Page 69 of The Devil's Playground

I shake my head, knocking that thought loose. I’m safe. Royce promised. Besides, I’m not afraid that Kieran will turn his gun on me. He doesn’t want me dead. He wants me on my knees, worshiping him again the way I did when I was sixteen and I didn’t know any better.

Ava watches me curiously. She didn’t say anything in response to my comment—and, for all I know, with as much experience in the kitchen as Mona has, she can make a taco—but, instead, leans forward as though trying to see into my brain and see where it’s gone.

Sorry, hon. You wouldn’t like it in here.

I grin, getting up to my feet. “Jay’s Taqueria is, like, two blocks away. I can pick up a snack for us and be back in fifteen minutes at the most.”

My purse is sitting on the couch. It has my wallet in it, and I toss my phone on the top so it’s in easy reach. “Text me what baby Crewes feels like chowing down on. See if your bodyguard is hungry, too. It’s on me.”

It’s the least I can do for their company while Royce is occupied.

Maybe then I won’t feel like the annoying kid he leaves behind with the babysitters.

I’m not being fair. I know that, and the way I don’t let Ava try to talk me out of leaving proves it.

Royce is worried about me. He has been since our run-in with Kieran in Riverside, and after Miles cornered me at the Playground, he’s made it his point to keep me safe the only way he knows how. Part of that was taking me off the schedule when he didn’t think he could watch over me at the club. The other part was making sure I wasn’t alone whenever he couldn’t be with me.

I know how important he is in the syndicate. I should be grateful for the amount of time he does spend with me. The more I’ve gotten to know Devil’s wife, the more I see what there is to expect when your lover is high up in organized crime.

I thought I knew. After all, I was considered Kieran’s for so many years, but I’m beginning to see there’s a huge difference between being the underboss and an enforcer. One’s the second-in-command to the top guy; the other is a glorified serial killer. The Libellula Family has a bunch of enforcers. The Sinners Syndicate only has one underboss.

He’s a busy fella. I get that. And I should accept that his overprotective nature is a product of being in organized crime and seeing how dangerous Springfield can be. But that’s the thing. Kieran used to be overprotective, too. Possessive. Controlling. There are times when I see hints of him in the heavy-handed way that Royce handles situations, and though he’s quick to correct them when I point them out, it still bothers me.

Maybe it shouldn’t. The fact that I’m comfortable enough with him to let him know when he’s going too far is something I never had with Kieran—and that was after ten years of knowing him. Royce? It’s been six weeks since the night that changed my life. I’m not the silly little girl who looks at the world with rose-colored glasses anymore. I see what kind of man Royce McIntyre is—and, for good or for bad, he’s mine.

But I’m not willing to sacrifice my hard-fought independence yet. If that means I’m going to run out and get tacos for me and my new friend, I’m going to. I need to prove that I’m worthy of his affection. That he doesn’t need to be my ‘white knight’. He just has to be the man who loves me, and who I love in return.

The Sinner prowling around the penthouse is Ava’s guard. He gives me a curious look when I pass him on my way to the elevator, staying silent at I walk out of the penthouse. If he thinks that I’m heading downstairs to Royce’s place, that’s fine. He’ll figure it out when Ava asks him his order.

My phone buzzes as I’m stepping out onto the street. A quick peek at the screen reveals that Ava caved: she wants three chicken tacos, extra cheese, no tomatoes. No order for the guard, and I wonder if she asked him. Deciding I’ll order a couple of steak ones when I get there just in case, I toss my phone back in my purse and start toward the taqueria.

I know it’s close. Because of that, I’m not really paying attention. I don’t know… it could be that relying on Royce has lulled me into a false sense of safety because, when someone bumps into me, knocking me aside, I wasn’t expecting it.

Once upon a time, Nicolette would’ve mumbled an apology even though it wasn’t my fault. Right now? My head shoots to my left, looking to see who it was who basically shoved against me. The streets aren’t really that crowded right now. My first instinct is that it had to be on purpose because why else were they that close?

As I pause on the corner, all I see is the wide back of a man with dark hair. Bastard barely missed a step as he stormed away, leaving me behind.

Annoyed, I flip him the bird with my right hand—and that’s when it happens. A sudden hand comes out of nowhere, lashing my wrist from around the corner, yanking me with such force that I’m nearly pulled to the ground.

I wasn’t expecting that, either, and I’m knocked almost completely off-balance this time. I start to scream, but the second I open my mouth to let the shout out, I hear a cracking sound.

Pain explodes in my face as my head snaps over my shoulder. It takes a second for me to comprehend what happened. I’ve been slapped. The man holding tight to my wrist in one hand, yanked me toward him, then backhanded me dead across the face with the other.

He lets go now. Putting everything into the followthrough, he lets go and, next thing I know, I’m on the ground. I have just enough time to throw my hands out to break the fall, another round of pain slamming into as the asphalt of the empty road digs right into my palms.

It all happens so fast. My purse spills all over the ground, but I barely notice. My first instinct is to curl up into the fetal position to protect the rest of my body as my cheek burns, but then a pair of dark winter boots move in front of me and I can’t stop myself from looking up.

Kieran hikes up his jeans, crouching down in front of me. A stray curl crosses in front of his forehead. “You okay, darlin’?”

No.

TWENTY-FIVE

DARLIN’

NICOLETTE

Panic flares up inside of me. I don’t even think about screaming. It’s all about getting away from him, and if that means crawling, I’ll fucking crawl.

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