by Tiffany Snow
Haltingly, I told him about Jace’s attack, the things he’d said, and how Agent Lane had intervened. When I was through, he made me sit up slightly so he could inspect my neck. I imagined there was a handprint from where Jace had nearly strangled me.
Devon’s gaze met mine. “You’ve never told anyone, have you,” he said. “Never talked through what happened when you were a child.”
I gave a hesitant shake of my head. “He told me he’d kill me if I ever told,” I whispered. Logan had known without me telling him the excruciating details. I’d maintained my silence all these years.
“Tell me.”
I stared wide-eyed at Devon, sure I’d misheard him. “You don’t want—” I began.
“I do,” he interrupted. “And you need to say it. You need to say the words, let the light shine on it so you can see it for what it was. Your silence has gained you nothing. Tell me. When did it start?”
His eyes were so blue, so intently focused on me, and I could feel the strength of his arms around me, his body against mine. And maybe it was because there was no pity in his gaze, only the frank knowledge that he’d seen horrible things as bad as mine, maybe worse, and nothing I could say would surprise him.
So I began to talk.
I told him everything. From the very first night Jace had come into my bedroom and how it began with him just touching me, to how eventually he’d grown bold enough to come in several times a week. How he’d turn me over and pull my pajamas down. The way it had hurt but if I made a sound, he’d hit me with his fist. That he never stopped calling me “brat.”
It took a long time and I had to stop several times when the words became too hard to say, but Devon was patient, waiting silently for me to continue. His hold on me didn’t lessen. He didn’t push me away in disgust.
I finished with the last time, the day he’d gotten so mad he’d threatened to kill me with a knife from the kitchen. I told Devon how I’d barricaded my door and sat with my back to it, praying I could hold him off. I’d been so scared that day.
Finally, I ran out of words. The room seemed too quiet when I stopped talking.
I was afraid to look at Devon, realizing I’d glanced away at some point while I’d been speaking. I’d been lost inside the horror of my own memories. What would I see in his eyes now?
Devon’s finger brushed my chin, gently turning my face toward his. “Look at me,” he said.
Reluctantly, I lifted my gaze to his.
“None of that was your fault, Ivy,” he said.
I shrugged. I’d heard that phrase often enough before to grow tired of it. “Yeah, I know.”
“No, listen to me. Really listen. Nothing you said or did made him do that to you. It wasn’t your fault.”
Devon’s words were so earnest, so passionate, it made me pause. Is that what I thought? Deep down, did I blame myself for the monstrous things Jace had done to me? That didn’t seem right. I knew it wasn’t my fault, but suddenly I wondered if I really knew—in the heart of me—that I wasn’t to blame.
“You were the victim, Ivy,” Devon said. “Don’t blame yourself. Put the blame where it belongs. On him.”
At the third time he repeated that, I could feel my face crumpling into tears. “But why?” I managed to say. “Why would he do that to me? What had I ever done to him?” They were questions I only now realized had been buried inside, that I’d never allowed myself to dwell on but had been there all the same.
Devon pulled me close to him again, cradling me tightly against his chest. “Shh, sweet Ivy. The why is simply because he’s an evil man. And I know this because I’ve seen a lot of evil in the world. Evil that preys on the innocent, the defenseless. It wasn’t anything you said or did. You were just . . . convenient.”
The truth of his words hit me in a way I couldn’t explain. It was painful to realize that he was right—the awful acts that marked my past, that still marked me—were nothing more than a product of a sick, twisted person with a victim close at hand. And that victim had been me. There was nothing I could have done to prevent it, just as there was nothing I did to cause it.
“He said he loved me.”
Devon tipped my chin up until our eyes met. “That wasn’t love, Ivy. What he did wasn’t out of love. Don’t ever believe someone who hurts you also loves you. The two don’t go hand in hand.”
“What do you know of love?” I asked sadly. “It’s a useless, foolish emotion, remember?”
His gaze was steady on mine, his fingers tenderly brushing my cheek. “I may know little of love, but I know what it is not.”
I mourned the innocence I’d lost all those years ago, and how I’d punished myself for what had happened in the years since, thinking it had been my fault. Subconscious though it had been, I could see now how I’d kept myself in a pristine shell, not allowing anyone to get close. Only Logan had made it past my defenses, and now, Devon.
Devon’s hold on me didn’t let up, his presence steady and solid while the ground shifted underneath me, putting my entire life into a different paradigm and perspective.
My tears eventually dried and I quieted. My body was folded onto Devon’s lap and I realized we’d been sitting on the floor for a long time. That couldn’t have been comfortable for him, though he gave no sign of tiring.
I shifted to move off Devon’s lap. I was exhausted, emotionally and physically spent. He got to his feet and took my hand to help me up. His palm was warm against mine.
“How long were you in there?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Since about six thirty, I guess. What time is it now?”
Devon glanced at his watch. “Almost two in the morning. You must be starving.”
As if to illustrate his point, my stomach let loose a long growl. Devon laughed softly.
“Come on,” he said, tugging on my hand. “I know an all-night diner. It’s not far.”
But the thought of leaving my sanctuary had me digging in my heels. Devon turned as I remained rooted to the spot, an unspoken question on his face.
“I-I’m scared,” I confessed. “He’s out there. Waiting for me.”
Devon stepped close to me and I tipped my head back. His hand cupped my jaw.
His voice was solemn when he spoke. “I swear to you, I won’t let him hurt you,” he said. “Never again. Do you believe me?”
I stared into his eyes. The look in them was fierce and I wanted to believe him, wanted to believe I didn’t have to be afraid of Jace, but Devon must have seen the doubt in my eyes.
“It’s all right,” he said, his lips lifting in a soft smile. “You don’t have to believe for it to be true.” Lifting my hand, he pressed a kiss to my knuckles. “Now let’s get something to eat. I’m famished.”
I saw that my stuff was strewn on the floor where I’d left it, but Devon just stepped over everything, grabbed his overcoat from where it lay over a chair, and drew me with him out the door.
When we were in the elevator, Devon folded the coat over my shoulders, carefully lifting my hair from beneath the heavy fabric. He wore his usual impeccable suit and tie. Even after sitting on the floor with me, it was still remarkably unwrinkled.
“Why do you always wear a suit?” I asked.
His lips twisted a little at my question. “Rounds out the edges,” he said.
“Rounds out the edges?”
“People are less likely to look twice at a man in a suit. We’re ubiquitous. Nonthreatening.”
The idea of anyone looking at Devon and seeing someone “non-threatening” was laughable. I rolled my eyes.
Devon laughed, tugging me closer. It felt good to be near him and I slid my arms around his waist. “What was that for?” he asked.
“People would have to be pretty stupid to not see you as dangerous,” I said. “It’s the first thing I noticed about you.”
“N
ot everyone is as observant as you are,” he replied, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
The elevator let us out and soon we were in Devon’s Porsche and pulling up to an honest-to-goodness diner. I didn’t think there were any in the city and was surprised that Devon would know of it, much less actually eat there. But sure enough, he parked out front and was quickly opening my door for me.
A tired-looking waitress showed us to a red vinyl booth in the nearly empty diner and I slid in, shrugging the coat aside. Devon sat across from me, bracing his elbows on the white lacquer top scored with cuts and scrapes that looked like they’d been there since before I was born. Music played over the speakers, the strains of Johnny Cash walking the line.
I glanced over the laminated menu the waitress had left, but all I could think about was Devon, sitting across from me. I looked up to find him watching me.
“Do you already know what you’re going to order?” I asked.
“I always have the same thing,” he replied.
“You come here a lot?”
“Often enough.”
Another vague answer. I sighed, returning my attention to the menu.
“What?” Devon asked.
I shook my head, chagrined. “I bare my soul to you, and you won’t even tell me how often you come to an all-night diner.” It was grossly unfair. He was able to maintain his emotional distance from me, whereas I had no more secrets to hide behind.
The waitress returned just then and Devon ordered coffee and a Denver omelet. I asked for the same. She went away, coming back quickly with our mugs of coffee. I doctored mine with cream and sugar while Devon drank his black.
“My time is off when I return from overseas,” Devon said in the silence. “I ran across this place a few months ago since I rarely feel like cooking at midnight after a ten-hour flight.”
“How often are you . . . overseas?” I asked, wondering if he’d divulge more to me.
“Lately, not very much,” he said. “But I don’t expect I’ll be in the States for much longer.”
I nodded impassively, though inside a part of me winced at the thought of him leaving.
“This federal agent, he had me come to the station yesterday,” I said, though wondering if it was a good idea to open this particular can of worms. “He had a whole file on you.”
“He did?” Devon didn’t seem surprised or concerned at this information.
“Yeah, he showed me papers, and photos, of these places he’d said you’d been. Where people had died, lots of people. He said you were responsible.” I looked up at him.
“I may have been.”
His unequivocal response should have thrown me, but maybe it was a signal that I was growing accustomed to his . . . lifestyle . . . that it didn’t.
“Will I end up dead, too?” Agent Lane’s warnings echoed in my ears.
Devon stared at me, neither of us speaking. I waited, barely breathing, for his answer.
“No,” he said at last. “Not you.”
“Not me?” I echoed.
The waitress interrupted, setting our plates in front of us and refilling our coffee mugs. I waited until she was out of earshot before speaking again.
“That sounds like you’ve made that promise before,” I said. “What happened?”
Devon was eating and I wasn’t sure he’d answer me. I picked at my food and waited.
“This is a dangerous world,” he said, “and my path in it more treacherous than most. I don’t make promises I can’t keep. Not anymore.”
“How can you possibly promise me that I won’t end up like the woman I saw in the photos?” I asked.
“I’m not forcing you to stay,” he countered.
He had a point there. It wasn’t like I was beating a path to the door.
“But if you do,” he continued, “I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”
“Aren’t I just baggage you don’t need?”
“Absolutely,” he replied with ego-deflating rapidity.
Stung, I sat back in my seat. The chill from outside crept through the window next to the booth and I took another sip of my tepid coffee.
Devon wiped his mouth, silently eyeing me. I kept my gaze on the beige coffee in my mug.
“You haven’t asked me why,” he said at last.
I glanced up.
“You haven’t asked me why I’d do this. Put myself and my mission at risk for a bank teller from Kansas.”
I swallowed. “Because you like to fuck me.” The vulgar words tasted bitter on my tongue, but it was what it was and I didn’t want to sugarcoat it.
A humorless smile curved his lips. “I did say that, didn’t I,” he murmured, and maybe I heard a tinge of regret in his voice.
I didn’t think I had to answer that.
“That is correct,” he said. “But I could find that anywhere.” He shrugged, as though to underscore how easily he could get laid.
“Why then?” I asked, wanting to hear the answer and yet afraid of it at the same time.
“I feel . . .”
My breath stopped for a moment.
“. . . responsible for you.”
My breath let out in a rush as I tried to conceal my disappointment. Why had I hoped for more? Because I knew, really knew, that I was already in too deep with him.
“Responsible for me,” I repeated, shoving the thought aside. “I don’t want to be anyone’s . . . responsibility.”
“Too late for that,” he dismissed. Picking up my fork, he speared a bite of my barely touched omelet and lifted it to my mouth. “Eat something.”
I shook my head, my appetite gone. “I’m not hungry.”
“Eat, Ivy, please,” he persisted, then added, “for me.”
Our eyes locked and that’s when I knew that he knew my last secret, that I was falling for him.
I opened my mouth and he fed me the bite. I didn’t resist as he patiently fed me until over half the omelet was gone. We didn’t speak, the silence between us needing no words to fill it. We both knew the power he had over me, understood that it was real and absolute. It should have frightened me, how much trust I was placing in Devon’s hands, but it didn’t. Though I didn’t want to think about the devastation I’d feel when he left.
Finally, when I’d had enough, I gave a minute shake of my head and he placed the fork on my plate.
“Let’s go, darling,” he said, pulling some bills out of his wallet and leaving them on the table.
I drifted to sleep in the car while Devon drove us back, the brush of his hand against my cheek rousing me when he’d stopped the car. As though understanding how exhausted I was, he didn’t try to talk as we walked to his apartment.
Once we were inside, he peeled the clothes from my body while I stood, unresisting and unembarrassed.
He lay me down in the bed and I watched in the soft glow of the bedside lamp as he undressed as well. His body was golden hued in the light, the muscles of his abdomen drawing my eye as the scars on his skin were muted. He was beautiful and when he climbed into bed and took me in his arms, I went willingly.
I called in to work the next morning. I never took sick days so I thought maybe I had one or two coming, despite, or perhaps due to, my recent hospital stay. The sad fact was that I didn’t want to give up the remaining time I had with Devon. Other than what he’d said last night, he hadn’t mentioned when he’d be leaving again and I hadn’t asked for a timetable. I was sipping my coffee when he emerged from the shower, wearing a pair of slacks.
I’d picked up the stuff I’d left strewn on his floor and set it on the bar. As Devon poured a cup of coffee, he glanced at the stack.
“What’s this?” he asked, holding up the notebook I’d taken from Mr. Galler’s safe deposit box.
“That was Mr. Galler’s,” I sai
d, explaining how I’d seen the insignia on the front and stolen the notebook. “I thought maybe it would have something important in it.” With Jace showing up right after work, I’d completely forgotten about it.
Flipping through the pages, Devon frowned. “I wonder . . .” he murmured, then disappeared back into the bedroom, emerging a few moments later holding the pendant Mr. Galler had given me. I wondered where he’d kept it and how I’d missed finding it when I’d searched.
Grabbing the notebook, he came to sit next to me on the sofa. I scooted closer and peered over his shoulder as he began to read.
“Wait, it’s not written in English,” I said, disappointed.
Devon snorted. “Of course not. Galler was German and so was his father.”
“Do you know German?”
“Yes.”
Okay then. All I knew was English and a few Spanish words I’d learned from Dora.
I waited impatiently while Devon read, watching him turn the pages at a pretty brisk pace. When I couldn’t stand the curiosity anymore, I said, “Well? What does it say?”
Devon frowned as he replied. “It’s a journal,” he said. “Dr. Galler was a doctor during World War II. He joined the Nazi Party early on and was close to the upper echelons of Hitler’s inside circle.”
My eyes widened. “Wow.”
Devon flipped a few more pages. “It seems Dr. Galler became intrigued with the idea of human subjects.”
“What do you mean?”
He glanced up at me. “The Nazis were notorious for using human subjects for all kinds of heinous experimentation during the war, the concentration camps provided an unlimited supply of . . . patients.”
My stomach turned at this information. It had been a while since high school history.
“Was Dr. Galler one of those doctors?” I asked, hoping the nice old man I’d known hadn’t been related to a monster.
Devon nodded. “It would seem so,” he said, thumbing through some more pages. I was suddenly glad I couldn’t read German.
I was quiet while Devon read, though when he neared the end of the book, he paused again.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“He’s going on about this particular experiment with a virus,” Devon said. “A virus that is airborne and kills within hours once the victim is infected.”
