The Devil I Crave (Devil's Knights 2)

Nothing.

I feel nothing.

Dead on the inside.

A black hole in place of my heart.

“Shut the fuck up.” I set the bottle on the table. “Stay out of my business, Kali.”

I’d known Kali since our senior year of high school. Most of the time, she was easygoing and never gave me shit. She usually had good advice about Alex. But I hadn’t forgotten the three years we spent looking for her after she ran from my brothers. Otherwise, she was like family.

“You made it our business by inviting us to this party.”

Stop challenging me, woman.

“It’s one night. She’ll come crawling back to me tomorrow.”

Alex always came back to me. Even when I was an unbearable asshole, she still wanted me. Took my abuse. She knew who owned her body, heart, and soul.

“I don’t know about that,” Kali hissed. “This was low, even for you. She’s going to be your wife.”

My gaze shifted to Damian, then Bastian, my top lip quivering. “Get her out of here before I strangle her.”

They left without another word, knowing better than to challenge me when I was losing fucking control. My hand twitched from a tremor that made my left hand unsteady. This wasn't good. Something I’d gotten rid of years ago. In this state, I was a danger to everyone in this room—even myself.

You’re insane, motherfucker.

I gripped the edge of the chair to steady my hand and took another sip of scotch. My eyes darted to Drake. “Turn the music on, D.” Then I glanced at Sonny, my hand raised. “Get over here with the blow. This is a fucking party, after all.”

Drake reached for a remote on the table beside him. Seconds later, rap music cranked through the speakers. The lights dimmed. Drinks and drugs flowed throughout the room.

I wanted to be numb.

Dead to the fucking world.

“Venom” by Eminem rocked through the room. I loved this fucking song. Dropping into an armchair, I kicked my foot up on the coffee table. Sonny and Drake moved to the couch beside me with another bottle of scotch and a glass plate of coke.

“I said knock knock let the devil in,” I mouthed Eminem’s words, bobbing my head to the beat.

The Devil had possessed my ass a long time ago. I needed an exorcism to rid myself of my demons. Nothing could cleanse my soul, not after all the sins I had committed.

Drake slid the bottle in front of me, and I took a long sip of my favorite scotch. The burn. I loved it.

Sonny handed me a rolled-up hundred-dollar bill with a smirk. “Happy birthday, asshole.”

With a wink, I took the money from him. I leaned forward to snort a line and went back to not giving a fuck.

Dead.

Numb.

A blonde with big tits danced at the center of the room. From this angle, she looked like Alex when she swayed her hips.

But she wasn’t Alex.

No one could replace her.

No amount of drugs, alcohol, or pussy could fill the hole in my chest. Alex was my end game, plain and simple. Neither of us could escape fate.

Tuning out the world, I laid my head back against the chair. Sipped from the bottle of scotch and stared up at the ceiling, heart racing.

She would forgive me.

My girl always did.

But would I forgive myself?

She’s upstairs.

Go get her, dumb ass.

Tell her how you feel.

Alex

My eyes swept over Marcello’s bedroom, taking in every inch of the space. He was alone on the top floor, his father at the far end of the hall. Thankfully, we hadn’t run into Arlo. That would have been awkward as fuck.

The room had high ceilings, tall windows with dark curtains, and a balcony that overlooked the bay. He had the same room as Luca but one floor above him. I stood at the center of the room and noted every detail of the mural, which spanned two walls.

Marcello can paint.

A smile stretched across my face, and a strange feeling stirred in my belly. Several emotions raced through me at once—excitement, happiness, and pride. His mom would have been so proud of him. I thought about the fresco in Evangeline’s studio. With their perfect golden crowns, she saw her sons as stars, the light illuminating their handsome faces.

Smooth brushstrokes created a world that belonged to Marcello, his bedroom a testament to his raw talent. Black, red, orange, and a hint of white paint swirled across his walls. Back in Haven, I painted the Underworld version of Devil’s Creek on my bedroom walls. All the devils were there. But Marcello’s mural was the Underworld.

A man stood at the center of the skull and fire landscape, his head down, dark waves atop his head. He had snakes wrapped around his legs, slithering up his arms. What looked like a king cobra sat on his shoulder, its tongue hanging out.

Like The Serpents.