Hell Breaks Loose: A Devil's Rock Novel (16 page)

His burner phone started ringing in the kitchen. He raced to get it, relieved, hoping that Zane was finally calling him with
some news. Only when he answered the phone, it wasn’t his brother’s voice greeting him.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Reid Allister.”

It had been years, but he hadn’t forgotten Otis Sullivan’s voice. His free hand immediately curled into a fist and he felt
like punching something.

“In the flesh,” he replied. “Well, more or less.”

Sullivan chuckled. “You got some balls, I’ll tell you that. Busting out of the hospital like you did. No one wants to even
admit that they lost you. The state has enough bad press right now as it is.” Sullivan’s laugh deepened, full of smug satisfaction
at his role in said bad press.

“Thanks to you,” Reid returned. “I suppose I owe you for providing me with a distraction.”

“Maybe it was lucky for me that you showed up when you did. Right convenient. I was coming to terms with the fact that Zane
and the boys might have bit off more than they could chew taking the girl.”

Reid didn’t know how to respond to that. He just held silent, all of him tense, blood pumping hard through his veins. Unfortunately,
he couldn’t reach through the phone like he yearned to do. 

Sullivan continued, “But then you always were good, weren’t you?”

“Not always. Ended up in prison, didn’t I?” Because he wasn’t smart to know that the tide had turned and he’d fallen out of
favor with Sullivan. He didn’t sniff out the trap before he’d stepped into it.

“And ended out of it, I see.”

“Eleven years later.” Eleven years of his life gone because of Sullivan. A man dead and him to blame. Again, Sullivan’s doing.

“Let’s not rehash old news. You’re out. Let’s look ahead. You do care about the future, don’t you? Zane said you’ve been eager
to talk to me . . . to see me. I can only surmise that means you want to talk about your future in the business.”

Yeah. His fist clenched tighter at his side. Something like that. 

Before he could answer, Sullivan continued, “A man of your talents is an asset, of course. There’s no question of that. No,
when it comes to you, I have other concerns.”

“Such as?” He would do anything, say anything, to get back into the fold. To get close. Sullivan was too out of reach otherwise.
He didn’t just want to kill the man. That would be too easy. He wanted to reveal to the world exactly who Otis Sullivan really
was. In order to do that he had to get close.

“Trust is not easily given by me, Reid. Nor is forgiveness. Maybe you remember that?”

Yeah. He remembered that. He had all those years behind bars as testament to that. He’d stood up to Sullivan back then and
tried walking away. He told Sullivan that he and Zane were out—as in finished and done with him. That had been a mistake.
Sullivan had made sure Reid suffered for that. He’d set him up. Sent him out on one last job. Only when he got there, the
security guard was dead and he didn’t have a chance to get away before the police arrived.

The only advantage he had right now was that Sullivan didn’t know he wanted payback. Sullivan only thought he wanted back
in. He thought he’d succeeded in beating Reid.

The opposite was true, of course. Sullivan had set him up. He had not forgotten that. He never would. He’d say and do whatever
it took for Sullivan to think it was all water under the bridge between them. 

“Yes,” Reid finally answered. “I remember. I want back in.”

“Good, good.” Sullivan’s voice carried through the phone, a dangerous silkiness entering his voice. “Then you’ll prove your
loyalty to me and do as I ask. That is if you want to be back in my graces as you claim . . .”

“I do.”

“According to your brother, you’ve been putting your time to good use and roughing the girl up.”

“I have,” he lied. “Yes, I am. What do you want . . .”

“Good. Wasn’t sure you could do it. You were always a little soft. Guess prison changed you for the better.”

He ground his teeth at the satisfaction he heard in Sullivan’s voice. “Tell me what you want—”

“Kill her.”

The man was insane.

“What?” Reid asked as though he had heard him incorrectly.

“You heard me. I want her dead.”

He sucked in a breath, his mind feverishly working, searching for a way out of this. “I thought you wanted to draw this out
and really torture the president. Do you think that’s such a good idea—”

“That’s always been your problem, Reid. You think too much. You think when you should just be taking orders. Maybe you haven’t
changed, after all. Maybe you’re still that stupid punk who thinks he’s calling the shots here. Is that what you think?”

“No,” he said numbly, his fingers aching where he clutched the phone to his ear. Never in his life had he so badly wanted
to hurt someone. Not even in prison when he’d been at his lowest, when rage had been his closest friend and all he wanted
was to lash out. He wanted to crawl through the phone and break Sullivan with his bare hands. “That’s not what I think.”

“Now why am I having a hard time believing you?”

“I’ll do it.” In that moment, he would say whatever lie he had to. “I’ll kill her. Consider it done.”

The sharp gasp behind him had him spinning around. His mouth dried as his gaze clashed with Grace. He shook his head at her,
trying to convey that he didn’t mean it, that she didn’t need to be afraid of him, but she backed up a step, and just like
that their tenuous truce snapped like a twig.

Sullivan kept talking in his ear, but he could hardly hear what he was saying. All he could see was Grace’s face losing color.
“. . . let us know when it’s done. Call Zane and he’ll give you instructions and tell you where we can meet.”

“Understood,” he said, not looking away from Grace. Even from where he stood he could see the fierce hammer of her pulse at
the base of her throat. In that moment she reminded him of a frightened doe, prepared to bolt.

“Good. We’ll be seeing each other soon, then.” 

He grunted something that must have been satisfactory, because the line went dead in his ear. He lowered the phone to the
counter. “Gracie—”

“No.” She held up her hand, palm face out as though that could ward him off. “Don’t call me that.
You
don’t
get
to call me that. Like we’re friends. Like you’re actually helping me. Like you don’t mean to kill me.”

“I was lying—”

“Oh, really? To me? Or whoever you were talking to?” She rounded the counter, her gaze darting wildly, panicked in her search
for an escape. She made a dart for the door, but he cut her off, light on the balls of his feet. She turned and raced back
into the kitchen, positioning herself behind the small island. As if that would keep him from her if he in fact wanted to
get to her. He could easily vault the damn thing, but he didn’t want to scare her any more than she was.

He flattened his hands on the island counter. “I was just saying that to appease him. You can’t think after everything that
I would do that to you—”

“You’re a liar.” She shook her head, her long braid of dark hair bouncing over her shoulder and partly unraveling. Just like
he was unraveling inside. She looked at him with such terror. “Every time your lips move it’s just lies . . .”

“That’s not true. You don’t believe that.” He took a step to round the island.

She pushed that hand farther out. “Stop. Stop right there.”

He hesitated before continuing, all the while talking to her in a low, coaxing voice. “Be reasonable, Grace. You know me.
You know I won’t—”

Her face screwed up in scorn. “I don’t know you. I know you’re an escaped convict and you’ve been playing with my head since
the moment you walked into my life. I know you belong to a gang of criminals who abduct innocent people.”

Frustration bubbled up inside him. All the ground he’d covered with her, gone. Just like that. And after all he’d done to
try to keep her safe.

“Now listen here, Gracie—”

Her gaze performed a quick scan again, landing on the knife near the cutting board. She snatched it up and brandished it in
front of her, gripping it with both hands.

He lifted his hands and waved them slowly. “Come on, Gracie . . . put the knife down.”

She shook her head, wisps of dark hair escaping the loose braid. “Nuh-uh.”

He lifted his arm, stretching a hand out toward her over the island. “Hand it to me, Gracie. Before someone gets hurt.”

“Yeah. By someone you mean
you
.”

He hesitated, studying her carefully before continuing, “What are you going to do, Gracie? Are you gonna use that knife on
me?”

“Yes.” She stabbed toward him as he inched another step around the island. “Maybe.” She matched his step, sidling around and
keeping herself directly across from him.

“You wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t hurt anyone.” He kept coming and she kept retreating. He took that as a good sign. She
didn’t
want
to use the knife. That was something at least.

“Don’t be too sure of that. Self-defense is a great incentive. ”

“You don’t need to defend yourself against me. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m trying to help you.”

She shook her head, her knife bobbing in the air. “You expect me to believe you after what I just heard?”

He lunged across the island, grabbing her arm and dragging her around, closing the distance between them. “I think I’ll risk
it,” he growled.

She whipped the knife around, pressing the tip of the blade to the center of his throat, directly into the center of his collarbone.
It wasn’t the first time anyone held a knife to him. In prison, he’d stared down a shiv plenty of times. He even bore a few
scars from when they made contact.

It was, however, the first time a woman pointed one at him. Especially a woman he cared about.
Christ.
With a jolt he realized he did care about her. He wanted to keep her safe, and it wasn’t just because it was the right thing
to do. It wasn’t simply because he wasn’t a killer. He wanted to keep her safe because the idea of anything happening to her
filled his heart with a sick ache.

“I’ll do it,” she whispered, her wild-eyed gaze dropping to where the knife pricked his flesh. She flexed her fingers around
the hilt, and for one moment he wondered if he was taking a gamble. Her eyes glittered with fear, but there was resolve mixed
in there, too. She could easily plunge the knife into him.

She moistened her lips. “Just give me the keys to the van. I’ll walk out of here.”

“I can’t do that.” Tempting as it was to let her go, a pang punched his chest at the thought of her walking away. And it had
nothing to do with failing Sullivan.

She wiggled the fingers of her free hand. “Give them to me and no one gets hurt.”

He lifted his throat slightly, offering her even greater access. He felt that prick of the blade. The slight pinch as warm
blood trickled down his neck. “Go ahead then. Do it.”

Her eyes brightened, gleaming wetly, unnamed emotion brimming there. “You said you’d kill me . . . like it was nothing.”

“You heard me lying.” He held her gaze, ignoring the pressure of the knife at his throat. “Look at me. If you think I’m that
man . . . if you think I would truly kill you, then do it. Use the knife.”

Her hand started to shake, but she didn’t move the knife away from him. Her lips trembled, and he knew she was waging a war
with herself. He leaned in, moving slowly, holding his breathing, ignoring the sharpness digging at his throat. Hopefully
he wasn’t about to get his throat cut.

He stopped his lips a hairbreadth from hers. “Gracie,” he breathed.

A whimper broke from her lips, and he dove that last inch in and kissed her quivering mouth, and then it was easy to forget
the knife because there was only the softness of her lips. Her taste. The way she opened to him. Her sigh as he licked his
way inside her mouth.

He reached between them and covered her hand where she gripped the knife. Her fingers loosened around it, allowing him to
take it from her. He watched her silently as he held it between them. He turned the knife over in his hand, the tip grazing
her T-shirt. She glanced down at the blade now fully in his control and back up at him.

She didn’t blink, her wide gaze traveling over his face as though memorizing him. Those eyes of hers messed with him. Burrowed
deep. And there was that tiny mole at the corner of her eye that highlighted the chocolatey depths, beckoning him.

He arched an eyebrow at her and gripped the neckline of her shirt. Using the edge of the blade, he ripped her shirt right
down the middle, the renting fabric loud on the air.

She sucked in a sharp breath. He brought the knife back up, laying it flat between the deep valley of her heaving breasts.
Leaning in, he claimed her mouth again. She was ready. Meeting him with open mouth. The kiss went deeper, hotter. It was tongues
and teeth and gasps.

He broke away from her and traced the tip of the knife over the lacy cup of her bra, scraping the fabric and watching her
nipples harden against the barrier. She ceased to breathe. Her breasts didn’t so much as rise or fall.

“I’d fall on this knife myself before I let it hurt you,” he vowed, holding onto her gaze.

She nodded jerkily.

He dropped the knife on the island behind them and grabbed her by the waist, lifted her up onto the surface in one move. Then
they were back at it again, kissing. Savage kisses that he couldn’t temper. Even as his head told him to slow down, his body
urged him on. That voice that had always commanded him to stop before had gone silent. The possibility didn’t even enter his
head. There would be no stopping this time.

He tunneled his hands into her hair, dragging through her loose braid, unraveling the dark sections of hair. He grabbed fistfuls
of the soft, fragrant mass, reveling in it. The back of his fingers brushed her bra strap and his fingers turned, diving to
unclasp it. The straps slid down her shoulders, the bra falling away between them. He stepped back to examine her.