Page 65 of The Devil’s Lair

After a blissful few days in Cornwall, we return to Oakleigh. After putting the altercation with La Salle behind us, the honeymoon had gone brilliantly, and I truly believe Rebecca took a giant leap forward in trusting me. Even though she told me she hadn’t talked like that with her therapist, I’m certain those sessions had a lot to do with her feeling able to share with me.

“Forgive me, I have some business to attend to. I won’t be long. A few hours.”

She unclips her belt and Isla’s. “That’s okay. Nothing wrong, I hope?”

“Not at all. With any luck, I’ll be home in time for dinner.” I ruffle Isla’s hair. “Take care of Mama for me.”

My family enter the house. I wait until the front door closes. “Did you locate him?”

Benton twists in the front seat. “Yes, sir.”

“Then, let’s go.”

It takes an hour to drive into central London. Caleb stops outside the Houses of Parliament, and Benton and I exit the car. We enter the building. A guard clocks us and ushers us through the security checks. Once inside, I turn to Benton.

“Wait here. I won’t be long.”

The chamber is in recess, which means I’m likely to find Preston in the members’ only bar. Sure enough, he’s sitting with a few of his cronies, swigging top-shelf alcohol on taxpayers money. He sees me coming and stands.

“De Vil. What are you doing here? Come to gloat?”

“No.” I sweep my gaze over his companions. “Leave us.”

Not a single one refuses. They all rise and move to the other side of the bar.

Preston puffs out his chest. “If this isn’t about the child, then what are you doing here?”

I rankle at his passive description of Isla and step closer. I’ve got a good four inches on him, and I’m three decades younger. I use both to my advantage.

“If you’d rather not bury your remaining son next to that abusive piece of shit rotting in the ground where he deserves to be, then you will keep him away from my wife. And if he, or anyone you’re related or connected to, hires another private investigator to stalk Rebecca, I promise you, I will make you regret it.”

He folds his arms across his chest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but anymore threats toward my family will result in a visit from the police.”

I laugh. “You’re kidding, right? You and I both know that’s an empty threat. Here’s one that isn’t: Rebecca is a De Vil now, not a La Salle, and that comes with certain protections for her and for Isla. I can make your life extremely difficult with one phone call to the Prime Minister. So, like I said, keep Rory away from Rebecca, and we won’t have a problem. Let him off his leash again, though, and I’ll rain more fucking consequences down on your head than you can handle. I’ll drown you in them. Do I make myself clear?”

Bluster gone, he dips his chin once. “Neither Felicity nor I were aware Rory had hired someone to follow Rebecca. I will deal with it.”

“Good.” I’m halfway across the bar when Preston calls me back. I pivot. “Yes?”

“Is she all right? Isla, I mean?”

“She’s thriving, no thanks to you.”

“We only did what any loving grandparents would do. Our son is dead.”

Rather than continue this conversation for the entire bar to hear, I return to where he’s standing. “And who’s fault is that? Because it isn’t Rebecca’s.”

His jaw scissors from side to side. “We’d like to see her. Isla.”

I raise my eyebrows and blink. “Excuse me?”

“Felicity is distraught. She’s our only grandchild, our last link to Marcus.”

These fucking people. “Then, perhaps you should’ve thought about that before trying to rip her from her mother’s arms.”

I wheel away.

“Tobias?”