Page 90 of Ruined By a Devil

“Get out,” I snap, my voice rising as I reach into my bag for my phone. “I’m calling him.”

Before my fingers can pull out the phone, heavy boots slam against the carpet behind me and the two guards who were supposed to be standing outside the lounge door step inside.

“What are you doing?” I demand, doing my best to hide my trembling hands. “Where are the other two guards?”

Neither of them answers.

Before I can scream for Cain, before I can run toward the window, the larger of the two guards lunges forward, a heavy hand clamping over my mouth, cutting off my breath and choking back the sound I desperately try to make. The second guard is behind me in a flash, wrenching my arms back with force, pinning my wrists behind my spine so hard my shoulders pop.

My phone slips from my fingers, making a noise as it hits the carpet.

I kick back with the heel of my boot, connecting hard with his shin, but the guard doesn’t even flinch. He just tightens his grip, dragging me backward off my feet.

“Quiet,” a harsh voice hisses in my ear.

Panic surges through my veins, completely blinding. The airport security officer steps forward, casually picking up my dropped phone and slipping it into his pocket. He opens a heavy, unmarked side door I hadn't noticed in the corner of the room, leading out into the gray, concrete labyrinth of the service corridor.

It was all a setup.

They hauled me into this room just long enough to isolate me from Cain, from the loyal men, and from Malachi. Right now, somewhere out on the tarmac, Malachi is still standing under the wing of a phantom plane, arguing with a dead man, completely unaware that the ground has just opened up beneath us and swallowed me whole.

When the gray walls of the service corridor gives way to the blinding glare of the outer tarmac, and the low, heavy drone of an idling engine makes my brain hurt, I notice a black van waiting beside a rusted side-gate.

The guard holding my left arm shoves me forward, aiming for the open side door of the vehicle, but I drop my entire body weight straight down, pulling my shoulder hard against the awkward angle of the guard's grip, not allowing them to throw me inside. The sudden, unexpected dead weight wrenches his wrist, causing his fingers to slip off my arm.

The second his grip loosens, I spin and drive my elbow backward into his ribs with everything I have. The guard lets out a sharp, surprised grunt, stumbling sideways, the exact counter-maneuver Malachi drilled into me.

Before the second man can react, I drop low, sweeping my hand straight to his belt. My fingers wrap around the cold, textured grip of the heavy hunting knife he carries in a leather sheath. I yank it free, the snap tearing open with a sharp pop, and slash upward before he can block me.

The steel blade slices deep across his forearm causing the blood to instantly drench his sleeve, looking disgusting on the gray fabric. The man curses, clutching his arm, his grip on me shattering completely.

Freedom is just within reach and I turn toward the open gate full of hope.

That’s when a shadow appears in front of me and a heavy hand slams into my collarbone with insane force, knocking the breath straight out of my lungs and sending me crashing backward onto the hard asphalt.

I look up only to face my worst nightmare.

Nolan Devlin.

He is standing over me, the familiar psychotic look in his eyes. I notice that he isn't wearing a suit today, which I assume makes it harder for people to recognize him. No one would look at the guy wearing a simple gray shirt and jeans when they look for the head of the Devlin family.

“Struggling doesn’t suit a princess like you, Jade.” He looks down at me like I’m an insect he stepped on by accident.

“Fuck you, Nolan,” I reply, trying to scramble back but he moves with terrifying speed, reminding me of the bad guys in horror movies who somehow always survive and always get the protagonist.

My heart sinks at the realization that I’m one of those protagonists and the monster has just gotten me. He kicks my wrist away from the knife, pins my chest to the ground with his knee, and yanks my arms behind my back with a sickening jolt. The sudden pain brings tears to my eyes, but I refuse to let him think he’s defeated me.

“Pick her up,” Nolan orders to one of the guards.

Two guards immediately obey and haul me upright by my arms. My feet barely touch the ground as they drag me across the open tarmac toward a white private jet with its twin turbines so loud I’m worried they might permanently deafen me. The airstair is already down and the cabin door open and waiting.

Nolan walks beside us, his posture tense and his eyes scanning every movement around us.

“By the time your golden-boy husband realizes you’re missing,” Nolan speaks, leaning in close as the wind whips our hair, “we’ll be halfway across the Atlantic. He can tear down every warehouse I own, but he’ll never find you.”

I desperately continue my attempts to get out of their grips, refusing to surrender as long as I’m breathing. “You can go to hell!”

Nolan’s grin vanishes completely. “Drag her if you have to.”