Page 54 of Deal with the Devil
What resistance will she put up tonight when I push her to her limits? What ways can I make her scream and revolt?
Her death has always been an inevitable, but what if I made things fun and spent some time tormenting her? You learn a lot about a person when you see them in their most frightened moments; you can tell who somebody really is when you destroy them and see what’s hidden on the inside.
I think I’ll make a point of finding out with Portia.
But first she deserves to know all about the man she’s romanticized in her head.
I gesture to the wall behind her, where photographs of her through the years are pinned. “You see these? If you were to ask him, he’d consider them collector’s items. He went through a lot of trouble getting them. He’s been watching you for years.”
“Don’t come any closer,” she snaps. “I don’t have any interest in what you have to say!”
She doesn’t move—can’t really move—trapped between the heavy desk and the advancing threat I impose. Her back is already pressed against the edge of the wood, her hands braced behind her like she’s weighing whether to fight or flee.
“I said don’t come any closer,” she repeats, a tremor to her voice. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say!”
I pretend not to hear her. There’s a reason people can’t help staring at a fire, even when they know it can burn them alive.
“Rafael first saw you years ago,” I say, closing the last few feet of distance. “He caught one of your morning news broadcasts. You were covering some traffic accident, and he was smitten from the first moment he saw you on his screen. There was just something about you he couldn’t resist. He had to know more.”
Her breathing shallows. She leans away from me as I cage her in, close enough her scent perfumes the air. It’s become familiar the more time I spend around her, light floral notes like jasmine that my brain now associates with her. She knows I’m too close now. Close enough the scent of her skin—soap, fear, maybe even a trace of perfume left from the morning—wraps around me. I tilt my head slightly and reach for her.
She doesn’t flinch this time. Not right away.
It’s only when I thread a strand of her hair between my fingers, the silky length gliding against my skin, that she jolts.
She’s on edge, slowly unraveling before my eyes.
That’s what I want.
I tuck the strand behind her ear with a quiet, practiced gentleness, then linger there, letting the backs of my fingers skim her cheek. I can see her pulse thudding in her throat. See how badly she wants to recoil from me, but she doesn’t.
Maybe she knows it wouldn’t matter.
“After that day, he couldn’t stop,” I continue. “He started watching the news every morning, waiting to catch a glimpse of you. You made his mornings tolerable. Hell, you made themsacred. He rearranged meetings just to catch your segments live.”
My voice lowers, dragging with it the weight of something darker.
“But watching wasn’t enough. Not for him. He wanted to know more. And a man like Rafael? He doesn’t ask questions when he wants answers. He digs. He pays. He takes.”
Portia’s eyes widen, the disbelief flickering in her gaze beginning to twist into horror. I lean my weight into the hand now resting beside her on the desk, hemming her in. The other stays just inches from her, poised like I might reach for her again.
“He learned everything. Where you lived. Where you liked to eat. What time you walked to your car. Who you were fucking. And when.”
“Get away from me,” she spits, pushing against my chest, but I don’t budge.
I don’t evenblink.
“You think he fell in love with you after meeting you?” I ask, my voice colder, losing any semblance of humor. “You were his obsession before you even knew his name.”
The panic sharpens her breaths—they come faster, shallower, more uneven.
I lean in further, watching her face from behind the mask, taking in every twitch of muscle, every frantic dart of her gaze. She keeps her eyes fixed on the center of the mask like she’s searching for Rafael inside it.
But he’s gone.
“Rafael tried so hard to fight what he was becoming,” I murmur. “He tried to silence the darkness, tried to bury it somewhere deep so he could be the man you wanted.”
I pause, lowering my voice until it’s barely audible, like a secret meant only for her.
