Page 117 of The Devil

“You can’t do this!” Senna calls out. “You can’t⁠—”

“Shut the fuck up, Councilor.” I turn to my brother. “Sev?” I hold a gun out to him.

“No. Please. Please! I helped you!” Senna begs.

Sev steps forward. “I prefer,” Sev starts, gesturing to one of the discarded daggers.

“Always knew you had it in you, brother,” I say, bending to get it for him, wincing as I do because I am shot and flesh wound or not it still hurts like a mother fucker.

Sev takes the dagger and steps toward Senna. “Say hello to our grandfather when you get to hell,” he says, then grips hold of the man’s hair to jerk his head backward and slices his throat.

I cock my head, watching. “Amazing how that spurts, isn’t it?”

Amal watches the body as it lands with a thud on the stone floor.

“We should go,” Cassian says. The fire has reached the wooden rafters of the ceiling, the heat becoming unbearable.

Cotton barks in agreement.

I take Amal’s hand and we head to the exit, soldiers carrying the three we lost.

The rain has stopped, but clouds threaten more. We hurry back to the door we came from. Back into that terrible place where the quartet is still playing, the people attending the party oblivious to what happened at the chapel, too far from it to hear or see much until it’s too late. Until those bodies are burned up and no one is left to tell the tale of would-be rape. Of murder.

43

AMAL

Three days later

Devil’s Peak

All that took place lasted no more than seventy-two hours.

Jet finding me in that church. Our marriage. Severin’s call about the watch and our ill-timed trip to the antique shop. The island. All of it. although it feels like a lifetime, it only lasted three days.

Now, I’m curled up on the couch of Jet’s impossible home, Cotton beside me, her head on my lap, a mug of tea in my hands. I don’t need the blanket at my side. Cotton’s body is warm enough as I stare out at the rising sun.

“She’s not allowed on the couch,” Jet says, coming into the living room. He’s dressed in his usual black from head to toe, his hair still wet from his shower.

“Just this once,” I say as Cotton looks up at Jet with an expression meant to pull at his heartstrings.

He takes her face in his hands and kisses the top of her head. “Just this once,” he says.

I smile because really, he’s a complete softie when it comes to her. And me.

Cotton lays her head back down and closes her eyes while I gently scratch behind her right ear. It’s what she likes most.

After making a cup of coffee for himself, he comes to sit beside me. I notice he’s barefoot. I always like seeing him like that. It makes him more human somehow. Because for the last week, I’ve been sleeping at his side and each night, I woke at exactly the same time, 3:33 in the morning, and spent a few minutes watching him. Just watching. Like he might disappear or not be real or something. I don’t know. If even one thing had gone differently, where would we be now?

That thought makes me shudder.

“Hey. What is it?” he asks, wrapping an arm around me, squeezing me close.

I wipe away a tear on his shirt. “Nothing. Just cold,” I lie.

He looks down at me, and I know he knows I’m lying but he doesn’t mention it. “I see you watch me, you know.”

“What are you talking about?”