The Devil's Gate Read online

  “Do you need a moment, Miss?” he asked me as I grinned and felt a little embarrassed to be so flustered about all of this.

  “I’m sorry—this isn’t my thing. I think I may have made a terrible mistake. Maybe I should...”

  Jack stepped out of the front of the large home and stared at the car as I stopped mid-sentence. He was dressed in a formal black suit, bow tie, and vest. Very handsome, as if I thought that would be possible after earlier in the day. He astounds me. He truly does, but I will never say it out loud. It would mortify me.

  “Miss?” the driver repeated as I let my eyes dart back to him.

  “I’m—I’m okay.”

  He got out of the car and opened the door. He reached in and took my hand as I stepped out and looked at the home. I had seen it earlier in a daze, but now the majesty of it was truly breathtaking. It must have a hundred rooms in it. A place that could be explored forever and a day. What could growing up in a place like this possible be like? To a child, this would be a fantasy world of never-ending wonder.

  I turned my gaze to Jack as he stood there with a peculiar look on his face. He let his eyes take me in. I started to walk up the steps toward him and then a coy grin came across his face. He extended his hand to me and took it as I stepped up to him. His smell engulfed me, not unlike it had earlier in the day. I took a slow breath and savored him. My eyes never leaving his while he studied my expression. Always studying me, but why? Am I really that intriguing to him?

  “My god, you are stunning, Abigail Watson.”

  “Thank you,” I said as he started to walk, still holding my hand in his own.

  We stepped inside of the large home and we were met with flashes of light, pictures snapped off from the right to left as Jack held my hand and grinned. He placed an arm around me as I squinted and tried to regain my bearings. He squeezed my hand as he held his other up to the crowd.

  “This is our guest of honor, Abigail Watson,” he looked at me and then continued to speak. “My accidental save of the day.”

  I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. Of course, this isn’t a date. What is wrong with me?!

  “Abigail! Abigail!” a woman called out to me as flashes of light continued to engulf the room. “So what was it like to be saved by the most sought after bachelor in the world?”

  I shook my head. My lips parted, and Jack smiled at the woman. “I don’t think she is big on crowds, her thank you was more than enough and like I told all of you earlier at the press conference, I only did what any good citizen of this city would have done. I am not a hero; I was just allowed to play the part for a brief moment today and in turn, this lovely girl will hopefully live a long and happy life.”

  I pushed from him and felt faint as the room spun a little from the nerves and the bright lights. I stumbled and again, Jack saved me. He held his hand up to the crowd and spoke in a firm tone. “That’s all for today; perhaps you can all ask Abigail questions at another time. She is still a bit upset from today's near death experience.”

  I narrowed my eyes, as he winked at me. “So that’s all; I’m afraid. I’m going to have to ask that the press take their leave so that we can start dinner with close friends.”

  The murmurs rose, but no one refused him. I would assume that he is used to that—to always getting things just as he wants them to be. The press cleared the foyer, and it left us and about ten other people, all of which were foreign to me, but they obviously had a strong influence in the city.

  I sat at the table, next to Jack, and stared at my plate of filet mignon and a delicately prepared tail of a lobster. I eyed the lobster and knew that I couldn’t eat it. I hate lobster, all seafood, but I will just try the steak and act as if I can’t eat anymore. I was too irritated to eat that much anyway. What a jerk! I mean, seriously. Asking me here as if he wanted to get to know me, but no, I am a prop for press. Just another thing to add to his legacy. I sighed as I reached for my wine and spilled it all over the table. The talking stopped as the red wine ran down the center of the expensive table like blood. I was so embarrassed, but what could I do? Nothing, so I closed my eyes and wished like Dorothy to just return home. I even clicked my heels together under the table and Jack looked down and noticed. He immediately spilled his wine too and stood up as he laughed.

  “I apologize, can we retire to the other room while I get this cleaned up?”

  The guests stood, one by one, the murmuring making me feel even more uncomfortable until they cleared the room, leaving just the two of us and the mess on the table. I scooted my chair back and stood up before he could help me. I didn’t need or want it at this point.

  He started to speak, but I held my hand up, and he paused, his head tilted to one side. I guess he decided that it may be a good idea to allow me to vent. He’s right.

  I tossed my napkin on my plate. “I can’t believe that I was so stupid,” I admitted in a quiet tone, but just loud enough for Jack to hear me.

  “Abigail, it isn’t what you think.”

  I turned, and my scowl met him with surprise. I must look as if I could kill him. “I don’t see how it could be anything other than you being a jackass.”

  He laughed and crossed his arms on his chest. “Listen, you have no idea what this life is and that…” he pointed toward the foyer, “Was necessary. The press knew before I had you home, Abigail; I didn’t call them.”

  I paused as I thought about that. I mean, someone of his stature would surely be spotted, but how did I know that he wasn’t lying?

  “How do I know that you didn’t call them?”

  He grabbed my wrist and walked us to the large window. He jerked the curtains open as the press stood outside. He turned as he opened the window and called out to them. “Robert!”

  A man stepped forward and looked at the two of us. “Yes, J?”

  “Did I call you or anyone from the press to come here earlier today?”

  “No, it was a tip. Like you can step into the city without us not knowing about it!” he laughed and Jack smiled as he turned toward me.

  “See?”

  “Oh sure, how easy would it be for you to just make that sh—“

  He leaned and kissed me, almost awkward at first, but then he relaxed, as did I. The kiss became more, his hand lifted and cupped my chin, the chill of this simple action spread through me like the winter wind. I shook, he backed away, but only an inch from my quivering lips as he stared at them in wonder.

  He closed his eyes as he licked his bottom lip, quickly biting it. He relaxed and then spoke in a half-whisper. “You taste like Christmas morning.”

  I opened my eyes as the flashes continued as they had the whole time he kissed me. He closed the window and jerked the long curtain over as I swayed on my feet. He smiled at me.

  “We don’t need to argue in front of the press like that, it could be bad.”

  “Wait—did you kiss me to shut me up?”

  He walked toward the doors. He stopped to look back at me, not unlike he had earlier in the day when he asked me to dinner in the first place. His expression soft, his attention to me absolute.

  “Come on, Christmas, let me offer you a drink.”

  I swallowed hard as he confused me, everything about him set me on fire and then extinguished as my mind raced to figure him out. I’ve never met anyone like him, and I doubt I ever will again. Trickery or not, the kiss—epic, and precisely as he had described it, just like Christmas morning.

  CHAPTER THREE

  BLOOD AND BRANDY

  The room broke into loud laughter as Jack commanded it. I sat quietly off to the side as he told stories of his business ventures and strange encounters with prospective buyers. None of it interests me in the least, nothing, but how he owns the room and everyone in it! All eyes were on him, and I tried to ignore it, stop the bits of laughter escaping me as he spun his hilarious tales, but it was useless. He was charming, and I could see why he was exactly where he was in life.

  I honestly believe that
Jack would have gravitated toward money and power whether born into it or not. He was just built for this life. He fits in, unlike me. The only thing that makes me seem as if I could fit in is this borrowed dress, a bit of make-up and my ability to be quiet, finally. The kiss had rattled me more than I was willing to admit. Rattled me to my core. But there he was, acting as if it was just another day. I heard my name and looked up as Jack stared in my direction.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  The man standing next to him laughed. “See, Jack? Not everyone is hanging on your every word.” Jack smiled as he let his eyes lower to the drink in my hand.

  “Would you like another?” he asked as I surveyed it and realized I had finished off my second shot of Brandy.

  “No, I think that I’ve probably had enough. In fact, it’s getting late, isn’t it?” Jack kept his fiery blue eyes locked on me. I swallowed as he watched the muscles tense up in my neck and then relax. Does he have to be so observant? It unnerves me.

  “It is.” He looked back to his friend and said something as the man laughed, he didn’t glance at me, so I hoped that it wasn’t pertaining to me at all. I had felt awkward since the kiss, hell—I had felt uncomfortable since the morning and the whole bus thing.

  “Okay, well, I think it’s time we call it a night. I want to thank all of you for coming to our outing party; we’re dating now.” He looked straight at me as I dropped my glass. It shattered on the floor. I reached down and hissed as the glass cut my finger wide open. I raised it to my lips and sucked on it until I noticed that the entire room was transfixed on me. I lowered my finger, though the taste of iron lingered on my tongue.

  “Are you okay?” I looked up; Jack was suddenly in front of me. I nodded to him as he took my hand and inspected the cut. “That may need a stitch or two.”

  “Oh no, I’m fine.” The blood dripped onto the floor, and the room remained silent. Jack turned and quickly surveyed the room.

  “That’s it for this evening, thank you for coming. I need to attend to her finger.”

  Everyone filed out, not unlike they had when we were at the dinner table, and he announced that they needed to retire to the other room. I couldn’t say that his power didn’t intrigue me, at least a little bit. I guess it is a perk of being so wealthy. You speak; they listen.

  I stood up as he placed his hand under my elbow and elevated my arm. I tried to hide a grin as he walked me to the kitchen, he gently put his hands on my sides and lifted me up, placing me on the island in the middle of the large room. I looked around and stared at all of the stainless steel. The kitchen was fit for any cooking show I had seen on television.

  He walked to a drawer and returned with a small, white towel and a bottle of alcohol. He took the cap off of the bottle and tilted it onto the white cloth as I watched on in horror.

  I shook my head. “My mother used to use that on my cuts and I hated it. It hurts so bad.”

  He paused as he studied my face. “Pain is only an illusion; we can all control it if we try. Let little bits of it in, as we see fit. Sometimes the pain can even be pleasurable.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Pain does not feel good.”

  His stare penetrated me. “It depends on what type you are experiencing, Abigail.”

  He set the bottle down on the counter next to me. He grabbed my hand. My eyebrows scowled at him as he lifted the white cloth toward my finger. I fidgeted on the counter as if I was five years old again and scared of what was about to happen. He leaned in and kissed my lips, only this time, his tongue penetrated me and started to play with my own. It was slow and steady; a deep moan rose from the back of his throat as he wrapped my cut with the cloth, and my body tensed up. The pain shot through my hand and down my arm, but his kisses balanced it out. He leaned in closer, my legs spreading farther apart as he reached down and jerked me toward him. I could feel his hardness against me and the burning in my finger continued on, but the pleasure right along with it. He bit my bottom lip, and I cried out as the pain blended with that of my hand. It hurt, but in a new way.

  He released me and leaned into my ear as he squeezed my finger. “Control it, Abigail. Own the pain, it doesn’t own you. It never has.” His whispering caused me to shake as I tried to drown out the burning that was still pulsing through me. I hissed and jerked my hand away from him as it overtook me. He looked me over and stepped back. Tossing the now-bloodied white cloth onto the counter next to me.

  I stared down at it in dismay as my finger continued to bleed. I lifted it and watched the blood as it ran down the inside of my palm. I would suck on it, but the taste of alcohol would choke me.

  “I think it does need

  stitches.”

  “Mmmm.” He crossed his arms on his chest. I tilted my head in confusion.

  “Mmmm what? I could bleed to death here.”

  He smiled. “I doubt that you will, I mean, you couldn’t even handle a little burning, how could you handle stitches?”

  I felt a bit of defiance rising in me. “I’m sure that I could.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  He walked to the side counter and pulled out a long needle and some black thread. I winced as he turned back to me and bit his lip. “Growing up out here, we had to get fixed on the fly, you know, get stitched up here and not in an ER.”

  “What?”

  He pointed toward the door. “Or, you can go to the hospital and possibly ‘bleed out’ on the way. Traffic can be a bitch.”

  I sighed as I stared him down; the blood continued to pour from my finger, and my survival instinct kicked in. “Fine, who can do it then?” I asked as my eyebrow rose, and I tried to hide my fear the best that I could.

  He stepped up to me and smiled. “I can; I stitched myself up on a few occasions, and my brother. In fact, I’m pretty good at it.” He took his jacket off and dropped it to the floor as he unbuttoned his sleeve. He rolled it and bent his arm so that I could see the faded scar. I leaned in and touched it with my free hand. The scar was barely raised. I leaned back and took a deep breath.

  “Brandy.”

  He nodded to me as he left and came back with the bottle and a glass. I reached out and took the bottle from him and gulped a few drinks down. Probably not smart on my part, but I figured at this point I had nothing to lose.

  He reached out and took the bottle from me, taking a swig as barbarically as I had. I grinned as he hissed and lowered the bottle to his side. “You need to be sober.” He laughed, “You need to stop shaking.”

  “I’m not.”It was a lie.

  He slowly lifted his hand and placed it on my chest. Tremors ran through me, but not necessarily at the thought of being stitched up. His blue eyes tore a hole through me as he left his hand pressed against me. I licked my lip and tried to calm down, but he had me flustered on every level imaginable. His touch caused something to rise in me. Something I had never felt before.

  “Remember that pain is controllable, and you are strong, Abigail, those of us who can handle this type of abuse can sense others who can also.”

  “Abuse?” he removed his hand.

  He winked at me as he threaded the needle. “Well, perhaps that was the wrong word for it, let’s say we have a need to push our boundaries.”

  He pulled a smooth silver lighter and lit the large white candle that sat on the island. He stared at the flame and then placed the tip of the needle into the fire, heating it up.

  “Have you heard of the devils flame, Abigail?”

  I shook my head ‘no’ as he grinned and pulled the needle from the fire.

  “Some people like to take needles, such as this, heat them red hot and mark the body with it. Leaving marks behind.”

  “Why would anyone ever do that?”

  “To experience the pleasure of it.”

  “I don’t think that pain can be pleasurable, Jack.”

  He paused as he took hold of my hand. I went rigid. “It depends on what you want. Want i
s a powerful thing, it supersedes any needs you may think you can’t live without.”

  I took a deep breath as he lifted my hand. He heated the needle again and I watched the tip glow red hot. “Why are you doing this?” I whispered.

  He lifted my finger up and placed the needle on my skin. “I like to play; I told you that.”

  “But I…” I hissed as the needle penetrated me and he pushed it through as he watched the blood like an attentive lover would. “Oh my God,” I said as I looked away, and the sharp pain ran down my arm, much worse than the alcohol had when it burned.

  He threaded it through and pulled the first stitch tight as I rolled my eyes and gripped the side of the counter. “Would it help if I told you that I am so hard right now, it aches?”

  I moaned as he pressed the cold steel through my skin again and pulled the second stitch tight.

  “Don’t,” I whispered to him as he adjusted himself in front of me. “Feel it if you think I’m lying.” I turned to stare into his beautiful eyes as he lingered at my lips. He pressed the needle into my finger and I reached down and pressed my hand against him. He swallowed hard, taking in a sharp breath as I squeezed, matching the intensity of the pain he was subjecting me too. I eased up and slowly rubbed my hand up and down as he pulled the stitch tight, and again he stabbed me with it, only this time with less compassion. I gripped him in my hand as he groaned and closed the final gap of my wound. I released him and he bit his lip; glossy eyed and perhaps a little shocked that I did not cry out in pain. To be honest, it did start to turn into a pleasurable thing as I stroked him. He twitched under my hand, but he backed away from me and let my hand go.

  The job was done, and I guess, so was he. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe that I had felt him, let alone stroked him as I felt his excitement rise in my palm. He walked back to the drawer and pulled a long, shiny pair of scissors, returning to me and slowly cutting the thread. He looked at my finger as a child would a favorite toy, and I studied his expression. It was different than before. It wasn’t the calm and deeply mysterious man that had commanded the room. No, this was something entirely new. Another side of him that I had not seen. How many could there possibly be? I guess endless, in the realm of things. We are all complex creatures, and we all have our needs, some more disturbing than others. What bothered me the most was how it had made me feel. It seemed to free me from a cage I didn’t even know that I rested in. But more than that, it turned me on like nothing ever had before. It made me want him, and that was more powerful than any need, just as he had said.