Page 11 of The Devil

The dog stands at his side and studies me, taking my measure, and I get the feeling she would tear anyone apart who came near him and there’s some strange, broken part of me that loves her for it. Loves her for all that tenderness she very clearly feels for her master.

“Is that so surprising?”

“Well, yeah,” I say, crouching down to offer her my hand. She ambles toward me, cautious. She makes a little growling noise which I admit scares me. She must be eighty pounds of solid muscle and sharp teeth.

“Hey. None of that,” Jet says to her, his tone final. The dog glances up at him then turns back to me, no more growling and, after sniffing my hand, decides it’s safe to press the top of her head into my palm. “She won’t hurt you,” Jet reassures me.

“I know,” I say. “You’re just scared I’ll hurt you, aren’t you?” I ask her, scratching her thick fur feeling how sturdy she is, how strong. “Because you’re a clever girl,” I add on because most people majorly suck.

“That she is,” Jet says. I look up at him and when I’m distracted, the dog almost knocks me on my butt to get my attention back. “Hey now, Cotton Eye, take it easy,” Jet tells her, snapping his fingers and pointing to her bed in the corner. “She’ll knock you down if you’re not careful. Don’t let the limp fool you. She fakes it,” he says and I can hear his pride, his love for her.

“Cotton Eye?” I ask.

Cotton Eye looks disappointed and for a moment I’m not sure she’s going to obey but Jet raises an eyebrow and the dog moves off.

I straighten to stand.

“Well, just Cotton technically but her eye was… let’s just say not as pretty as it is now when I first found her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone had beat the shit out of her and my guess is tried to throw her off the cliff. She’d landed on a boulder just below. Lucky girl. I heard her whimpering in the wind and rescued her, and we’ve been together ever since.”

“Oh my God. How could anyone hurt a dog?” I ask, looking at Cotton who is now looking at me as if she knows what we’re talking about. She makes a sad little sound and Jet shakes his head, although I see his smile. He gives her a treat.

“She’ll eat the whole house if I let her.”

“How long ago did you rescue her? And how? The cliffs of Devil’s Peak are treacherous.”

“Couple years now. And I just did. I wasn’t going to leave her there to die all alone.”

I’m not sure which part of that surprises me more. “What kind of dog is she?”

“Mix between a Cane Corso and Dogue de Bourdeaux.”

“Is she blind in that eye?”

He nods. “Doesn’t seem to bother her though. Come on.”

He crosses the concrete floor to a wall of windows that must be twelve feet high at least. The room itself isn’t huge, but it’s laid out thoughtfully. All the walls, apart from the glass doors, are the natural rock the house was carved into or out of, jagged and curving. Everything is gray or black to match the mountain and the sea below. A sleek kitchen stands at the far end, the gold veins in the black marble countertop on the island offering a stark relief. What must be a custom-made minimalist leather sofa is set to look out at the incredible view, the space expertly shielded from the weather with the curving of the mountain almost as if it were tucked inside its protective embrace. A very modern steel fireplace is suspended from the ceiling. Jet pushes a button on the wall and the flames flare up.

“What is… how did you build this?” My heels click on the shiny concrete. No carpet here. The coffee table has chrome legs and a glass top, every aspect of the place all sharp edges and almost brutal in design.

There’s no dining table, I notice. Only two barstools at the counter.

He walks ahead of me to a keypad beside the glass doors, punches in a code and the wall of glass begins to slide open.

“They’re doors?”

He nods, smiling a tight smile. Guilt gnaws at me.

The sound of the Atlantic raging below is awe inspiring, a display of the power of nature that we think we can control. The soundproofing is unreal because I’m not sure he’d hear me if I spoke now.

Once the doors open fully, I step out onto the balcony suspended over the angry ocean and wind instantly catches my hair, whipping it around my face, the salty air bracing. I breathe it in, hugging his jacket close for warmth.

Jet walks up beside me carrying a thick, faux fur blanket which he places over my shoulders, and I see another one draped over the arm of the sofa. They’re the only soft things in this hard place.

“This is your house?” I ask again, not quite believing it.