The Devil’s Bargain: Chapter 3

LINCOLN

It’s the only one with a light on in the living room. Even if I didn’t know which of the quaint, ranch-style houses were hers, it would have been easy to pick it out. It seems like the rest of the neighborhood is asleep.

Good. She was terrified someone heard the gunshot, that one of her nosy neighbors would’ve called the cops, but she forgot that she still lives in Springfield. We don’t rely on the cops unless, like me, we can use them.

And if any report did come in, Burns will handle it. I’m not worried about that. Not worried about the missing cruiser, either. Of course I beat him here. My leadfoot pressed down on the gas, I beat my fastest time across town by at least ten minutes.

There are two cars in the drive. The tiny white car is Ava’s. I recognize the flashy red one, too. Her most recent lover was a smarmy mechanic named Joseph Maglione, also known as Joey. At thirty-four, a year younger than Ava and I, he lives in a place on the East End.

When I had Tanner run him, nothing popped, though I didn’t like how he was an East Ender. That’s Damien’s territory, and I kept a closer eye on their relationship than the dentist she dated and the fellow teacher I actually thought she might marry.

It didn’t last. After three months, they fizzled out, and the tightness in my chest whenever I knew Ava was involved with another man seemed to ease up a little.

Tonight? I might have yanked my tie off, tossing it in the back seat of my car despite leaving my suit jacket on in the muggy, summer heat, but I feel like I’m being fucking squeezed.

I missed something. That much is obvious as I cross her front yard in big steps, eager to reach her. Whatever happened tonight, I missed something and Ava was in danger.

Never fucking again, I promise as I lift my fist, rapping on the door.

She must have been waiting for me because, the second the echo dies, I hear her sweet murmur come through the door.

“Who is it?”

Ava…

“It’s me.”

Over the pulse in my skull, I hear the scrape of the lock, the turn of the knob, a soft gasp as she pulls in the door, and then—

My heart breaks. No. That’s not right. The stone inside of my chest has been nothing but fault lines that splintered and spread from the moment I had to turn my back on this woman. Having her look up at me with hope on her face and tears glistening her eyes, it fucking shatters.

“Link. You came.”

Of course I did.

“Are you going to let me in?”

Her gaze darts over my shoulder, looking at the quiet road. After a moment, she sighs, then nods. “Uh, yeah. Of course. Please.”

Ava backs away, leaving me enough room to maneuver my bulk through her doorway.

It stinks in here. Of blood and death and shit, with a hint of fear and the acrid stink of vomit. It wouldn’t take someone in my line of business to know something bad went down in here, even without the corpse in the middle of her living room.

Jesus Christ. All I got out of Ava was that she used the gun I bought her to shoot an intruder in her house, and that while she swore it was self-defense—not that I would’ve cared regardless—I’m beginning to think it was a little more than that.

Vividly aware of her quickened breaths behind me, I force myself to look away from her for the moment. She called me for help. She didn’t call me because she finally, finally realized that she’s the one that got away, or that I’ve spent fifteen years waiting for the goddamn phone I’ve carried around with me to ring. So she called me Link on the phone before. It’s not Link she needs—it’s Devil, and I know how to be him far better than the type of man who can take this beautiful, distraught creature and calm her down.

Tugging my suit jacket around me, I allow my gaze to flicker over the room. I’ve only seen it from outside the window—though I’ve been working with Tanner to find a way to get cameras in here like I had in her last important—but it has Ava’s stamp on ever bit of it. From the cozy furniture to the oak coffee table in the middle of the room, the TV mounted on the wall, and the lush carpet covered in blood and brains, it’s hers, and I’m viscerally angry that the blood and brains and dead bastard cooling on the floor has ruined it for her.

He’s on his back, half his face blown away. There’s a towel next to him, spread out on the carpet, but he’s like the ugliest fucking fixture in the middle of the room.

I’ve seen my share of DBs. Been responsible for most of them, too. A little blood and guts does nothing to affect me, but when Ava moves just enough that she’s not only in my line of sight, but standing beneath the light, my whole body goes tight.

Her hair is mussed. She never leaves this house with a single strand out of place, and even when she’s spending the day in, she prides herself on her hair. Her t-shirt is hanging off one shoulder. Her tiny shorts are twisted.

I look at her face. Deceptively innocent, but still the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever known—whether at twenty, or thirty-five—I know every inch of her intimately. From the freckle over her lip to the way her right eyelashes are a shade darker than her left, I know Ava.

And my Ava doesn’t have red marks dotting her cheeks like that. Four of them, one on her left cheek, three on the other, someone squeezed her face hard enough to leave an imprint behind. By morning, they’ll be bruises, but the red stands out to me now.

An intruder, huh? What exactly did he break into her house to do? Pretty single woman who attracts the worst sort of darkness in a man… whose clothing is disheveled, and who had to pull a trigger to get him to stop?

Almost as reflex, I slip my hand beneath my suit jacket, patting the Sig in my holster, making sure I still have it at the ready.

She killed him, but if she hadn’t? I would have.

And I would have drawn it out a lot longer than a single merciful bullet to the face.

Something must have passed over mine because Ava draws a few steps away from me, even more frightened than before.

I don’t want her to regret calling me. Pulling the expressionless mask I’m known for onto my features, I move past her, getting a better look at the man she killed.

My gaze is drawn to the tattoo winking up at me.

\Fuck!

How did I miss it before?

Shit, I know how. Already having Ava nearby has me making stupid mistakes because there’s no other explanation for me missing the dark ink on the bastard’s forearm during my earlier sweep. It’s not like it’s hidden. When his dead body crumpled on the floor, his arm splayed out, and there it is.

A dragonfly.

Damien Lubelulla’s symbol that he has inked on every member of his Family.

I swallow my curse and barely restrain the urge to bloody my shoe, kicking the worthless piece of shit’s corpse away from me. Only knowing I’d make a bigger mess in Ava’s living room and probably scare her further keeps me from giving in to my rage.

I thought she was off-limits. For fifteen years, I made it clear that none of my men would ever target Ava. Most of the soldiers thought it was because she was a respected teacher at Springfield Elementary, while those higher up in the syndicate guess there’s more than that. Only my underboss has any clue that I’ve spent the last fifteen years watching her from the shadows, and that’s because Royce caught me doing it a couple of summers ago.

But I made a mistake. A big one.

She was off-limits to my syndicate, yeah. What about Damien’s Family?

Walking back over to the front door—no Burns yet, but he’ll be here soon—I close the door behind me and turn the lock. Then, nodding at Ava, I sidle past her again. I keep my face turned away so that she can’t see the murder in my gaze; as fragile as she is right now, I can’t risk her thinking the look is meant for her. Snagging the tousled blanket hanging off the back of her couch, I snap my wrist, covering the corpse with it.

I’ll buy her a new blanket. I’ll buy her a hundred. But, right now, I’m not going to make Ava stay in this room with the remains of that bastard, a reminder to both of us that she was forced to protect herself.

“I… thank you. I— I didn’t think to cover Joey.”

So, I was right. The car out front… knowing it was one of Ava’s exes… everything added up to the dead bastard being her last boyfriend—but I have to double-check.

“Joey Maglione?”

Ava frowns. “Uh… yeah, actually.” Understanding is slow to dawn, and when it does, she trembles. “Shit, Link, did you know him? Was he you friend? Oh my God—”

“He wasn’t my friend,” I tell her, using enough force to bring her back from the brink.

That’s true. Even if I wouldn’t have considered anyone with a dragonfly tat an enemy because he’s part of the Libellula Family and I’m a Sinner, I hated Joey Maglione for another reason.

He had Ava. One of the lucky few she chose after I gave her up, if only for a few months at the beginning of this year, he could call Ava his.

I knew it. I knew whenever she got a new boyfriend, partner, lover, fling. I’d had Tanner run this one, too, and he came back clean. No ties to any crime rings in Springfield, but whether our intel was old or he recently joined up, it doesn’t matter. Someone fucked up and now Ava is paying the price.

A Dragonfly in her cozy home. It could be because they found out she had ties to me, or it could just be coincidence. Either way, he hurt her, now he’s dead, and she needs me.

I gesture for her to take a seat on the couch. Shaky, distraught, her pretty green eyes dazed over, she trips over her feet, dropping down on the farthest cushion. Following her lead, giving her some space, I brace my twitchy fingers against the couch’s arm.

“Okay, Ava. I’m here now.” I’ll take care of everything. “Just, first, tell me what the fuck that prick did to you.”