys ordered pizza for all of us, and I pulled out extra pillows and blankets that remained untouched in the hall closet.

Looks like we’re having a big sleepover.

Asher is doing another sweep across the floor with the broom to make sure we didn’t miss any glass, and Hayes, Rio, and Zane return almost as quickly as they left with the last haul.

“Who is Dahlia?” Hayes questions.

Dahlia, who was standing at the window, tightens her shoulders.

“Hayes,” I reprove, jumping up from my stool at the breakfast bar.

“No. I’ve been patient—I haven’t pushed about any of it. But I walked into that warehouse too, so I deserve to know, who the hell is Dahlia?”

“I don’t know if now is—” I start.

“Me,” Dahlia interrupts, facing Hayes with her arms crossed over her torso. “I’m Dahlia.”

Hayes rubs his forehead. “But your name is . . .”

“Dahlia.” She braces as she waits for Hayes to react.

Hayes runs his hands through his hair, mussing it in the process. “Okay. Okay. Your name is Dahlia. So what?”

“Hayes.” Zane places a hand on Hayes’s shoulder. “There’s more to it.”

Stepping forward, I offer my support. “Dahlia, you don’t have to do this.” I make my way to her across the floor and grab her hand. Her eyes lock with mine and she breathes deeply, willing her tears to stay put.

Her lower lip trembles. “Why are you being so nice to me? You should be angry with me. You should hate me.”

Smiling, I give her hand a squeeze. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, babe. You’re still my best bitch.” I raise my hand and tuck some of her hair behind her ear.

She gives me a half-hearted smile. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to do this right now, it can wait. You don’t owe anyone answers.”

“No, I can do this.” She pats my hand and steps around me. “My name is Dahlia Monroe. I was kidnapped from LA when I was sixteen.”

Over the next bit, Dahlia spills her story—the same story she gave me in the warehouse.

She recites the tale as if it happened to someone else, and I don’t blame her.

I’m sure the last few years of her life have been one terrible nightmare.

While she’s talking, Hayes moves to Dahlia’s side. His gaze remains sympathetic.

When she’s done, she lets out a breath.

Hayes stares at the floor, trying to make sense of everything he just learned. “So, the Bride Butcher is Spencer’s ex—this Anthony dude.”

Dahlia nods.

Hayes turns to me. “And he’s killing women who look like you and dressing them in your wedding dress?”

I sigh. “Yeah.”

Hayes rubs his chin. “What’s up with the hyacinths?”

“He used to buy me those flowers after we’d fight. He said they showed how sorry he was.”

Hayes’s lip curls. “That’s fucked up.”

Dahlia pulls her hands away from Hayes and fidgets.

“Tell him,” Asher pushes.

I give him a look that says cut it out.

He ignores me. “Hayes deserves to know the biggest part.”

“There’s more?” Hayes rapidly blinks.

Dahlia clears her throat. “Anthony, Spencer’s ex, was able to keep me in line because he has my son.”

Hayes’s mouth falls open. “What?”

Tears finally fall from Dahlia’s eyes. “He has my son.”

Hayes grasps both of her hands in his. “You have a son?”

She nods again.

“We’ll get him back.” Hayes turns to Asher, Rio, and Zane. “We can get him back, right?”

“Of course,” I answer. “We’ll find him.” I look to my men. Their doubtful gazes make my heart sink.

“We’ll try,” Rio promises.

Dahlia finally falls into a fit of hysterics. Her knees give out, but Hayes is there to catch her. As she sobs, she repeats over and over, “Thank you.”

I can’t imagine the weight she carries day to day, worrying about her son—not knowing if he’s okay. No mother should have to go through that. That maternal instinct shouldn’t be held over their head to control them.

Anthony’s days of controlling Dahlia are over. I won’t let him continue to hurt those I love.

It’s time he meets the devil he helped create.