by Eva Charles
“I’m turning it off. It’s not good for a pregnant woman, or for me, to watch this kind of thing before bed. It’ll bring on nightmares.”
31
Julian
Today has been the clusterfuck of all clusterfucks. If I had to listen to any more bullshit about the new president and his handsome family, I was going to puke or punch someone, or maybe both. I almost hauled the Speaker of the House off the dais during lunch, and told him to stop lying to the American people about how impressive and wonderful the Wilders are. Fuck that. We’re just a bunch of dysfunctional assholes posing as a family. We clean up pretty well, but that’s just for show.
I settle into the backseat of the limo and call Gabrielle. “Hey gorgeous.”
“Hey yourself,” she says. “Are you at one of the Inaugural Balls?”
“Hell no. I’m in a car on my way to the airport.”
“You didn’t look very happy today.”
“Not a lot to be happy about here. I showed up for Gray and Chase, that’s it. This is all bullshit. I want to be home—wrapped around your naked body. Or maybe making you crawl across the floor to me. Or tying you to the bed and licking your pussy until you scream. The possibilities are endless.”
“Promises, promises.”
“All of which I intend to keep. What did you do tonight while the ass-kissers were out in full force all over our nation’s capital?”
“I had dinner with Georgina. Wade’s away for a couple nights. We made a list of the last-minute things she needs before the baby and put the finishing touches on the nursery. Tom covered at the hotel. He’s really stepping up into the manager role.”
“Sounds so much nicer than how I spent my evening. I’m glad Tom’s working out. Don’t demote him when Georgina gets back from maternity leave. If you keep him as a manger, it’ll free you up for me more often.”
“I can’t afford another big salary. Not if I want to buy that building behind me when it comes up for sale at the end of the year.”
“I can afford it.”
“No. And don’t bring it up again, or the only person crawling will be you to beg my forgiveness.”
“Pft. I’ll crawl when pigs fly. Maybe not even then.”
“Have you seen what’s happening on the Port of Charleston?” I hear anxiety in her voice.
“I caught bits and pieces, but the national news has been covering the inauguration pretty much non-stop all day.”
“It’s a multi-alarm fire. They can’t seem to get it under control. There’s a black cloud of smoke over the city—I can see the flames from my room. It’s scary. I turned off the news because it’s too awful to watch.”
“Gabrielle, we’re approaching the tarmac. I need to get off the phone in a minute.”
“Safe travels. And say hello to Smith for me.”
“I left Smith behind. He didn’t want to stay in DC either. But my brothers are still here, and they don’t have secret service protection, either. I want him to keep an eye on them. Gabrielle?”
“Hmmm?”
“The only fire I want you thinking about is the one between your legs.”
“It lit as soon as I heard your voice.” She says it so seductively, I want to take out my cock and stroke it.
“Don’t you dare touch my pussy,” I warn her, in a low voice. “Be a good girl and go to sleep. I’ll ease that burn for you tomorrow. Sweet dreams, darlin’.”
32
Gabrielle
I shoot up out of bed when the smoke alarm blares. Before my eyes have adjusted to the dark, Rafe is in my room. “There’s a fire downstairs!” he yells over the screeching alarm.
“A fire!?” I scream. For a second, I wonder if it’s a dream. If this is a nightmare about the warehouse fires. But Rafe’s hand is on my arm. It’s not a dream. “Where? Where is the fire?” I shout, trying to be heard over the alarm, as he drags me toward the stairs.
“Back offices. I’ll find out for sure as soon as you’re out of the building.”
“No. No!” I yank my arm away. “We have a security plan in case of fire. I need to make sure everyone’s out first.” I grab a small knapsack from the corner of the room. “Where’s Gus?” I shout, closing the door behind us. I can smell the smoke now that we’re in the hall.
“He went home sick about an hour ago.”
“When we get to the third floor, guests in pajamas are on their way down the stairs. Everyone is moving in an orderly fashion. I stand to the side and take out two hand towels, and soak them with water from the knapsack. I hand one to Rafe. “Cover your mouth and nose.” I also hand him a fat piece of white chalk. “Check all the rooms on the second floor, and place a large white mark on the outside of each door after you’ve cleared the room. I’ll check the third floor. Amy at the desk is responsible for the first floor.”
“I’ll do the third,” he says. “You get out of the building.”
“No. We don’t have time to argue.”
“Fine, do the second,” he says, “and then get the hell out of the building.”
“Meet us in the parking lot across the street when you’re done,” I yell, running down the stairs.
The smoke is thicker as I make my way to the first floor. We’ve practiced this drill countless times, and it looks like everything has gone according to plan.
When I step onto the sidewalk, I don’t hear any sirens approaching. I run across the street to Amy who is gathered with hotel guests, checking names off. “Everyone’s accounted for,” she says. I don’t see Rafe, yet.
“Did you check the first floor?” I ask.
“Tom did,” she says. “He told me to come outside and start moving guests away from the building.”
“Where is he?”
“He went around the building to make sure no one’s in the parking lot.”
I finally hear sirens. I scan the area for any sign of Rafe or Tom. When I look down the street, I see it. Georgina. That’s Georgie’s car!
“Amy,” I shriek. Have you seen Georgie?”
“No.”
“That’s her car.”
The back office. Oh my God.
I grab the wet towel, and run back inside, covering my mouth and nose. The smoke is thick as I feel my way to the back of the hotel. By the time I reach the office, I can’t see more than six inches in front of me. I put my hand on the knob, it’s red hot. I scream, and take in a mouthful of smoke. “Georgie!” I shout. “Georgie!” She doesn’t answer. I get down to try to find something to smash the door with. I’m crawling, one hand keeping the towel over my mouth. But it’s not working well anymore. I can’t keep the smoke out. My eyes sting. I can’t see anything. I can’t breathe.
33
Julian
The plane stops taxiing, and I look out the window to see Antoine running across the tarmac toward us. Zack. Something happened to Zack.
I call Antoine’s cell phone while the flight crew is unlatching the door, but he doesn’t pick up.
“Gabby’s hotel—The Gatehouse,” he yells from the bottom of the steps as soon as the door opens. “It’s on fire.”
“What do you mean it’s on fire?” I race down the stairs, and grab him by the shirt. “What do you mean?”
“They’re saying on the radio, The Gatehouse is in flames. I can’t get service out here on my phone. That’s all I know.”
“Let’s go!”
Smoke permeates every molecule of air, and even with the windows up, the ghastly odor wheedles its way into the car. It’s all I smell as Antoine weaves through downtown toward The Gatehouse.
I have no information about Gabrielle.
The fire marshal isn’t taking calls, and neither the police chief nor the mayor has anything useful to offer. Not a fucking thing.
I try her again, but my call goes directly to voicemail. Rafe and Gus don’t answer either.
“Antoine, turn up the volume.” The news accounts are sketchy, and the reporters at the scene keep repeating the same bullshit
: The fire department has been working overtime today. They’re spread so thin that reinforcements from the surrounding areas have been called in to assist. Everyone was evacuated from the hotel immediately after the fire started, but those reports are unconfirmed. Blah, blah, blah. Nothing. They’ve got nothing.
I scroll through my phone searching for answers. Hoping there’s been some mistake. Hoping it’s another building with a similar name, or a structure nearby that’s engulfed in flames. But the Internet is too wrapped up with the Inaugural crap to care much about the Charleston fires. What the first lady wore. What a handsome couple the president and his wife make. How the country is embarking on an exciting new path.
Right. A new path—straight to hell. And this road is not paved with a single good intention.
My father. He’s behind this. Somehow, he’s behind it. Not on Inauguration Day, JD. No, he wouldn’t want the focus off him today. And he wouldn’t burn an entire section of the city to get back at me—would he? Gabrielle’s hotel, yes. He’d have it torched without a second thought. But the warehouses are too important to him.
My brain wars with itself, the logical versus the illogical. But my gut knows it’s him.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. I pound on the car roof in a desperate attempt to blow off steam, but all it does is punish my hands.
The ride from the airport to downtown normally takes Antoine twenty minutes, but tonight we make it in ten. The longest ten minutes of my life.
We’re still several blocks away, but the smoke is getting thicker. I can’t tell if it’s coming from the Port of Charleston where the warehouse fires are still burning, or the French Quarter, where The Gatehouse is located.
Hundreds of images of Gabrielle tick through my brain. Some old, and others, brand new. She’s smiling. Laughing. Crying. Reaching for me. I’m shaking inside, ready to jump out of my skin.
As we turn the corner onto Broad Street, a sea of flashing lights illuminates the crowd gathered in the road ahead, their eyes glued to the orange flames licking the night sky. “Pull over. Right here. You won’t get any closer.”
I don’t wait for him to pull over. Before he brakes, my feet are on the cobblestones racing toward the flames as fast as I have ever run.
Dozens of onlookers watch the blaze from across the road, a few are barefoot, using scraps of cardboard as makeshift rugs to protect their feet from the cold ground, others are in flimsy pajamas with their arms wrapped around one another to stay warm. The scene is chaotic as people push their way into the crowd to get a better look. I glance at the burning building, and my heart drops into my stomach. Please no. Please.
Panic fuels me as I scour the growing crowd for Gabrielle. For her security detail. For anyone who can tell me a fucking thing.
I search frantically. Person to person. Every dark-haired woman gives me a fresh sliver of hope. But it’s dashed again and again.
Only a couple minutes have passed, but it feels like an eternity. I can’t find her anywhere.
Gabrielle, where are you?
I slide both hands into my hair and pull. Dammit, where is she?
Inside. She has to be inside. As I make a beeline for the building, I spot Rafe in the parking lot across the street. He’s getting oxygen.
I reach him in seconds, and pull the mask away from his face. “Where is she?” I scream.
“Hey!” The paramedic tears the mask from my hand.
“Don’t know,” Rafe chokes out. “Can’t find her.”
A roar erupts from somewhere deep inside my chest. It’s raw and primal, reminiscent of the chilling howl that comes right before an animal surrenders to its predator.
Afterword
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Acknowledgments
Writing a book is always a huge endeavor with lots of ups and downs, but writing this book was particularly daunting. It was loads of fun, but it was also hard at times, and there was a lot of internal strife. I often worried that I’d bitten off more than I could chew. Fortunately, I had a ton of love and support along the way, much more than I deserve.
I am blessed, and I don’t say that lightly, to have so many wonderful people in my corner. I will be forever grateful for your kindness, generosity, and support. Thank you to everyone who helped breathe life into J.D. and Gabrielle’s story!
A huge thank you and a big hug to Veronica Adams of L. Woods PR. Depraved wouldn’t exist without your initial nudge and ongoing encouragement. You have helped me grow in ways that still amaze me. And that voodoo magic with the ghost links? I bow to you, woman!
A very big thank you to Dawn Alexander of Evident Ink, who provided content editing. Although content editing doesn’t begin to describe everything you did to whip me into shape. Your input, and those pesky thought bubbles I see in my sleep, brought the characters to life. But more, I thank you for all your time and good humor as you guided me through the process.
To Nancy Smay of Evident Ink, who edited the manuscript. First, thank you for accepting me as a client! I wasn’t joking about holding my breath while awaiting your response. Second, your attention to detail, big and small, made the story shine. Third, I hope you know you’re stuck with me forever. I’ll camp on your doorstep if necessary.
Thank you to Lisa LaPaglia of Evident Ink for your careful proofreading, and insight. Every author needs someone like you in her life. But I’m still not telling whether Georgie set the fire.
A heartfelt thank you to Virginia Carey who I trust to be the very last set of eyes on my books before release. Your eagle eye during the final proofread always catches the little things no one else does. When you say a manuscript is ready to go out into the world, it is. More, I cherish your support and friendship.
A colossal thank you to Letitia Hasser of RBA Designs, who perfectly captured the broody J.D. on her lickable cover. I recently heard someone refer to you as a Cover Goddess. I completely agree. And thank you to Wander Aguiar who shot that amazing photograph, and to the very sweet Zack Salaun for being the perfect JD, albeit in looks alone.
A big thank you hug to Michelle Rodriquez, secret keeper extraordinaire, who read the first draft of the manuscript and gave J.D. the thumbs up for being just the right amount of a**hole! Your experience in these matters is unparalleled. Thank you for all your support and friendship, Wonder Woman.
Thank you to L. Woods PR, Enticing Journey, Give Me Books, and RRR Promotion. You are highly organized, wonderful to work with, and just plain amazing.
I don’t even know how to begin to thank the bloggers who have given Depraved so much love. Gahhh!!! I appreciate your generosity, and your willingness to take a chance on an author who was dipping her toes into the dark for the first time. Eva who? I’m keenly aware that despite your professionalism, you are not paid for your time. I will always be grateful for everything you did to help launch The Devil’s Duet.
To the readers, my New American Royals’ readers who followed me into the shadows, and to all the new readers who found me through Depraved, a big, big heartfelt thank-you for reading my dirty little story, telling friends about it, leaving a review, or contacting me with kind words. Thank you for taking this journey with me. I’m truly humbled by your generous spirit and support. I don’t deserve it, but I’m gobbling it all up anyway. My heart is full.
To the Drunk Divas, Danielle, Haylee, Jill, Mia, Michelle, Sienna,
and Sonnie, a girl couldn’t ask for more fiercely loyal friends, or a better girl gang. I can’t believe I’ve lived this long without you crazies in my life! Find your tribe. Love them hard.
Andy, there really are no words to thank you for supporting everything I do, always—even when it means everyone you work with will now know I have a kinky imagination and a potty mouth. You are the love of my life. There’s no one I’d rather spend forever with.
About the Author
After being a confirmed city-girl for more than thirty-five years, Eva moved to beautiful Western Massachusetts in 2014. There, she found herself living in the woods with no job, no friends (unless you count the turkey, deer, and coyote roaming the backyard), and no children underfoot, wondering what on earth she’d been thinking. But as it turned out, it was the perfect setting to take all those yarns spinning in her head and weave them into romantic tales.
When she’s not writing, trying to squeeze information out of her tight-lipped sons, or playing with the two cutest dogs you’ve ever seen, Eva’s creating chapters in her own love story.
Eva loves to hear from her readers!
evacharles.com
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