Devil's Redemption (Devil's Pawn Duet 2)

If there was a moment I hoped things would be different where Julia was concerned, for Isabelle’s sake, it’s gone. Things just went sideways in a very bad way.

19

Isabelle

“What are you doing here, Isabelle?” Ezekiel asks me. He extends a hand to help me up.

I grab the flashlight and take his hand. He helps me stand and I dust off my jeans to buy some time.

“I was… I couldn’t sleep.”

He releases me and bends to pick up the book. “What happened to making a cup of warm milk if you can’t sleep?” he asks casually, his focus on straightening the bent page. Reading it. It’s the one about Nellie. “There’s a library in the house if you want something to read.” He closes it, placing it back on the altar.

“I didn’t know you were home.”

“No, I guess you didn’t. I just got back.” He looks me over, eyes falling on the dust still clinging to the knees of my jeans. “What were you doing? And don’t tell me praying.”

“I had a fight with your brother. Well, not a fight… just, things are weird.” I take a deep breath. He’s not stupid. I’m not going to try to make up some story of why I’m here. What would be the point? “I wanted to know what Draca did to Nellie,” I say, gesturing to Draca’s grave.

“To ready yourself for what Jericho might do?”

I don’t answer.

“Hm.” His forehead is creased, eyes dark and intent. Just like how Jericho looks at me, as if he sees right through me. “And does knowing help you?”

I rub my arms at a sudden chill and look around. I shake my head.

“He was a piece of work, wasn’t he?” he asks, tracing the carved wood cover of the book.

“He hated Nellie even though she had nothing to do with what happened to Mary. It was her father who was guilty.”

“Sins of the father. You know how that goes.”

“Or the half-brother in my case.” I sit down on the pew again and he joins me.

“You’re not afraid to be in here alone in the middle of the night?”

I shrug a shoulder. “A little. But sometimes I’m more scared to be inside the house.”

The corner of his mouth curves upward and he exhales. “My brother can be an intimidating prick, but he won’t hurt you, Isabelle.”

I smile. “I agree whole-heartedly with that first part.”

He grins.

“But why do you think he won’t hurt me? Is it because of the baby?” I realize when I say it that I’m not sure if Ezekiel knows about the pregnancy. But given his expression, it’s not news.

“No, it has nothing to do with the baby. He just won’t.” He looks up at the altar. “He may have planned to, but he won’t. He can’t.”

“Can’t?”

He turns back to me and I see shadows under his eyes. A little bit of graying hair at his temple. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to the house,” he says, standing.

“What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, anyway? Just taking a walk in the woods?” I ask, standing.

“Visiting the dead,” he says. “Let’s go.” He closes his hand over my arm.

“Just a minute,” I say, remembering the candles I lit on the altar.

“Not sure you have a minute. My brother got home a little while ago.”

My heart drops to my stomach for the second time that night. “What?”

“He was on a call in his study. If you’re lucky, you can get upstairs before he realizes you’re gone.”

“I’m never lucky,” I say just as the chapel door opens as if to confirm the truth of my statement.

I gasp. A gust of wind blows out two of the candles and my husband stands on the threshold of the chapel. The little bit of light shining around him casts him in a shadow so dark, so menacing, I find myself shrinking from his gaze.

But it’s not me he’s glaring it.

It’s his brother.

I feel Ezekiel’s hand on me, wrapped around my arm. Then I remember what Jericho said about any man touching me.

“Brother,” Jericho says.

Jericho remains where he is, unblinking. His eyes move from Ezekiel’s hand on my arm, to me. He steps into the chapel letting the door slam shut behind him. I swear it rattles even the stone walls of this ancient building.

“Brother,” Ezekiel replies.

I swallow, my heart racing as Jericho eats up the space between them, moving as swift as a shadow. He grips Ezekiel’s wrist. I wonder if Ezekiel had forgotten he was holding me or if he keeps his hand on my arm to taunt his brother.

“We discussed this,” Jericho says, face inches from his brother. Two giants readying for battle. “You don’t touch what’s mine.”

I glance from Jericho’s hard face to Ezekiel’s and see one corner of his mouth curl upward. “See what I mean, Isabelle?” he asks. I assume he’s referring to the intimidating prick comment but for as casual as he sounds, he hasn’t shifted his eyes from his brother.