Devilish - A Demon Stepbrother Romance

by Michaela Adams

  I took a sip of the champagne, the cool bubbles tickling my throat. “Surprised, certainly. But guilty?” I asked. Maybe the shock was so overwhelming it was covering any kind of expression of guilt because at the moment, all Harrison Dell looked to be guilty of was possibly incurring a stroke.

  “Being so surprised could in and of itself be an admission of guilt,” Liam said lowly so only I could hear him. He took a sip of his drink. “Someone who was reported dead is now alive. True, that’s surprising. But so surprising that you become dumbfounded, that you become stunned stupid. That makes you question why your resurrection would have such an impact on someone who was a business partner at most and a competitor at least.”

  Hmm, I thought as I took another sip. Valid point. Was he horrified I hadn’t stayed dead long enough for him to get his hands on Madewell Ltd? Was he worried about the kind of claims I might now make on the company and on the alliance?

  “Ah,” I said as I spotted our next suspect a little behind Harrison at a completely seated table. “There’s Lawson of RL Co. Behind Dell, a little to the left.”

  Ron Lawson seemed to have been destined to be Harrison Dell’s physical opposite. Unlike Dell, Lawson was short and round. He had a belly that challenged every suit tailor and a jowely neck that refused to submit to any kind of tie.

  He had a large bushy mustache that obscured most of his mouth and a complexion that turned red at any hint of emotion.

  Just like now.

  Ron Lawson was now sitting at his table, quietly fuming. He didn’t make eye contact with me and yet it was clear by the tenseness of his rounded shoulders and the bunching of his lips that he knew I was there. His face was turning an alarming shade of red as he seemed to quietly fume to himself. His wife of nearly forty years sat beside him, raising an alarmed and slightly disgusted eyebrow at her cold and brutish husband’s sudden change in complexion.

  “Well he certainly isn’t helping his case by giving himself a hernia over there,” Liam muttered.

  The laugh escaped me before I could help myself. This wasn’t funny. This was serious. This was dangerous.

  And yet, having Liam standing next to me, I somehow felt safe and in control. I felt aloof enough to be able to even laugh. I quietly marveled at myself. Earlier today in the bathroom, no way would I have imagined I would have laughed tonight.

  “And where’s the last one? Mackson,” Liam asked, pulling me closer as a couple brushed past me towards their table.

  I scan the tables again. “He might not have come. He’s the one who comes with least regularity because of his age. Sometimes he’ll send a son if he can con one of them to go but—Oh! There he is,” I said, subtly tipping my glass towards my left.

  In a table towards the edge of the tent sat T.J. Mackson and what was probably his sixth wife. T.J. Mackson was over eighty years old but the blonde next to him couldn’t be more than twenty five. She wore a gaudy silver gown that dipped indecently low between her enormous breasts. Her large eyes, caked with make up, looked around the room with a bored expression. Clearly she had hoped for more excitement from a Senator’s fundraising dinner.

  T.J. Mackson looked just as bored. In fact, his head bobbed as he dozed in an out of sleep. I had to admit, even though I knew everyone was under suspect until proven otherwise, Mackson seemed like the least likely to have been the plotter of my murder.

  “Hmm,” Liam said, the champagne flute against his lips as he eyed the dozing Mackson, clearly doubtful of the man’s perniciousness when it came to murder. “Why don’t we take our seats and see who will approach us first?”

  I walked out into the gardens towards the table with our invitations and seating designations. “You think that’d be a hint of telling us who’s guilty?” I asked, scanning the little cream cards that held names and table numbers.

  Madewell Ltd, Mr. and Mrs. Eric Madewell. Table 22.

  I marveled at how someone could still higher a calligrapher to personalize each seating card without someone stopping in the process to think that maybe a dead person wouldn’t need a seat card.

  I picked it up and found Table 22 off to the left, near the podium situated up front for Senator Folsom where he would give his speech thanking his guests and their donations.

  “Not necessarily,” Liam said as he pulled out a chair for me. Taking his own seat, he continued, “But it’d give us a chance to talk face-to-face with them and see what they have to say. Maybe we can rule one out. Maybe we won’t.” Liam grinned. “Either way, it’ll be interesting to see who steps up to speak to the ghost first.”

  Although it was outrageous, surreal, and even a bit ridiculous, I again felt comforted having Liam by my side. Yes, I was sitting next to a demon who was inhabiting my dead stepbrother’s body. Yes, we were both plotting my revenge against my murderer. And yes, I agreed to all this in exchange for my soul to be eaten.

  But even with all of that, I was still glad I wasn’t alone.

  Liam’s presence was a solid reassurance to me. His ability to help me think calmly through this first step of revenge helped steady me. Without him, I would’ve felt like a piece of debris flying wildly around in windswept seas. But with him, I felt anchored. He was clearly focused on helping me and I took solace in knowing I wouldn’t be doing this alone.

  As the evening wore on, people couldn’t resist their curiosity. People began to slowly approach to make conversation with me. They tried to keep it to the mundane while they gawked and marveled at me. Some of them hinted a little more directly at what a mystery it all was, my survival. And I just smiled and nodded, not wanting to make something already so complicated even more so.

  And through it all, Liam was by me being a charming and debonair escort. The real Liam had always felt uncomfortable at such events, which was why he had no interest in following dad into business. At the level of Madewell Ltd, a certain amount of schmoozing was expected and Liam had always just felt too awkward doing it.

  But not this Liam. Not this devilishly charming Liam. He smiled at all the women, making his green eyes sparkle in just the right way. He made witty remarks and flattering comments for every guest at our table. With his charm and natural suaveness, he made my reappearance feel so much more natural and easy. I felt less like a tabloid sensation or an oddity and more like a brave heroine who was now taking up the reigns of what her father had left her.

  Hours passed in a blink of an eye. Senator Folsom gave his speech thanking everybody. He stopped by every table to speak with the guests and made sure to save our table for last so he could have an extra minute or two with me to express how truly wonderful it was for him to know that not all of Eric Madewell was gone forever.

  It was after this exchange that I was sitting in my chair, another glass of champagne in my hand, feeling incredibly sentimental when I heard Liam huff a “Huh” behind me.

  I turned around. “What is it?” I asked, feeling much more relaxed after several glasses of excellent champagne.

  Liam looked at me, eyebrows raised, as if calculating how drunk I was. “How long would you say we’ve been here now?” he asked.

  I pursed my lips, thinking. “Oh, must be passed three hours now.” These events always ran quite long. But with dessert over and done with, many of the guests were now saying good night to Senator Folsom as they tottered back out towards the front of the mansion, full of good food and champagne.

  Liam looked around at the remaining guests, some milling around while others were making their way out. “Huh,” he said again curiously. “And now the dinner is over.”

  “Mmm,” I said noncommittally, a little too drunk to think of a good comment.

  “And not one of the men came by to say anything to you,” Liam said, elbow casually on the linen covered table.

  I sat up. I looked around the tent and found that Lawson, Dell, and Mackson were indeed gone. They hadn’t once come over to speak to me. Strangers who I hardly knew had come over to mention how glad they were to realize that t
he reports had been wrong on my death and yet my father’s closest business partners had not come to me once tonight.

  I looked up at Liam. “What do you think that means?”

  “I think it means you gave one or more people a very nasty surprise today,” he said calmly. My stomach knotted at his words. It hadn’t occurred to me that perhaps that maybe one or more of them might be in cahoots together. After all, why not?

  “And I think that also means,” he added, turning his green gaze to me, “we need to work fast.”

  Chapter Eight

  I breathed deeply.

  The ground thumped back solidly against my feet. The even rhythm soothed my mind. I let the wind race against my face and my feet lead me down the well-worn trail.

  It felt so good to be running again.

  I breathed in again, letting the air run through me, cleaning me out. For the first time in a long time, I felt whole with my body. I actually felt a little more like me.

  Running had always calmed my heart and mind. And usually through all the calmness, I could think through whatever troubles or problems I had in peace. And thank goodness I was able to run now because boy, did I have a whopper of a problem.

  Last night had been summarily uneventful which I would’ve thought a good thing but now realize was a very, very bad thing.

  Why hadn’t any of the men approached me? Of all people, they should’ve been the ones to come to me. Coming back from the dead? That was at least worthy of a few words.

  I jumped over an old log. The trail around the house was one of my favorites, one of the many perks of having such a colossal house. Over the years, I had created a tamped down trail that circled the lake and ran around the east side of the house. I could run it with my eyes closed.

  I looked at the large overhanging trees. It was beautiful in the fall.

  So what did last night mean?

  Harrison Dell had certainly looked shocked. He had actually been the only one that had looked shocked. That seemed normal and natural. Seeing a supposedly dead girl walk into a dinner—an agog expression would not only be appropriate, it would be expected.

  But then why hadn’t he approached me? Why hadn’t he said something? He had been dad’s closest business competitor. Of all people, I would’ve expected him to say something first.

  And yet he hadn’t.

  T.J. Mackson had literally slept through the whole dinner while his wife perfected her various looks of utter boredom throughout the evening. Although I wouldn’t rule him out of suspicion, it was looking less and less likely he would be the culprit. Mackson was done.

  He had given up a long time ago on his sons and since then, all he had wanted to do was keep the status quo of his company. The only reason he had joined the mining alliance was because he realized to not join it would hurt his profits. And that was something he could not abide.

  That left Ron Lawson, the oddest and most curious one of them all. I breathed in deeply as I headed into my fourth mile. I quickly spared a thought for what Liam was up to. When I had told him I was going on a run, he seemed perplexed by the idea.

  “Is this some kind of breakdown you are having?” he asked, leaning a hip on dad’s office desk.

  “Because I want to run?” I asked, a little amused.

  “If you’re losing your nerve again—”

  “I’m not losing my nerve!” I said, irritated and losing all initial humor. “It’s exercise!”

  Liam furrowed his brow as he looked me up and down in my running clothes, tight and outlining every line of my body. “But you’re not fat,” he said flatly.

  I gave a sigh. “Exercise is for everyone, fat or skinny, short or tall.”

  And with that, I had turned around and left, leaving the stupid demon to figure out the importance of good cardio.

  I shook my head and returned to the matter at hand as I ducked under a low hanging branch.

  Lawson had seemed nearly furious at seeing her at the dinner. He hadn’t even been able to meet her gaze. He had instead glared down at his place settings, furiously turning red as he grumbled to himself in some kind of angry diatribe.

  Was he angry that his plan to murder me had failed? I would think Lawson would be smart enough to know that if that was the case, he would have disguised his disappointment a little better than he did. Even his wife, with whom he had a frosty relationship with for decades now, had noticed his peculiar behavior.

  Or maybe he was just upset that with my return, control over Madewell Ltd had slipped through his grubby fingers? But his anger then seemed disproportionate to the reason. At this level of business, everyone had lost a contract or a client at some point. Everyone had seen their competitor have a downward slip that maybe even came close to wiping them out. We had all had our moments of hopes and disappointments. Raging like Lawson had last night was an unusual reaction to what was essentially just a business upset.

  And of course none of it explained why he hadn’t come to speak to her last night.

  I breathed evenly as I felt my feet hit the trail in solid rhythmic steps. Clearly, Lawson was the most suspicious character out of the three men. But even with the financial gains that could be had by offing the Madewell family, I just couldn’t imagine Ron Lawson plotting murder. It just seemed too beyond the pale for the man. Sure, he was a ruthless businessman. But a murderer as well?

  But then again, it’s not as if I knew the man on a personal level. Who knows? Perhaps he really did have it in him to kill.

  As I rounded the corner of the east side of the house, I looked up towards the large picture windows of the second floor. I remember looking up and sometimes seeing dad standing there with either some papers or his phone in his hand. He’d smile and wave at me as I ran by.

  But looking up, the window was empty. No one stood there to watch over me and smile. I refused to let my heart ache over this loss. Instead, I let it only fuel my thirst for retribution.

  So focused was I on channeling my emotional turmoil that I barely heard the rumble of an engine from my right. I turned to look just as four gunshots were fired.

  I had no time to scream as the bullets echoed in the open field of my home. I immediately threw myself onto the ground, my heart beating against the grass. I knew I should try to crawl towards cover but cold clammy fear kept me glued to the ground.

  I did peek up though to see an arm retreat back into the window of a van as it skidded off.

  “Sophia!”

  I looked over my shoulder and saw Liam running around the corner of the house. His eyes quickly scanned me for blood. Before I could tell him I was alright, he was kneeling beside me, lifting me into his arms with an easy strength that soothed my erratic pulse.

  Looking up, I saw his brow creased as he carefully looked over me. It was disconcerting to have him hold me so tightly, so securely while he worried over me. Was this the demon who would eat and devour my soul?

  Liam raised his head and looked down the field towards where the van had shot off. I could feel his muscles tighten in need to chase after them. Instead, I tried to sit up, distracting him from his need to give chase.

  With a strong, steady arm, he helped me up into a seated position. I felt my breath return to a more normal pace. The shock of hearing bullets again was enough to send my mind reeling but to also see the gun aimed directly at me…I honestly felt as if I had been knocked on my head, sending me into a dizzying spell of fear and nausea.

  “You’re not hurt,” Liam said calmly, keeping his arm firmly around my shoulders, as if not completely convinced I could sit on my own yet. “No blood, no bullet holes. At least, not in you. Your house on the other hand.” A dry twinkle lit up his eyes.

  To hear him so matter-of-factly state my wholeness gave me an enormous amount of reassurance. It seemed as if his recognition of my uninjured body made it real. I was safe. I was okay. But then to hear him also make a sly joke about my house and the bullets, it nearly undid me.

  I snorted. I giggled
. I shook my head, feeling like an insane person. Tears sprang up as I laughed.

  Wiping against my eyes, I said, “I’m not crying.” I giggled again.

  “No, of course not,” Liam said. “You must have knocked a pipe loose in your eye as you fell.” I huffed another laugh as he helped me up onto my feet.

  Even after I was up, Liam kept an arm around me. Physically, I was fine and could stand on my own. But it felt so good to have his strength around me, keeping me upright and tall.

  Liam looked again towards the direction the van took off. “Well, if we had any doubts about someone wanting to murder you,” he said quietly, almost to himself. He squinted. “They must’ve thought you fell from the shots. They certainly didn’t stick around to check otherwise. But I think they—”