Redemption (The Bet) (23 page)

As though a bucket of ice cold water had been p
oured over her, Ellie struggled out his grasp. "This is all about, Nicholas?" she asked incredulously. "What are you trying to prove, Devlin, that you have me?" Her anger was beyond words. "I'd expect this sort of thing from him, but not from you. If you think you need to prove something to him, then don't put me in the middle. I know who I love and I know who I want to spend the rest of my life with and Nicholas reappearing back in my life isn't going to change that."

She stormed out and left Devlin standing in the
kitchen, resentful and shamed.

~*
~*~*~

An assortment of photographs decorated the expanse of Tony's mattress, while others littered the dingy brown sac that constituted as a carpet beneath his
bare feet. Like a man possessed, he stooped low and riffled through each photograph, the frown marring his weathered features deepening as each picture displayed things that did nothing in alleviating his already sour mood.

Image after image, like a haunting specter, the patrician features of
 that Machiavellian bastard littered the glossy surface of the photographs Tony held between his fingers. He was seeing it and yet Tony was having a hard time believing that Nicholas Grayson---the bane of his sorrowful existence had returned. Emotions whirled like musical carousels, spinning around and around in his mind to the point where he felt almost sick from it.

Unmitigated hatred
was all he felt for this man. He could, without an ounce of remorse, put a gun to that head and pull the trigger.

It was a recurring dream. A dream
in which Tony could describe without missing a beat how liberating it was to torture and then kill the man who'd taken his life and made it into the Divine Comedy. It was the sort of dream that Tony awoke from, his cock hard, that very last image of Nicholas gagging his last breath in a pool of his own blood, the stimulus to his inevitable release. That dream had kept him sane through the brutal intrusions his body had been put through during his time in prison.

And now…
very soon, retribution would be at hand, so close, so delectably close, that Tony could taste the saccharine sweetness on his tongue.

"You should have stayed away,
 Nicky." A fine sheen of lunacy blanketed the obsidian depths of his cold gaze. With new plans formulating in his mind, Tony stood from his mattress and made his way to the wall apposite to the shrine he'd created of his ex-lover and their child. He would in no way sully that wall, with the picture of this man. This man, who ironically shared the same life story as Tony himself, as far as being involved with Ellie and all that bullshit.

They'd loved. They'd thoroughly managed to fuck themselves over and in the process managed to lose everything they'd worked towards having. Now they each had children they barely knew with a woman who wanted nothing to do with them, whose enmity was as fierce as Tony's hatred for his antithesis.

They had all the elements of a cheesy soap opera, but this wasn't some hour long T.V. show that promised a happy ending. This was life. This was Tony's life and as much as he'd contributed to fucking up said life, other people, namely Nicholas, had gone the extra mile to see that he never received a glimmer of happiness again.

Tony wanted to return the
favor and pay Nicholas in full for the wonderful work he's done so far. After all, what type of man would he be if he didn't personally see to it that Nicholas received all that was coming to him? And if he wasn't rewarded with gushing 'thank you's' and tender kisses from Ellie afterwards? Well Tony would return to prison knowing that Nicholas was no longer part of this world.

This was no longer about ferreting his way back into Ellie's life. No doubt that she still held Tony's hear
t within the center of her palm. But this wasn't about Ellie and how much Tony's infinite obsession would never wane. This was about retribution. This was about a cold, hard vendetta that would be carried out no matter the consequences. This was now about those little curly haired runts Tony knew so very much about.

Isabella and Dylan.

Tony couldn't have asked for a better opportunity! What better way to mete out revenge on your enemy then to slowly rip out the core of what made him thrive? Tony couldn't think of anything better.

He pressed a black tack at the center of the photograph he held against the wall and he grinned. "Wait for me Nicky, I promise I'm coming for you."

~*
~*~*~

She'd wanted to do ‘Tea' so Devlin indulged his doting mother and drove to her home at his earliest convenience. Exiting the luxurious interior of the Maybach 62 S he'd recently purchased, he gave the chauffeur an imperceptible nod before heading for the ornate glass door. One ring of the doorbell brought about a petite flaxen haired maid who'd been in his mother's service for several months now.

Proving true to her French ancestry, Antoinette's blood burned with the ardor of her legendary namesake and on several occasions, such as this very one, she would deliberately bat her elongated lashes and thrust her ample bosom Devlin's way, in hopes of
---well Devlin always found her advancements amusing.

It was quite a stroke to a man's ego to have such a pretty girl interested in him, despite his advanced years and had he been years younger and not in love with the world's most wonderful woman, Devlin knew he would no doubt encourage her advancements.

"Bonjour, Mr. Westport." She greeted, accent and all, with a coquettish smile that made Devlin grin.

"Bonjour, Antoinette." It was impossible to expect a man who adored women, not to look upon the heaving endowments placed before him, when they were screaming to
be seen. Devlin was a faithful man and would remain faithful for the rest of his days, but what harm was there in simply looking? My God the girl's breasts were huge! She seemed to be practically spilling from her top! And no doubt she was finding his ogling the best sort of encouragement as she gave a little bounce, deliberately jiggling those monstrous beauties.

"Devlin, darling there you are!" Devlin looked up and gave a little cough, his ears burned and all over a
gain he felt like a school boy being discovered with his first edition of a Playboy magazine. His mother came into view and Devlin was thankful for her sudden intrusion and to prove how much, he walked to where she stood and enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug.

She squeal
ed and protested to be put down. Devlin only obliged her after settling a kiss on her cheek. "Hello, mother."

She fussed with her outfit. "Honestly Devlin, what has gotten into you?" she asked indignantly although she did not hide her joy. His agreement to meet her for Tea pleased her very much. "Come," she looped her arm through his and tossed a glance over her shoulder, "Bring tea and scones to the
Blue room, Antoinette." She said curtly, and then to Devlin said. "We have much to discuss and not enough hours in the day to do so."

~*
~*~*~

"Tongues are wagging, my love.
" Miranda gracefully picked up her teacup, a lovely set, gifted to her by a Russian artisan who'd wished to gain a favor for his wife.

Devlin regarded her as he sunk his teeth into a warm buttered scone. "And what are they saying exactly?" Gossip was as dangerous as it was
helpful; one just had to know how to manipulate it. His mother was the best when it came to manipulating the spiteful matrons of their high society. The worst sort of gossip, Devlin feared, was the one that would bring his fledgling company to its knees and in no way could he afford for that to happen.

"Has Ellie told you absolutely everything there is to know about Nicholas Grayson?" Devlin scowled and deposited his half eaten scone on the small plate, no longer hungry.

"We don't speak of him often." Of course this had to be about him, everything recently had been about him! The last three weeks had been nothing but Nicholas this and Nicholas that! The children spoke of him as though he were a goddamned saint hailed from the heavens to free them from tyranny. His constant presence in their lives had put a strain on his and Ellie's relationship, so much so that Devlin had refused to come over when that pious bastard was around.

"I hear you barely speak at all." Devlin turned his angry gaze towards his mother, though she looked unaffected by his rising temper. "Don't be alarmed,
dear; a mother has her way of knowing these things, which is mainly the reason why I have asked you here today. Your marriage with Ellie must happen, I understand how important she is to you and I will not have you lose her."

"I'm not going to…
"

"Hush darling, let me explain something to you which I am afraid you have yet to understand. Nic
holas is a very formidable man. To go up against him would be foolish and detrimental. But to do nothing will cost you the greatest joy of your life and what sort of mother would I be if I allowed that to happen?"

"Mother?" she looked far removed from the flowery, fragile woman he was used to seeing, in her stead, a plotting and devious woman sat in the upholstered brocade chair, very much the same and yet the steel behind her mulch tinted eyes gave him pause. "What are you planning?"

"Nothing that can be traced back to us. Your job, my darling son, is to keep your family happy. Attend to Ellie's needs, be the doting father to her children and our Roan. Worry about nothing but your wedding and leave the rest to your loving mother."

"Somehow I've never envisioned you to be the Lady Macbeth sort," Devlin wryly commented, before continuing. "Please promise me that whatever you have planned will not spiral into some Shakespearian tragedy mother. I don't think I can handle seeing Nicholas's blood on your hands, as much as I hate the ambitious bastard, he is in no ways worth it."

Miranda's laughter threw her son further off his guard. With practiced patience, she settled her teacup on the imported coffee table before looking up at her child, a small smile on her lips she spoke. "Plotting the demise of your enemy by ways of murder is far too archaic my love and I am not so heartless that I would willingly kill the eldest child of my one true friend. No, what I have in store for Nicholas is subtle at best, but the effects will be so damaging that he will have little time for his children and even less time for Ellie. I will see you happy before I pass from this world my child and if giving you Ellie is what happiness means for you then I will do so without remorse."

Devlin stood and began to pace the expanse of the colorful room. He carded his fingers through his hair, his distress evident in every stride he took. Finally, after an eternal moment battling with his morality, he turned towards his mother, sweet, loving, devoted mother, who has done nothing else since his birth to give h
im everything he's ever desired.

"Nothing would please me more, then to have Nicholas out of our lives. Since his arrival, he has done nothing more than thrust a wedge of unease between Ellie and myself. Deliberate or not, he is wrong for doing it and it would be a foolish man who refuses what you offer. But I cannot, in good conscience let harm come to him, no matter my feelings. He is Isabella and Dylan's father and they've began to love him as such, I cannot take him away from them.
” He sighed. “I trust Ellie and the love she has in me, to be faithful. I cannot allow myself to think that Nicholas is a threat to me. " 

H
e fell to his knees before his mother and rested his cool, large hands against her own delicate, warm ones. "And you, mother, cannot think so either. I must ask that you allow me to handle this in my own way. Nicholas and I are men who will handle this delicate situation like rational adults."

Miranda pulled a hand free from her son's grip and tende
rly she caressed his strong jaw. "My sweet, Devlin, it is truly a great and loving man who can find strength to offer an olive branch to his rival. And it is an even greater man, who can calm the vexing worries of his aging mother with such logical clarity. I will do as you say and wash my hands clean of this issue. My sole concern, from this moment forth, will be arranging your wedding."

Devlin should have found it odd that she acquiesced so easily, bu
t Miranda did not give him reason to doubt her façade of sincerity.

Her benevolent child, as ambitious as he was in business, lacked the shrewdness that made some men, like Nicholas Grayson who he was. There was no denying that Sonya's son was a great man, in everything that he did. His touch was as good as Midas's own, able to turn rock into gold, but Nicholas was now at a disadvantage, because Devlin had what was once his and Miranda was smart enough to know what was of value.

Just as she'd made her darling husband, God rest his soul, the hardened tycoon that he'd been during their days, Miranda would pull strings from the shadows for her child.

On his twenty-third birthday, along with the vast Grayson holdings, Nicholas inherited the handsome pile of bricks otherwise known as Grayson Manor, his ancestral home and the epicenter of his unconventional upbringing. Knowing that the worst sort of memories awaited him in every crevice of her lavish walls, he'd wanted nothing more than to install the world's finest explosives and implode the horrible structure to the next dimension. But something always held him back and it wasn't until recently, last week in fact, that he'd discovered exactly what or rather who it was that held him from destroying something he'd hardly miss.