Page 62 of The Devil’s Lair

He’s lying. “You’re playing in an arena you’re not qualified for, La Salle.”

“Whatever. You married a fucking whore, bro. Did you know she shagged half my brother’s friends? Bet she hasn’t told you that, has she?”

I draw back my arm and slam my fist into his face. His nose explodes, and his legs buckle. He slides down the wall clutching his face. Blood oozes between his fingers.

“Rebecca is my wife. If I ever hear you speak about her like that again, I will kill you. It isn’t an idle threat so, please, make my fucking day and do it.”

“You’ll regret the day you met her. Mark my words.”

I drop to my haunches. “If you come near her or Isla ever again, it’s you who will regret the day you met me. She’s a De Vil now, and we protect our own.”

Rising to my feet, I brush imaginary dust off my jacket as though touching Rory La Salle has infected me. I stare down at him, goading him to get up and fight like a man. The fucking coward stays slumped on the floor.

I sidle through the tables to the counter and hand Vanessa a wad of cash.

“That’s for a lovely breakfast, to replace the frame, and for a cleaner to wipe that shit stain up off the floor.”

Chapter Nineteen

TOBIAS

I exit the café, knuckles throbbing, to find Caleb standing outside. Benton must have called him and had him come to meet me. He may be my driver, but all of our drivers and bodyguards are fully trained to protect us if necessary.

“You missed all the fun.” I shake out my hand, then rub my bruised knuckles.

“Shame.” He motions in front. “The car is over here, sir.”

“Thanks.” I open the passenger door and get inside, waiting for Caleb to get in. “I need you to look into something for me.”

“Go ahead.”

“Rory La Salle didn’t turn up here by accident. He knew where we were, and he wanted to frighten Rebecca. Find out who he’s paid to trail us, and show them they backed the wrong horse.”

He nods. “Leave it with me, sir.”

When I return to the cottage, Rebecca is in the kitchen, her hands wrapped around a hot drink. Isla’s sitting at the table drawing in the coloring book Vanessa gave her at the café.

“Hey.”

She lifts her head, and her bottom lip wobbles. “Hey.”

“Are you all right?”

A tear falls onto her cheek, then a second, and a third. “Would you…?” She shakes her head. “Never mind.”

I pull out a chair and sit next to her. “What do you need? If it’s in my power, I’ll give it to you.”

She presses her fingertips to her lips as though she wants to say something, but she’s not sure she should, so she’s trying to shove the words back in. All the while, more silent tears fall. I’ve noticed that when Rebecca cries, she hardly ever makes a sound. I can’t help wondering if that’s so she doesn’t upset Isla, or because she learned it drew the wrong kind of attention from her bastard of a husband. Probably both.

“Tell me.”

She looks up at me through glossy eyes. “Would you… hold me? Just for a little bit.”

Without hesitation, I push back my chair and stand. Reaching out, I take her hands and gently ease her to her feet, then wrap my arms around her. This, I can handle. This, I want to handle. She feels so fragile in my arms, even though I know she isn’t. No one could have survived what she has without being strong as fuck. My brave little Wren.

Her small fists curl into my jacket lapels, and she rests her cheek on my shoulder. She’s stiff at first, on edge. Gradually, she relaxes. I rub circles on her back, her muscles relaxing beneath my palm. Her tears stop and she lets out this contented sigh.

It’s the best sound I’ve ever heard.