It must be midday by the time we reach Devil Tower. It’s strange to drive through Astley, toward my fate, in the bright, cheerful sunlight, while unaware people walk around on the sidewalk, going about their day. Tony pulls into the parking lot, then grabs my arm and heads over to the elevator. He takes out a jet-black badge, which apparently gives him access to the top levels, because we go straight up to the floor that I’ve already been on once before, when I stupidly hid in the kitchen with Josh.
I’m back in very different circumstances, stumbling along and wincing with each step, the bruises and lacerations from mybeating burning every part of me.
We stop in front of an office and Tony knocks on the door.
Even though Tony never gave me back my glasses, I can see enough to recognize the guy who opens the door, before turning a shocked face at me. It’s Vincent Murilla, the youngest Devil, who replaced Vale Jameson after the latter’s death.
“Got her,” says Tony with a grin. “Is Mr. Wells in?”
“Uhm. Is that Piper Day?”
“Yeah. Is Mr. Wells in? Should I bring her to the cell?”
“Damien is in a meeting. What the hell did you do to her?”
“Just punched her a few times. She killed my partner.”
“Just punched her… afewtimes?” echoes Vincent, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You call that just a few punches? You fucking battered her. She looks like a veal cutlet or something.”
He guffaws stupidly at his own joke.
I grit my teeth at that unflattering comparison. I don’t know why I get so annoyed when people make fun of my appearance. I’ve been mocked since I was little. And it’s crazy that even as I’m staring death in the face, it still pisses me off.
“She killed my partner,” repeats Tony, looking just as annoyed as me.
“Yeah, well, not sure Damien will like that. But whatever, that’s between the two of you.”
“I don’t see why he would care. He’s going to kill her anyway.”
“Maybe, but he’s not a monster. He doesn’t torture people for the fun of it.”
Tony snorts.
“That is, not most of the time. Anyway, bring her down to the cell, yeah. Damien will be along when his meeting is over.”
My heart sinks. Even though I know Damien Wells is behind all this, some part of me clung to Vincent’s words.He’s not a monster.
The man cheerfully tugging me along toward the elevatordefinitely is.
And whereas there’s a chance Damien Wells would kill me mercifully, this man has torture on his mind.
He slams me to the back of the elevator, presses the button for the sub-basement floor, and eyes me with satisfaction.
“The minute we’re downstairs…” He starts threateningly, letting his sentence go unfinished as he hungrily roves his eyes over my body.
It’s all I can do to not be sick. If I had any sense of self-preservation, I would be, because throwing up all over him would probably turn him off from me.
Or maybe it would just make him bash my head in while he had his way with me.
Regardless, I keep my bile down as he grabs me by the arm and pulls me toward the cell. Then he shoves me to the back wall, and I barely have time to take in the tiny space with its grey stone walls, its absence of any medieval torturing device—so different from all the rumors I’ve heard—before he slams my front against it and yanks down my leggings and underwear.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
How the hell am I supposed to kill him when he’s going to fuck me from behind?
My eyes water as I realize I’m about to be raped for nothing.
He’s going to destroy me, and I won’t even be able to save Quill.
