Page 5 of Veiled Vengeance (The Devils of New York #3)

SPENCER

A sher’s limp body gently sways from side to side. I need him to wake up. I need to tell him that his upbringing and past relationships don’t dictate ours. But I know his body needs the rest. Each punch Anthony and Pierce delivered to Asher’s abdomen felt like I was taking a hit to my own body.

And it happened because of me.

Anthony is going to continue to attempt to drive a wedge between us, but I won’t let him. Asher is a good man, no matter what he or anyone else says. A bad man doesn’t guard a woman night and day when she’s in danger. A bad man doesn’t cook a woman’s favorite meals for her.

I take up sentry from my taped prison. I may not be able to stop the blows from coming, but I can still watch out for him.

Iris— Dahlia slowly blinks sleep from her eyes and scans the room. There’s only one guard by the door, but he’s not paying any attention to us. I’m pretty sure he’s playing a game on his phone.

She sucks in a painful breath as she tries to loosen her stiff muscles. “How long have I been out?”

“A couple hours, I think.” The guard Anthony left with us hasn’t been rotated out, and the sun has disappeared from my line of sight. If we’re going by last night’s timetable, then we’re probably about halfway or so through his shift.

Her voice lacks emotion. “I’m sorry you had to see all of that.”

That’s what she chooses to say right now? She’s sorry I watched her get gang raped? She’s the one with blood and dried sperm on the inside of her thighs, and she’s apologizing to me?

I know she’s not being sarcastic—it’s probably exhaustion mixed with shock or trauma. I may not know this version of her, but I’m not stupid. She’s been through shit and probably seen more than her fair share of the ugliness this world has to offer.

But she’s apologizing to me for her getting raped?

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” Those are the only words I seem to be able to get past my bewilderment.

“You’re probably angry with me.” Her eyes drop to the floor.

Am I? Yes.

Am I going to tell her that? No.

From what Anthony said, it sounds like she had no choice but to spy on me. But did she have to pretend to be my friend?

She reads my expression like the front page of the New York Times. “It wasn’t all fake. I was as real with you as I could be. But . . .”

“Your son.” I say it like I still can’t believe it, because I can’t.

She gives me a half smile. “Yeah. If I did well, then Anthony was going to let me see him.”

I want to be angry with her, but how can I kick someone when they’re already down? And she’s not just down. She was shoved in the sewer and forced to lie in the filth.

I try to keep things casual, but I can’t stop certain questions from slipping out. “Your real name is Dahlia?”

“Yeah. Dahlia Monroe.”

I nod my head as if that makes perfect sense when really, I’m freaking out right now. The betrayal hurts, but it’s more like a dull ache. A discomfort that will be gone in less than a week.

“And you have a son? But you’re only nineteen.”

She takes a heaving breath, and her eyes gather tears. “August is three years old. I had him when I was sixteen.”

“Were you . . .” How do I ask someone about the details of their tragic past? Someone I know, but don’t know.

“Kidnapped? Yes. I was taken when I was walking home from school.”

“Are you from New York? Wouldn’t someone have recognized you here?”

“No. I’m from Los Angeles. I got pregnant with August soon after that.”

This isn’t making sense. “But how?—”

She answers me before I can get the question out.

“Anthony had a client—I guess you can call him that—that Anthony said called me his favorite. He didn’t use a condom like he was supposed to.

Anthony almost killed me for getting pregnant—like it was my fault.

But he didn’t because he discovered some men have a fetish for pregnant women.

I was just a teenager, but Anthony has always gotten plenty of business because of me. ”

My stomach rolls, and bile threatens to come up from my stomach. She was forced into this life and had no way out. “You’re still only nineteen.”

Dahlia’s half-smirk brightens her face. “At times, I feel much older than that.”

Duh, Spencer. Way to put your foot in your mouth.

“I’m sorry you got hurt because?—”

She shakes her head. “It’s not your fault. I knew what I was doing when he sent me to you back in January. I knew what I was risking by not following all of his rules.”

Shit. She’s a better person than most. “Is your son going to be okay?”

A special strength flashes in her eyes. “Yeah. Anthony won’t hurt August. He knows he can’t control me if he does.”

I really don’t want to go down that line of questioning.

We lapse into silence because there’s nothing else to say. I’ll probably have a million more questions once we get out of here, but for now, she’s given me what I need to continue trusting her.

Calling her by her real name will be weird and take some time to get used to.

How many different aliases has Anthony made her take on? How many Spencers has Dahlia had to spy on?

I know the answers won’t bring me comfort, and they won’t help us get out of here.

Rio and Zane need to hurry the fuck up.