Page 122 of The Devil's Torment

I mean, it’s not all that surprising. When you deal with the Devil, it’s almost impossible not to come away with agonizing scorch marks even time can’t heal.

Ask me how I know.

My chest hurts and I rub it. Not that it helps, but doing something makes me feel as if I have some control over my life.

My brother was against me coming here today. He thinks it’s too risky, especially given our plans, but I had to come. Call it a test of sorts. If he recognizes me, we’ll have to pivot, but he won’t. It’s amazing what a nose job and a reshaped chin can do to a person’s face. Add to that the veil I kept in place at my parents’ funeral, and the high probability the man responsible for their deaths wouldn’t care enough to check out my scant social media presence and see what I looked like, and we’re home free.

Still, I want to test the theory.

I sip my tap water and stall the server for the second time. Eating here is a luxury I can’t afford. All the money we have has gone into developing a backstory for me that even the De Vils, with all their power and influence, won’t see through. That, and keeping a house we almost lost until a distant relative stepped in and saved the day.

Hate fills my heart as I level my gaze at Christian De Vil. I’d give anything to sit close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation, but this isn’t the kind of place where normal folk get to choose their table. It’s a “get what you’re given,” unless you’re one of the establishment. It took my brother’s superior IT skills just to get me a table without having to give a year’s notice.

He’s a genius, my brother. There’s hardly a computer system in existence that he can’t break into if the mood takes him. Without him I’d never have been able to reinvent myself, creating a life that will fit right in with the elite.

That’s not to say he’s happy with what I have to do. He isn’t. But sometimes personal suffering is the price we pay to get to the truth.

Christian De Vil knows what happened to my parents, and I intend to uncover his lies and expose him for the murderer he is.

Time to test my theory.

I knock over my tumbler of water. It smashes to the floor, and shards of glass fan out over several feet. I leap to my feet, muttering apologies as my server dashes over to clean up the mess. Several diners glance my way, including one Christian De Vil. I look right at him and he… he looks through me.

I quash a smile that threatens to split my face in two. Job done.

I wait for the server to retreat, then gather up my things and stand. But as I make my way to the exit, I can’t help glancing once more at the man I intend to ruin.

Enjoy your charmed life, Christian. It’s all about to come crashing down.

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