Page 120 of A Deal with the Devil

Chapter Thirty

Devil.

For a moment, everyone in the room froze.

Kitty’s heart leapt in her chest when Devil filled the doorway, pale green eyes cold and sharp. The knife wavered at her throat, pricking her skin.

“Portsmouth, get your goddamn hands off her.” The command was a sword at Portsmouth’s throat, in exchange for the dagger at hers. Portsmouth’s blood was already on the floor, only he had not realized it. He was finished. Kitty’s frantic pulse was not quite convinced, but the rest of her knew it. Her bones understood it, her own blood.

She stayed very still while still trying to ease away from the sharp blade. Devil’s gaze roamed over her, assessing, reassuring. “You’re all right.” It was not a question.

“Yes,” she whispered. She dared not nod.

“I will slit her throat right now.” Portsmouth spat.

Devil’s glance might as well have been a cannon ball whistling toward Portsmouth’s head. The earl tensed despite himself. “She’s bleeding, Portsmouth.”

“She’ll bleed a lot more if you don’t get out of here and take everyone with you.”

“There is no scenario where you hurt her in any way that does not end with you choking on your blood right here in this room.” It was a promise.

“Evie, you have to run,” Kitty said quietly, trying not to move against the blade.

“No.”

“Caroline might be hurt. Take her and go—”

She broke off when Portsmouth yanked on her hair. “Shut up.”

She wanted to fight back, to bite his hand, incapacitate him in some way. But the galling truth was that he was physically stronger than she was, and he was at an advantage.

“I’m not hurt,” Caroline said from somewhere to Kitty’s left.

“Oh, thank God,” Kitty replied.

“Everyone shut up.” Portsmouth was used to being in control of every room he entered. He was not accustomed to being afraid, and anyone could see Devil scared him.

To be fair, Kitty had never seen him look so…bloodcurdling. Vengeful. Ominous.

“All of your men are gone,” he informed Portsmouth. “In fact, one of them was so kind as to inform me of your whereabouts. You’re alone, Portsmouth.”

“I don’t need them.” But his voice had changed. Kitty heard it, felt it in the way the knife pressed to her neck.

The front door slammed open, echoing down the hall. Devil stopped Pierce, who had been summoned by the gunfire, without taking his eyes off Kitty. “Priya is fine. Don’t move.”

Pierce subsided, but only barely. His curse blistered the air.

“If you let Kitty go now, you have a chance at getting out of here,” Devil said to Portsmouth. “If you don’t, you have no chance. Not ever. Not anywhere.”

Portsmouth shivered despite having every conceivable advantage. But he did not release Kitty.

“No more chances,” Devil said softly.

A sound came from behind Kitty, like a poker hitting the hearthstone. It was just enough to startle Portsmouth, to break his concentration. His gaze flickered to the side.

Devil was on him.

He went for the dagger, prying Portsmouth’s hand from Kitty’s throat. He slipped between them when Kitty stumbled forward, and then he brought Portsmouth’s hand down in a vicious arc, stabbing him in the thigh with his own blade. Portsmouth grunted in pain, blood blooming and dripping down his leg.