Page 23 of Wild Devil

“No!” I push past her and crouch over a clawfoot bathtub. Under the guise of testing my tongue, I press the tip of my finger against the side of the blade. Holy crap. It’s in deeper than I thought. My fingers shake as I attempt to use two to pry it free. Wet with blood, they slide uselessly along the sharpened surface. When I finally pull it out, I barely manage to crush it in a fist as Catherine comes up beside me.

“Oh, what a mess,” she says, tsking her tongue. “You poor thing. Maybe we should call a doctor or something?—”

“I’m fine,” I say, swiping at my mouth with the sleeve of my shirt. It comes away red.

“You’re not,” Catherine insists, her tone unusually firm. “I wish Michael would postpone. I don’t even know why he’s insisting that it happen tonight…” She trails off, and I turn to find her staring into space, her jaw clenched. In an instant, she transforms from the ideal trophy wife to a woman more suitable of her age. Woefully young and out of her element.

I leave her to it and press a rag to my mouth while scanning the room we’re in. It’s well-maintained but obviously disused. The silver fixtures and hand-painted wallpaper resemble the kind of finery on display in the prestigious family manors of my father’s wealthier patrons, Colton’s family, the Abernathys, included. In fact, I wonder if we’re on one of their properties. From what I remember, they had several, spread throughout the nearby countryside. The only catch is that I have no idea which ones may be located several hours outside of the city.

“Where are we?” I ask Catherine directly, taking a risk.

She whips around to face me as if she’s forgotten I was even there. One look at her wary expression, and I’m sure she’ll refuse to answer. Instead, she glances at the closed door and then twitches in my direction as if she has to stop herself from whispering directly into my ear.

“The old Abernathy estate,” she murmurs, confirming my suspicion. “It’s been in their family for generations. Michael thought it might be fitting to have the wedding here, but…” She bites her bottom lip, and her slender shoulders seem to deflate beneath the unspoken secret of what my father truly has in store. “I think I would have preferred it at home, at least. Where you could be comfortable and have your friends.”

“He said it would be tonight,” I say, wincing as the inside of my cheek stings. “Do you know what time?”

She shakes her head. “I’m not sure. After the others arrive, I’m sure.”

“The others?” I tense at the wording, even more worried, when she glances away. “Who? What do you mean?”

“We should get you cleaned up.” She gently takes the rag from me and attempts to dab at my damp jaw.

I evade her reach. “Look at me,” I demand.

“Frances, let’s not waste any more time than we already have. Please.” Through another pretty, strained smile, I can clearly see the fear she can’t hide. Her hands shake as she wrings them together over her ill-fitting dress. With every slight sound to come from the hall, she jumps. It’s as though she’s convinced my father is lurking behind the door, listening to every word she says.

She isn’t merely worried—she’s terrified.

“Who?” I ask again, my voice softer. “Who are the others?”

“Frances, please.” She fiddles with the rag as if blind to the blood already staining it. “I can’t. I can’t?—”

“I need to know what’s happening.”

She shakes her head and tries to shrug me off. “No. We should go see your dress. You’re going to love?—”

“Stop it!” While concealing the blade in my other hand, I grab her wrist firmly, and I don’t bother to sound gentle anymore. “Listen to me! You know what this is, don’t you?”

She flinches and shakes her head more earnestly. “Frances, I think we should?—”

“Don’t you? Answer me!”

“I…”

“I don’t want to be here,” I snarl, wrenching away from her. “You can see that. This isn’t what I want. My father is forcing me to marry Colton, and I need to know why. Or are you willing to just stand aside and watch me be destroyed the same way you failed Hale?”

“Don’t.” Her face pales, and a coldness falls over her gaze that I’ve never seen before. Suddenly, she seems years older. Decades.

“You think I wanted that to happen?” she asks hoarsely. “You think I wanted Hale to die? I tried to warn him! I tried. Much like you, he wouldn’t listen. What happened to him wasn’t my fault!”

“I need your help now,” I say. “Please. Tell me what’s going on so that I’m not walking in there blind like some lamb to the slaughter.”

She grimaces and holds out the rag. “Please, just let me help you clean up first. Please.”

I submit to having her wipe my face of blood, all the while, the razor is biting into my palm. The thought of using it crosses my mind fleetingly, but I don’t even entertain the idea seriously. Once my face is cleaned to her liking, Catherine moves to sit on the rim of the bathtub. Dressed in a pale-blue sundress, with her hair hanging loosely down her shoulders, it strikes me just how well she’s played her role all these years. Michael Heywood’s pure, doting wife who possessed none of the flaws that my mother did.

Deep down, I always resented her for that. She made it look so easy, standing in my father’s shadow. The truth is, I never paid close enough attention to see just how much of a toll the ruse was taking on her. She’s a shadow of a woman, weighed down by her neat costume. For the first time in years, as I settle onto the floor, I finally catch glimpses of the real woman lurking beneath the mask. Even from this angle, she seems pitifully small.

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