Page 1 of Devil's Claim

CHAPTER 1

Christine

Today had turned out to be an absolute shit show.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” I asked, although I’d heard his words.

Every single syllable.

In every shade of danger possible.

The man standing in front of me could easily make me drool. Tall, dark, and handsome had nothing on him. Whew, baby. But since he had a gun pointed at me, I’d managed to curtail the drool before it gave away the fact I was hot and bothered. Yes, this day had slipped straight into hell.

My alarm had failed to go off, yet I’d only had two hours of sleep.

I was exhausted and cranky as fuck.

I’d been staring at the bottle of wine with a crazy desire to shoot the blood-red liquid into my veins like some mind-fucked junkie.

I’d been late to work after suffering through a flat tire.

In the middle of a massive thunderstorm.

I’d made forty-nine dollars and twelve cents, yes, including pennies in eight hours of hell.

I’d endured leers, butt pinches, and three twisted proposals from men old enough to be my grandfather.

And I’d had buttercream frosting likely covering every inch of my body.

Every single one of the atrocities I’d suffered paled in comparison to what I’d just heard.

The only good news? The bastard threatening me had done so with a highly sensual yet brusque tone in the most beautiful accent I’d ever heard.

“If you move, I’ll be forced to kill you.”

The mystery intruder repeated the shocking statement word for word. Thankfully, in the same deep baritone.

I’d been right. Today could suck donkey turds as far as I was concerned.

Somehow, I doubted laughing hysterically would make the boogeyman go away.

This was something that even Taylor Swift music couldn’t cure.

On the bright side, the intruder intending on forcing me to meet my maker smelled divine.

Like sweat and the most intense alluring aftershave with a dash of blood mixed in.

Like money, the kind I didn’t have.

Like power, which all men craved.

In the case of my wretched piece-of-shit-with-bad-breath ex, demanded.

I straightened from my hunched-over position, determined that if I was to die tonight, I’d do so looking like a lady.

Oh, who was I kidding? I was a fucking mess.

I had on my oldest yoga pants and a tie-dyed tee shirt in gaudy colors. The fact it had shrunk several times highlighting my bare midriff added to my embarrassment.

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