The Handsome Devil

Chapter 67 - Dread

"There's a difference between grabbing a beer with your mates after a mission, and sneaking bottles into your bedroom to get fucked alone" Max returned coldly, his grip not relenting a bit.

"Like you would ever let me if I asked!" She shouted in disbelief. "And don't forget some of us don't have the privilege of 'grabbing a beer with mates'. Or even talk to them, while we're at it"

The devil's lips parted a couple of times, but it seemed he ran out of arguments.

"You have no right to judge me" Deya finally stopped fidgeting, all her energy focused on burning a hole into the man with her glare.

"Yeah, I don't" For a second, Max appeared taken aback, his tone noticeably softening.

"And I'm not" There was a short pause as he shook his head. "But I've promised your father to keep you safe, and that includes protecting you from yourself"

Another wave of silence fell upon them, and Max wondered if Deya even heard him, given the disinterested expression.

But she did.

And as her mind slowly absorbed the words, her cheeks got gradually more heated. The room was suddenly drown in a animalistic scream as her mask of composition eventually fell, and she used the moment Max covered his ears to launch an attack.

"How dare you bring my father into this!" Her tiny fists rained on the man from all sides as she added a bunch of  colourful insults, momentarily switching to russian without even noticing.

"Wait--" He tried to get a word in while shielding his face, but the girl soon hit the weak spot above his right hip and that cut him off.

"You out of all people should understand!" Her voice came out unnaturally rough as she struggled to catch a breath, and it obviously hit a sore spot.

"You're right, I'm--" The devil's eyes instantly filled with guilt, but it was a little too late and the girl used the distraction to deliver a punch to his uncovered face.

"I don't wanna hear it!" She yelled at the top of her lungs while backing away from the man. "And I don't care what you promised my father!"

"He's dead for christ sake!" With the words, the room fell into silence again, leaving them to stare at each other from distance.

It was about then that Deya registered the stabbing pain in her bare feet for the first time. Casting her eyes to the tiled floor, she absentmindedly focused on the glistening tiny pieces of glass and bloody smudges, admiring it the way one might an art piece.

"He's.. dead" She repeated in a pained voice and when she looked up again, the bloodlust in her eyes was gone, replaced by a curtain of tears.

. . .

"You wished to talk to me?" Hunter inquired uncertainly once he gathered courage enough to open the door to his father's office.

"Take a seat" The old man motioned to the chair on the opposite side of his desk, and perhaps it was out of sheer terror that his son complied. After all, since his return, the threat of being exposed seemed to intensify with each passing day.

"You've been working hard for the past couple of months, and I want you to know it didn't go unnoticed" He continued in a serious tone, not seating himself down yet.

"Thank you, father" Hunter mumbled humbly, avoiding the man's piercing gaze in the process.

"Of course, it is unfortunate that your memory did not return" Oliver added before making another pause. "But maybe it's for the best"