Depraved: The Devil’s Duet (Book 1) Read online

  Antoine enters the circular driveway, and I can’t help but admire the gracious piazza that extends the full length of the house. Its haint blue ceiling and white wicker swing with striped cushions strewn casually across the back exude effortless charm.

  The car stops directly in front of the house. My heart is heavy as I gaze at the clusters of manicured evergreens flanking the entrance. They stand tall and proud in decorative urns, welcoming guests. They’re lovely, but not meant for me.

  I am not a guest. And I won’t pretend to be. I can have transactional relationships, too. I’m here to do a job, like the housekeeper, or the plumber, or the man who cleans the fallen leaves from the gutters. Only my job is to scratch any itch JD might have, isn’t that how he put it?

  “Where’s the kitchen entrance?” I ask when Antoine engages the emergency break.

  “Around to the side.” He points toward the far end of the main entrance. I don’t remember exactly where it is, and that side of the house is dark.

  “Would you mind dropping me there?”

  “I don’t think Mr. Wilder would appreciate guests arriving through the kitchen.”

  I’m not a guest. But I don’t want to make trouble for him. “I’ll get out here." Before Antoine can come around to open the door for me, I’m out of the car. I’m behaving like a selfish brat. I know it, but I’m jittery, and can’t seem to control my emotions now that I’m here.

  None of this is Antoine’s doing, and the greatest respect I can afford him is to allow him to do his job with dignity. I know this. I feel a small pang of regret, but I want JD to have to let me in through the servant’s entrance. I want—I need to make the point with him.

  I start down the walk toward the side of the house. “Ms. Duval, where are you going? The front door’s behind you.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m sorry for all of this. I promise there won’t be any trouble for you.”

  “I’m not worried about trouble for me. You’ve been away from here for too long.” He jumps back into the driver’s seat, inching the car forward, lighting my path while keeping me in his line of vision.

  I ring the bell at what seems to be the kitchen entrance. After a couple minutes, the light comes on, and JD opens the heavy wooden door, and unlatches the outside screen that I’m sure Lally insists on keeping up, even in November. He pushes the screen door open, and searches over my head, past me. “Did Antoine leave you here?”

  “Good evening, JD. It’s so nice to see you again. Did you have a pleasant day? That’s how polite conversations normally begin. I figured after all this time you’d need some training on how to lick my pussy, but I didn’t think I’d have to teach you the most basic of manners. And no, Antoine insisted on leaving me at the front door. But I know my place. The help always enters through the kitchen.”

  One side of his mouth curls, and the smile, with all its playful light, reaches his eyes. At least I thought it did.

  “Cute. I opened the back door for you tonight because it’s dark out, but next time you pull a little stunt like that, I’ll make you walk around the front to come inside. Don’t play games with me, Gabrielle. You’ll never win.”

  I slip off my coat, shrugging away his assistance. He takes it from me, and hangs it on a hook in the back hall. I keep the scarf. It adds to my unkempt look, and hides the bruises he can’t seem to keep his eyes off.

  “How about a drink?” he asks.

  I desperately want a bourbon. Something to numb me before the onslaught of emotional pain that’s sure to come. But I should have my wits about me for this discussion. “I’ll have a glass of wine. Red if you have it.”

  He looks so young and relaxed mixing drinks in the kitchen, like this isn’t some sick horror show. Something about him in a pair of faded jeans and a Gamecock T-shirt softens me, too. I’ve always thought the University of South Carolina could have chosen a more dignified mascot, but JD always loved the damn thing.

  I’m fascinated as he painstakingly measures the gin and fresh lemon juice, and adds simple syrup to a cocktail shaker. By the time he finishes with a splash of a brand of French Cassis—that’s not easy to find—my fascination has given way to a quiet unease.

  He hands me the chilled couplet with a brandy-soaked Luxardo cherry suspended from the glass stirrer laid across the rim. It’s the signature cocktail at The Gatehouse, my hotel. And this is exactly how we serve it. I catch myself with my mouth open, and press my lips together to hide my surprise.

  “We’ll have wine with dinner. You look like you could use something stronger. Rough day?”

  Oh, how I want to slap that smug look off his face, but I savor the icy pink liquid instead.

  “How is it?” He sips his bourbon, watching me over the rim.

  Delicious. Exactly the way I like it. “Not bad,” I tell him.

  “Not bad, huh? You’re still a terrible liar.”

  “How do you know about The Gatehouse’s signature drink? It’s something we created in house. And we don’t share the recipe.”

  “I make it my business to know everything that happens in these parts.” He nudges a small bowl of spiced nuts toward me, and clinks his glass against mine. “To a long, satisfying relationship.”

  My stomach roils in protest. First, he gets access to the executive suite of the hotel, and now he knows about the drink. It’s as though he has a spy on the inside. Maybe Gray—no Gray didn’t have anything to do with the bar and he certainly doesn’t have a set of keys to my office. Although I don’t know who else would have shared that information with him. “Did Gray tell you about the drink?” I blurt it gracelessly, not bothering to smooth the sharp edges.

  “How does my brother know about your drink?”

  “Gray helped me with the restaurant, and made some connections for me.” JD licks his bottom lip, and then scrapes his teeth over it. He doesn’t know Gray helped me. “I thought you knew everything about the hotel?”

  He shrugs. “Everything I care to know. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.”

  I set down my drink, harder than I mean to, and the stirrer with the bloated cherry plops into the glass, splashing a few drops onto my wrist. Before I can reach for a napkin, JD grabs my arm and sucks the sticky liquid from my skin. It’s audacious. But no more so than demanding I trade my body for my mother’s health. He catches me by surprise, again, and it takes several seconds before I even think to pull away. “Mmmm. Delicious,” he murmurs. “Could whet any man’s appetite.”

  I yank my glistening wrist from his clutches and rub it on my leg. The friction dries the skin but doesn’t erase the memory of his mouth.

  His lips.

  His tongue.

  Or the rasp of his teeth over the sensitive flesh. The sensations are all still there, each one bold and haunting.

  I need to get out of here. Now.

  “I’m not hungry. Let’s stop dancing around, pretending like this is a pleasant evening between old friends. Let’s just get it over with.”

  JD leans across the center island, and fingers my ponytail. “Always so impatient for the climax. Didn’t matter if it was a storybook or an evening in the stable. But when you get there, no matter how sweet it is, darlin’, the thrill is over. Anticipation is the first leg of every satisfying journey. Learn to enjoy it.”

  I adjust my scarf to hide my nipples peeking through the threadbare T-shirt. The last thing I need him to know is how his words affect me. “Pearls of wisdom aside, I’m really not hungry.”

  “Well I’m starved. And you don’t want to negotiate with me when I’m hungry. You’d do better to ply me full of Lally’s cooking and some decent booze first.”

  The doorbell chimes, and there’s barking outside the kitchen. JD opens the door and a yellow lab wearing a blue and white bandana leaps over the threshold, his silky tail wagging furiously.

  JD gets down and rubs his hands over the golden fur. The dog licks his face in return. It’s genuine and sweet, and it reminds me of a young JD.
For several seconds I forget I’m here to negotiate for my mother’s life, and I smile, an honest smile, for the first time since I arrived. Maybe for the first time since he walked into my office.

  “Thanks,” he calls to someone outside. “He smells so good I might even let him into my bed.” The door shuts, and I hear the lock click. “Sumter,” he says, approaching me, “we have company.”

  The dog circles me once, then sits at my feet. I let him sniff my fingers before I run my palm along his glossy coat. He’s a beauty, strong and lean, and far more civilized than his owner. When I scratch behind his ears, he lifts his snout, his lids fall shut, and he practically purrs. Sumter is a lovable ham, and I can’t stop smiling. “You have a dog?”

  “Don’t act so surprised.”

  “It’s just—”

  “That monsters don’t have pets? Even Hades kept a dog.”

  It’s not too far off from what I was thinking, but of course I don’t say that. “You must work long days. I didn’t think you’d have time for a dog.”

  “I make time for the things that are important.”

  “Sumter.” My heart clenches tightly. “That was the name of Zack’s stuffed bunny. The one he dragged everywhere by the ears.”

  JD chews on the corner of his bottom lip. “Lots of things around here named Sumter.” I stare right at him. Hold those brilliant blue eyes in a tight lock until I can practically see into his soul. The intensity would unnerve most people, but he doesn’t look away. And he won’t. Not before I do. It’ll make him appear too weak. But he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. It’s a subtle move, but for JD, it’s the equivalent of squirming. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

  A whole host of feelings grabs hold of me, and without any warning, the past, with everything we shared, seems far more important than why I’m here tonight. I reach for him, in spite of myself. In spite of the terrible circumstances he’s created for us. My hand and his arm. A magnetic pull, orchestrated from somewhere beyond my control. “Of course, I remember. I loved Zack.”

  For several seconds, he looks young and lost. Not so different than he looked the morning they buried his mother and Sera. It’s a side of JD he rarely lets anyone see, and for a few seconds I struggle with the overwhelming emotion. “Your brothers are always uncomfortable when I ask about Zack. Even Chase doesn’t really like to talk about him. Do you still visit him? How is he?”

  JD nods. “The same. He’ll always be the same, until the day he takes his last breath.” He looks down at where my hand rests on his skin. “I’ll be right back. Sumter, let’s go buddy.”

  The whiff of humanity lingers in the kitchen after he leaves, competing with the delicious smells from the oven. And right now, I’m the one who’s lost.

  Something is going on here. There’s more to this than he’s telling me. He hasn’t really changed. I see too many glimpses of the past in him. I look out the kitchen window onto the sprawling yard. The moon shines through the trees creating lacey shadows on the cold ground. Or maybe I just want to see the flashes of good. Maybe I need to believe I wasn’t a foolish teenager who fell in love with a boy who only wanted her for dirty sex. Maybe I need to believe that the tiny, tiny place in my heart, wedged into a far distant corner, the one that will always belong to him, isn’t simply wasted space.

  Gabrielle, you’re a grown woman. No more excuses. No more fairy tales. You can’t rewrite those chapters of your life.

  The timer goes off just as JD returns. The vulnerability is gone, replaced with that cocky swagger he hides behind. He grabs a pair of quilted mitts from a hook above the stove, and pulls a casserole from the oven.

  “Woah. This sucker is hot.” Clouds of steam rise from the baking dish, and I hear the cracklings sizzle and pop. I crane my neck to get a better look. It’s Lally’s special red rice, with sausage, chicken, bits of ham, and shrimp.

  “Why don’t you have a seat. I usually eat there.” He points to a table tucked between a large bay window and a cavernous stone fireplace with a pot belly stove tucked inside. The warmth from the fireplace soothes my frazzled nerves.

  “I think it’s more comfortable in here,” he says, “but we can eat in the dining room, if you prefer.”

  Comfortable.

  Everything this isn’t. Everything it will never be.

  “This is fine.” I place my glass on the table, and cling to the back of a padded chair. I recognize the handwork on the fabric. Neat, precise stitches in a multitude of colors. My fingers graze the raised pattern. I feel his eyes on me while I examine the cross stitch.

  “They were a housewarming gift from your mother.”

  “Mmhm,” is all I can muster. A gift from your mother—the same mother I’m using to blackmail you.

  The scent of humanity has evaporated. All traces gone, as though it never existed. There really are no words to describe how surreal this whole scene feels. How depraved he is. It’s as though I’m wading through a swamp in the black of night, unsure when the monstrous creature will emerge to drag me into the murky water. I only know it will happen.

  He sets a plate in front of me. Rice, okra, and a generous wedge of cornbread. Growing up, it was my favorite meal. I requested it for my birthday every year. Oh, God! My face burns with shame. “You—you told Lally, I’d be here.”

  He shakes his head. “No. She’s always nagging me about what to prepare for dinner. I asked her to make it for last night.” He shrugs. “It’s better the second day, anyway.”

  Lally cooked at Wildwood for all of us. She’s ten years older than me, and has always been like a big sister or a young aunt who I went to for advice and trusted to keep my secrets. She can’t know anything about my arrangement with JD. If there is an arrangement. I would die if she knew.

  It’s all delicious, but I can’t swallow more than a couple forkfuls. Even after the drink, my insides are shaking. My grandmother always told me, if you don’t lie, you’ll never have to worry about keeping your story straight, and if you don’t do shameful things, you’ll never be ashamed. Easier said than done.

  I can feel his eyes on me as I push the rice around the plate. “You should eat. Lally would be so disappointed to know you just picked at her food.”

  “What would disappoint Lally is you treating me like a toy. Like I’m less than a person. Like I’m as disposable as a paper napkin. She’d beat your ass with a broom if she knew.”

  “That she would.” He breaks off a piece of my untouched cornbread and pops it into his mouth. “Tell me about The Gatehouse.”

  If you don’t like the subject just change it to something you do want to talk about. Right JD? “I thought you knew everything you cared to know.”

  “I want to hear it from you. The kinds of things you worry about, and things about the hotel you love. When you own a business there’s always something to worry about, but the worries should always be outweighed by the things that bring you satisfaction. The stuff that makes you happy.” He shrugs. “Otherwise you should find something else to do.”

  “Why do you want to know? So you can have something else to hold over me?”

  He pushes his empty plate away. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Gabrielle.” JD watches while I stare into my dish, seeing nothing. I feel the sear on my skin for long excruciating minutes, while I try to figure out a way around this lunacy. My mind races in circles, until I’m ready to scream.

  “Do you want some coffee?” he asks quietly.

  “No. No more. I want to know where my mother is. And Dean. His sister called me late last night. His phone is off, and they haven’t heard from him in over a week. They’re worried something terrible has happened to him. Did it? Is he still alive?”

  JD taps a finger on the edge of his plate, hard enough to make the fork rattle. “Your former fiancé has relocated to a warmer climate. Last I heard he was alive and well. I’ll pass the message along, and make sure he gets word to his family.”

  My head is pounding. “You bou
ght him off?”

  “It sounds so unsavory when you put like that. But yes, in a manner of speaking, I suppose I did.”

  I couldn’t care less where Dean is, as long as he’s alive, but the idea that JD would barge into my life and buy off my fiancé because it suits his plan—and that Dean would take the money and disappear—it’s infuriating. All of it.

  I glance at JD. He was livid about my bruises. Livid. There’s no way he rewarded Dean with a wad of cash. I don’t believe it. “Where is he?”

  “Are you sorry he’s out of your life?”

  “Did you kill him?”

  JD digs his fingers into the tabletop, and the long, sinewy muscles in his forearms contract. “I am not a killer. At least not yet. But if you keep talking about him, that might change. Because every time I hear his name from the woman with bruises on her throat, bruises he put there, I want to find the sonofabitch and murder him with my bare hands. Not one more word about him,” he snarls.

  This might be over for now, because you’re not going to tell me anything more tonight, but we will revisit this conversation, JD. “My parents? I want to speak to them.”

  “You can call them when we’re finished.”

  Fine. I’m anxious to speak to them, but this will give me a chance to iron out the details before I talk to them. It will be good to have some sense of exactly what I’m dealing with here. Is this a one-time thing? Weekly? Nightly? I need to know before I make any decisions. “What exactly does this—arrangement—you’re proposing, entail?”

  “I won’t delve into every salacious detail, because I know you’re fully aware of what it entails.”

  Not an answer. “What do you expect from me?”

  “You don’t really want me to spell it out.”

  “But I do. Spell it out, JD. Tell me exactly how you plan on degrading me, as though I’m not human. Go ahead,” I challenge. “I’m sure it’ll bring you lots of pleasure.”

  “Gabrielle, you test my patience too often. One day you’ll get more than you bargained for.”