Demon's Plaything

by Lydia Rowan

  “Fuck! You scared the crap out of me, dude!”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, though his gruff tone didn’t corroborate his statement. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises. And please don’t return.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to have to ask—”

  “Yeah, I got that. I guess the question is, why? And says who?”

  “I don’t know anything else, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”

  The pounding of her heart morphed from fear to anger in the space of a single beat.

  “Is Ian in there?”

  She looked back at the door and shook his hand off her shoulder.

  He didn’t touch her again, but the hard look in his eye told her he’d said all he was going to. She was at a loss. The apparent ban was no big problem, but the source concerned her. And if Ian was in trouble…

  Dammit, Shayla!

  That kind of thinking had gotten her into this mess in the first place, but still, she couldn’t just leave without knowing he was okay. Her gaze drifted from the security guard to the door and back. Maybe she could outrun him…

  “Shay?”

  Ian’s call grabbed her attention, and a final look at the security guard, face still sour but impassive, his bulk seeming to loom larger the longer she stood, proved the futility of that plan.

  “What the fuck did you do, Shayla?”

  Her eyes widened at the onslaught and at the rage marring Ian’s face, making his features tight and distorted and blocking all trace of her charismatic brother.

  “I didn’t do anything.” The defense was automatic. She’d been unprepared for this attack.

  “Then what did you get your little boyfriend to do?”

  “Ian, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m here as you asked. But I’m done. But we can talk about that later. What’s going on?”

  “I had a good thing going here, Shayla, and you fucked it up.”

  “She didn’t fuck up anything.”

  At the sound of Demon’s voice, she looked back at the doorway where he stood, his large frame taking up most of the space. Her heart leaped yet again, this time from the lightning strike of relief and arousal that hit her. Even now, in a warehouse parking lot seemingly on the verge of all hell breaking loose, she yearned for him, spirit and body.

  “I told you, Ian. You chose not to listen then. Listen now, and I won’t repeat myself.” Demon’s voice was practically arctic, all hints of the playfulness that she’d come to expect wiped away completely. Maybe this was where the nickname came from.

  “Come on, man. We can work something out. I’ll split Shayla’s fee with you.”

  Those words had Shayla looking back at Ian. At this rate, she was going to throw up from motion sickness or have a freaking heart attack.

  “What fee? Ian?” she said, and the expression on his face revealed that he’d let something slip.

  “It’s…nothing, really, Shay. It’s just…”

  “Just what?” she said, voice scalpel sharp.

  “Nothing. But the doctor who attends usually gets a small…honorarium.”

  “What? What do you mean, Ian?” she asked, sure that the tension that now had her clenching her fists was clear on her face.

  Ian saw it, too, if the slight grimace, followed by the widest smile she’d ever seen on his face, was anything to go by. That smile alone confirmed that Shayla would not like what she was about to hear.

  “It’s just, you know, a courtesy that the organizers provide for people who help out…” He trailed off and then snapped his fingers. “You know, like the T-shirts you get for that cancer walk you do every year. It’s like that, except more financial in nature.”

  Shayla opened her mouth to speak and then snapped it shut abruptly, the reality of what he was saying starting to creep in.

  “Financial in nature? You mean like gas money?” she asked, feeling stupid but still, despite it all, wanting to give Ian the benefit of the doubt.

  “Exactly!” Ian agreed almost before she had the words out of her mouth. “That’s exactly right, Shay. It’s just a little compensation for—” He stopped short at Shayla’s reaction to the word “compensation.”

  “Why do I get the distinct impression that this ‘gas money’ is more than you’re making it out to be?”

  “Because you’re paranoid.” He laughed, the sound forced and nervous and as good as a written confession.

  “So how much is this ‘small honorarium’? This ‘gas money’?” She paused for a second, not sure what she expected him to say, then deciding there wasn’t anything he could say. “You know what, don’t even answer that.”

  Bile rose and burned the back of her throat as she struggled to process what Ian had revealed.

  “You had me scared for your life! I’m thinking someone is gonna seal you in an oil drum and drop you in the ocean, but you did this for money!” She was full-on screaming now, but she didn’t care. “Money, Ian! You put me, my freedom, everything I’ve ever worked for in jeopardy for money!”

  As she stared at him, she was vaguely aware of a hand on her shoulder blade, rubbing in what, in any other circumstances, would have been soothing circles, and she didn’t have to look back to know who it was.

  “Answer me!” she said. Then lower, “Answer me, Ian.”

  “This was my shot, Shayla. You don’t need the money, and I hear you lecturing me now about where it came from. It was just for a little while…till I got my foot in the door and settled things a bit.”

  His eyes implored her, and he flashed that smile that she’d loved so much. “You know I wouldn’t hurt you, Shay. We’re fam—”

  “Screw you,” she said, her voice low and disgusted.

  As she stood in the aftermath, something inside her curdled, and she knew it was the affection for her baby brother, her only sibling, shriveling up and dying inside her right where she stood. And in an instant, all the anger, hurt, pain she felt, withered away to welcome numbness.

  ••••

  “Let’s go, Shayla,” Demon said quietly, trying to soothe her with his voice and his touch.

  He led her to her car and put a hand on either side of her face, looking into her eyes. They were blank, completely devoid of sparkle, completely devoid of her, a sign of the destruction her parasite brother wrought. Seeing her like this made him despise the man even more. But right now, he needed to focus on her.

  “Shay? Shayla?”

  She blinked and focused on him, her eyes still flat but at least proving that she was aware.

  “Can you drive?” he asked.

  She blinked again and nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll follow you home.”

  She nodded again and got into her car, and then Demon turned to walk to his own, glaring at Ian as he went, daring the man to say a word, to move a muscle. But Ian refused to meet his gaze, instead staring off in the distance, no doubt formulating a plan to get back into Shayla’s good graces. Demon hoped that wasn’t a possibility, and that glimpse into Shayla’s eyes, proof that she’d moved beyond hurt to acceptance, made him think it wasn’t. He idly wondered if Ian would agree if he took a moment to look.

  The drive to Shayla’s passed in a blur, and when he parked and walked into her house—she’d left the door open, in deference to his arrival he hoped and not because she’d simply forgotten to close it—he found her sitting on her couch. He sat beside her and pulled her into an embrace. She was stiff, held herself away at first, but then she leaned into him and returned his embrace.

  “I can’t even cry,” she said after a moment, her voice still flat but some of the spark he’d come to recognize as her returning.

  “He doesn’t deserve your tears.”

  She pulled back and gave him the brightest smile she was probably able to muster.

  “I know.” She looked away before glancing back at him. “Deep down I’ve known for a long time. I’m such a fool.” She looked
away again and shook her head.

  “You’re not.”

  “I am. Do you know how many times I’ve helped him? Money, favors, you name it?”

  He could only imagine, but he remained silent, something telling him that Shayla needed to get this out on her own terms.

  “I practically gave him permission, didn’t ask questions because I didn’t want answers. Still…I mean, doing this, putting me through this for money…I guess I just thought that I meant more to him than that.”

  Demon couldn’t bring himself to defend Ian, though Shayla’s voice and eyes practically begged for it. But the illusion was gone, and he refused to do anything that might help her build it back, that might let Ian have another path into her good graces.

  “Well, I hope it was worth it,” she said after a moment.

  “He was well compensated, but no amount is worth betraying your trust,” he said in response.

  “Wait,” her eyes went dark and narrowed slightly, “did you know he was getting paid this whole time?”

  “Not the whole time. I thought he owed and you were working off the debt. I didn’t find out about the money until—”

  “Until when?” she asked, her voice low and tentative.

  “I just found out, Shayla.”

  “And you didn’t tell me!” she said, eyes widening.

  “Would you have believed me? I’m just some lowlife. Not an upstanding citizen who occasionally needs a helping hand like your brother.”

  She recoiled as if she’d been slapped, and he immediately regretted the words.

  “Shay, look, I’m—”

  “Get out,” she said quietly, looking away from him. “And don’t ever come back.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Shayla came awake with a start, and for a moment she didn’t know where she was.

  Then the memories came flooding back: the warehouse; the truth about Ian; driving home in a blur and stumbling into her house; the way she’d lashed out at a person who’d shown her nothing but kindness; how she’d somehow fallen into a deep sleep after he’d left.

  “Too old to be sleeping on couches,” Shayla said out loud as she stretched, trying to work out the kinks in her back. Then she laughed hysterically.

  “Talking to yourself now, Shayla? Be careful, you might end up on seventy-two-hour hold,” she said out loud again, this time laughing even harder until tears ran down her face.

  The tears of laughter soon turned to something else. It wasn’t sadness, not exactly, anyway, and it wasn’t anger. She was hollow, felt a twinge in her chest, imagined that was the exact spot where her love for Ian had lived until he killed it. Maybe the tears were for that. Or maybe for her sadness at what had happened with Demon, what they probably could never have—because of Ian, yes, but she’d again displayed that awful judgment that seemed to plague her by sending away a man who’d proven truer than her blood.

  “Yeah, and maybe you do really need to go to the psych ward.”

  Shayla stood, the cracking of her bones ringing loud in the room but bringing welcome relief.

  “Blah, blah, blah, blah.” Her phone, Ian’s ringtone, chirped.

  She looked at the device for a moment, pondering whether to respond. Why wait? she decided. He’d try to smooth things over and talk his way back into her good graces; of that she had no doubt. But she was done, beyond done, so there was no need to put off the inevitable.

  We need to talk, Shay, the most recent message said. She didn’t bother looking at the ones before it.

  Fine.

  Cool. Be over in 15. He responded almost instantly.

  No. Let’s meet. Gas station on Fifth and Main in 20.

  Okay.

  As she quickly showered and dressed, it occurred to her that Demon hadn’t called. Of course, after her gracious hospitality, it was unreasonable of her to expect him to. But she did, she needed him, wanted him here, holding her…

  Nope! Not now, she chided herself.

  She could worry about new beginnings later. Right now, endings were a more pressing issue.

  After a ten-minute drive, Shayla pulled into the gas station, which was mostly deserted given the relatively late hour. She chuckled at the situation. The last time she’d agreed to meet Ian at some godforsaken place, her entire world had shifted. In a way, it was about to shift again, but this time, on her terms.

  She spotted Ian in an unfamiliar sedan and parked next to him. For a moment, she wondered where he’d gotten the car, another new one from the looks of it, but she immediately dismissed the thought.

  It was no longer her concern.

  Ian stepped out, still as dashing as ever, and flashed her his practiced smile, one that now left her so cold that she wanted to reach for a jacket.

  “I was wondering if you’d make it,” he said as he lazily leaned against the car.

  “Here I am.”

  “Why couldn’t I come by the house?”

  “You are no longer welcome in my home, Ian. You are no longer welcome in my life.”

  He laughed, a slightly crazed delight filling his eyes. “You sound like old boy.”

  “Old boy?”

  “Don’t play. You know who. Your friend from the fights. I didn’t even know you got down like that, Shay.”

  “And what did ‘old boy’ have to say?” she responded, ignoring his attempted jab.

  “Oh, he was talking all this shit about how I was done and how I needed to leave you and Nana alone, get out of town and all that.”

  She wrinkled a brow in surprise. “And you said?”

  “I know you’ll always have my back, so I told him to go fuck himself.”

  Shayla doubted it. Ian avoided conflict as much as Shayla seemed to rush into it, and there was no way he’d ever be so direct, especially not with Demon, who she’d come to learn was made of stern stuff underneath his relaxed exterior. Ian’s story was just more of the bluster and embellishment that had consumed him.

  “Interesting,” she said to Ian.

  And it was. She definitely hadn’t expected him to warn off her brother, even after his command that she stay away. It was endearing, if not more than a little presumptuous, but it again reminded her that he’d been on her side so far, even if he hadn’t been completely forthcoming. Something to think about. Later, much later, when she’d done what she came here for.

  “So to what do I owe this impromptu request for a visit?”

  “It’s kinda tight right now, Shay. I need a little bit.”

  Shayla knew this script, could have written it out before she even arrived. Ian never apologized. Ever. He’d do something, she’d get huffy, he’d ask for help, she’d charge in on her white horse and save him, and then they were a happy family again. Lather, rinse, repeat. And it wasn’t all Ian; she could admit that now. Seemed she loved to play the hero, loved to be the good guy. In some ways, she and Ian were just playing their roles to perfection.

  But no more.

  She’d been with Ian for all of five minutes and she felt like she’d worked a triple. This needed to be over. She reached into her bag and retrieved an envelope that contained five thousand dollars. It was a big chunk of her rainy-day fund, but Ian was a fucking hurricane, so she hadn’t felt the least bit reluctant to let it go if that meant Ian left her life along with it.

  “Here.”

  She handed Ian the envelope and watched his reaction.

  “That’s it?” he said, and Shayla was for some reason shocked that she still had the capacity to be shocked by his narcissism.

  “That’s it. And it comes with strings,” she said.

  He perked up and stood straight, flashing that smile. “I know. I’m gonna do better this time, and I’ll pay you back, with interest! This is a brand-new me, Shayla. I’m serious.”

  “I hope so; I really do. But that’s not the string.”

  He raised a brow. “What do you need?”

  She took a deep breath. “I need you to be gone. For good. I want you out of
my life.”

  “That’s not you talking, Shay. Old boy must have put the dick down good, ’cause this don’t even sound like you.”

  She chose to ignore his crudeness, a sure sign that he was getting annoyed and defensive, though he tried to cover it with his unending charm.

  “Oh it’s me all right.”

  “And what about Nana? That woman loves me. It’ll kill her if I’m gone.”

  “She doesn’t have much time left; even you can see that. I want her focusing on her health, enjoying whatever time she has left and not worrying about rescuing you, or having me try, but when…after she’s gone, you’re out of my life completely.”

  “God, I wish my grandmother hadn’t raised me so well!” he said. “I can’t call you the heartless bitch you are, Shayla.”

  Any other time, his words would have hurt, but now, save a ripple of mild curiosity, they didn’t make a dent.

  “Why do you think I’m a heartless bitch?”

  “You’ve always looked down on me, thought you were better. It made you feel good to compare yourself to me and feel superior, and now for whatever reason, you’ve decided you don’t need to anymore, so you’re kicking me out. That’s pretty fucking heartless.”

  “Hmm,” she murmured, unable to formulate any other response.

  “That’s all you have to say?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yep. That’s all.”

  “You’re even worse than I thought. Nana’s not stupid, Shayla. She’ll be able to tell. Can’t you hear her now, wondering why we aren’t as close as we used to be, trying to get us to be friends?”

  That image did impact Shayla. Nana would wonder, and she might even believe that Shayla was at fault. That thought had her lips turning down in what she knew was a grim frown, and Ian seized the opening.

  “See, think about it, Shayla. You know we need to put this behind us, be together now, be a family.”

  Maybe he had a point. Maybe Nana did need them working together. Her gaze flitted left as she vacillated from one thought to the next, wanting to keep her resolve, but worried that Ian might be right. Then she remembered Nana’s words.