Page 82 of The Devil's Playground

I know I’m not good enough for Nic. I come with baggage—but, then again, so does she. And if there’s one thing I take out of Link’s words, it’s this: I won’t let it haunt me. Not like Heather. He’s right. I did what I had to do, and if my wife—my soon-to-be wife—struggles with watching her past die in front of her, I’ll deal with that, too.

That’s what I do.

I deal with the Devil. I clean up the Sinners’ messes.

I love Nicolette Williams—McIntyre.

And I will do anything to protect her.

‘Til death do us part.

EPILOGUE

NICOLETTE

When Royce told me to pack for a weekend getaway, I didn’t hesitate.

It’s been a month since everything happened with Kieran. Sometimes, I’m surprised at how quickly it went from the end of March to the knocking on May’s door. It feels like I blinked and, suddenly, the time was gone.

It’s a stress response. I know that. From the trauma of being assaulted by Kieran again, followed by the absolute relief that slammed into me when I watched Royce blow that sick bastard away. He doesn’t think I saw it. He believes that—thanks to my broken nose and busted eye—I was too out of it to witness the five seconds that changed my life.

I let him. My protective lover—and former stalker—has always wanted to save me anyway he could. To spare me from watching him execute my abuser… it’s better if Royce thinks that I didn’t gasp in gratitude as I watched as the first bullet found its home in Kieran’s chest before the relief—the absolute relief—had me crying the first tears I shed since my twisted ex abducted me.

A little white lie for my white knight.

I don’t really remember a lot about what happened after he was dead. One moment, Royce was squeezing me to him, making promises that fluttered into my ear, then out again. I clung right back, like he was a mirage that would disappear if I so much as closed my eyes.

But I did. I’m not sure why, only that it wasn’t my choice. When I woke up again, I was stretched out in the back seat of a car, lying on Royce’s lap. He was stroking my hair with trembling fingers. He didn’t stop when he noticed me quirking open my good eye, only gave me that crooked half-smile of his before telling me that I was safe.

This time, he was right. Even as I drifted back to sleep—or unconsciousness—I looked up into those blue eyes and knew that, with Royce McIntyre, I will always be safe.

There’s no more pretending I haven’t moved into his place. After Devil’s driver, Luca, brought us back to Paradise Suites—and the leader of the Sinners Syndicate himself drove Royce’s car home for him—he carried me into his apartment and, for the next few weeks, I didn’t leave. One of the local doctors on the syndicate’s payroll gave me pain pills that had me flying before resetting my nose and patching up the rest of me. I wasn’t trapped with Kieran long enough to do that much damage, though A for effort, asshole, considering how much he worked me over in such a short amount of time.

I’m on leave from the Playground. Royce promised that I could go back when I was feeling better. I didn’t push it because a) I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still a little shaky from being assaulted twice in two weeks and b) the double shiners and obviously broken nose might buy me some sympathy, but it was better to wait to pull my uniform back out until the bruises finally faded.

The last of the mottled green and yellow skin is hidden under a face of make-up tonight. It’s the last bit of physical evidence left from Kieran’s attack, and while I know the emotional wounds will take longer to heal, having this weekend with Royce is a starting point.

The man’s a fucking Godsend. I wake up each morning, wrapped in his arms, wondering how the hell I got this lucky. And maybe, when I was still doped up on pain meds, I might’ve mentioned that if he’s sticking around because he feels guilty about what happened, he quickly proves me wrong.

If anything, Royce blames himself for not being there in time to keep Kieran from doing what he did. Bullshit. I knew when I started this thing with Royce that he was a high-ranking member of the syndicate. Now I know just how high he is in the organization. There will be times when he has to do his job. I get that.

I also know that, if I’d listened to Ava and not tried to prove that I was meaningless in the grand scheme of things, I wouldn’t have gotten caught by Kieran. So sure that Royce was going to get tired of me and move along like he’s done with every other woman before, I stubbornly clung to the one thing I recovered after my time with my ex: my defiant independence.

I’m learning. Just like Ava did, and the other wives and girlfriends. In the Libellula Family, women were property. In the Sinners Syndicate? I only have a few examples to go by, but they’re treated a hell of a lot better on the West Side than on the East End. They might be possessive and overprotective, but every moment I spend with Royce, I feel appreciated, too.

Loved.

Worshiped.

And it’s fucking amazing.

This impromptu trip is one example. He just woke me up with a kiss this morning, asked me if I was up to taking a quick flight, and grinned wickedly when I told him I was. I didn’t even have to pack. He did that himself, a suitcase for him, one for me, and a large black bag that hung from a hanger that he loaded into the limo.

Devil let us borrow Luca again. He drove us to the small hangar where the syndicate has its own private plane, murmuring something to Royce as he got out to help retrieve our luggage from the back. Royce had another smile for Luca as he accepted the hanger from him, and then we were off.

It was a three-hour flight that went very quickly once we were allowed to move about and my lover pointed out the bed. Seriously. Devil’s private plane had a bed on it, with clean sheets that were more than a little rumpled by the time we were touching down again in…

Las Vegas.

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