Page 16 of Heart of a Devil

I finally lose it, and all my professional calm disappears. What the fuck is wrong with the world? I swipe the angry tears away from my eyes and realize my hand is now wrapped in Sebastian’s bear paw. He squeezes my fingers. “I don’t care if he’s Bratva, the KGB, and Joey fucking Stalin all rolled into one, Lauren, we’ll help them. We will not let anything worse happen to that kid or his mum. If your route doesn’t work, mine will. I’ll kill the fucker and track down every single cunt who ever went to one of those parties and kill them too. I’ll make them suffer, and I’ll fucking well enjoy every moment of their pain.”

I have no doubt he means it or that he’s capable of it. Part of me wishes we could skip right to that step now, because I would enjoy every moment of their pain as well. I’m not exactly an innocent.

He frowns. “You’re a lawyer, but you don’t seem shocked. In fact, you look quite keen. Most women would be repelled, and they certainly wouldn’t nod in agreement when I talked about cutting off his cock earlier.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not most women, I don’t suppose. And being a lawyer doesn’t negate everything else about me. My life, my family… It’s complicated.”

“How so?”

I look into his eyes and remind myself that earlier, when Caroline asked me if I trusted this man, all my instincts screamed yes. I might not have known him for long, but I trust him.

I take a deep breath. “Okay. So, I’m originally from Los Angeles.”

“Really? Sam said you moved here from Florida.”

“I did, and Florida is a whole different story. The brief version: I was born and raised in LA. Left there at eighteen. Spent some time studying here. Got married and moved to upstate New York. Got divorced, traveled around, settled in Florida.”

“Married?”

“Yep. Married. Not for long. I thought we were in love, which was a sweet delusion, but we were never compatible. That’s an understatement—we were a total shitshow. Not going to get into that now, though.”

He doesn’t look happy with the shutdown, but nods at me to continue. “Back to my family. I use the name Hayes. That’s my mother’s maiden name, which I legally changed mine to. I love my parents, my sister, my cousin, all of them—but I needed distance from them. I needed to build a life for myself that was removed from their world and its… darkness.”

I feel disloyal even saying that. My family’s business practices, both legitimate and not so legitimate, paid for thehome I grew up in, my education, my privileged start in life. I’m not such a hypocrite that I ever condemned them, but I also knew I didn’t want to stay there and live that life. Especially not while Uncle Carlos was on the scene.

“What’s so dark about your family, Lauren? Did they hurt you?” The anger in his voice is barely suppressed, and I know he is imagining the worst. Who can blame him, given his background?

“One of them did, my Uncle Carlos… He was a sick fuck. He gave me this.” I hold out my palm and show him the thin crescent-shaped scar that is still visible on my flesh.

He traces it with his fingertips, then soothes it with a gentle brush of his lips, like a father kissing away the pain. “Tell me where he is. He’ll be the first one I end.”

I shiver slightly, at both the touch and the words. “He’s already gone. He died last year, and he died like the pig he was. I felt so liberated when I found out. My cousin and his friend, who are not men you mess with, rid the world of that particular evil. I’d left LA at least partly to escape him, but it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t only one bad man, it was the whole culture of my family. Their past, their present, probably their future. The violence… This will probably mean nothing to you, but my birth name is Lauren Maria Montoya.”

I see immediately that the name does mean something to him. Of course it does. My family might be based in LA, but it’s known the world over, and depending on what side of the law you’re on, the Montoyas are viewed with either fear or envy for the way they have combined ruthless origins and enforcement with a multibillion-dollar business empire. Seb straddles both sides of that moral and legal line, I suspect, which might be why I’m so drawn to him. Despite my desire to escape, I’m obviously drawn to the familiar. Perhaps it’s a part of my DNA.

“You’re a Montoya?” he asks, frowning. “A fucking Montoya?”

“Only half a fucking Montoya, to be fair.”

“From what I’ve gathered, the Montoyas don’t do anything by halves. Shit. Does Sam know?”

I shake my head. It’s not something I talk about easily, even with close friends. I mean, it’s a bit of a conversation killer:Hi,I’m Lauren, and my family is in charge of the West Coast Mafia. I like cozy nights in, long walks on the beach, and torturing my enemies to death with power tools.

“That must have been one crazy-ass childhood. I’ve heard stories,” he says, looking at me intently. “Always thought Alejandro sounded like a guy not to be messed with.”

“Alejandro’s my cousin, and we’re close. And he’s a total badass. Despite that though, despite what circumstances sometimes force him to do, he’s a good man at heart.”

He nods, accepting this for the truth. It makes sense that he would understand how a good man can also be capable of terrible acts. “Well, I can see now why you have so much fight in you, sweetheart.”

“I do now, yes, but I didn’t always. Not for a long time. I ran away from Carlos and what he did to me.”

“And what did he do, Lauren? You don’t have to tell me, but it’s supposed to help isn’t it, this sharing bullshit? Just pretend I’m your therapist.”

That actually makes me laugh out loud, and then, even though it’s hard, I force myself to talk. To share some of this for the first time ever. I don’t know why I’m choosing Seb to confide in, and he certainly doesn’t look like any therapist I’ve ever encountered, but between his own scarred past and the straightforward way he discussed it, I feel comfortable enough to finally open up.

“He tortured me for years. He effectively ended my childhood at the age of ten, and on the day it started, he sliced my hand open to keep me quiet about something I saw. I never told, but I guess he must have developed a taste for it. He got a real kick out of keeping me permanently scared.”

I pause, shaken by how vividly I remember it all. The mutilated stuffed toys were only the start of it. “He’d leave me sick notes on my pillow or make up stories about me to my mom or lock me in the pool house for hours on end. I’d find my underwear drawer reeking of urine, and he’d stalk me on the way home from school. He told my first boyfriend I gave great blowjobs, when I hadn’t even seen a penis in real life, and he stole my sister’s favorite necklace and hid it in my room so she thought I stole it.”

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