Devil’s Lily: Chapter 8

Spread out below us, is a breathtaking miniature version of a city that unmistakably resembles New York, every detail so finely crafted that it looks almost alive. It’s enormous, covering the entire length of the floor of the room.

“The panorama of New York City, the best view this city has to offer.”

My lips remain parted as I whip my head around, my brain scrambling to take in every inch of it at once. “It’s stunning!” I gasp, eyes darting from one tiny landmark to another, trying to spot anything familiar, but unfortunately, I don’t.

“The entirety of New York City is here,” he says, coming up next to me. “All five boroughs.”

Suddenly, my eyes catch something moving. “Look!” I point, breathless, at the tiny plane soaring across the miniature landscape, complete with realistic engine sounds. My eyes follow the plane, mesmerized, as it travels over a section of the panorama and lands on a small runway.

“LaGuardia Airport,” he tells me, almost too casually, like it’s no big deal that this miniature airport even has moving planes. A moment later, it takes off again, disappearing over another section. Wow.

I’m already moving, walking the length of the glass balcony, my fingers gripping the railing as I peer down at this incredible recreation of the city. Every step I take brings a new thrill as he starts pointing out landmarks I actually recognize.

Central Park. Brooklyn Bridge. The Upper East and Upper West side. Midtown Manhattan. The Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty. And then…

I freeze, staring down at two unmistakable towers. The original Twin Towers, still stand proudly among the rest of the city. My breath catches in my throat. “They haven’t been replaced,” I murmur.

“The plan is to recreate the new World Trade Center here when the entire complex is complete. They’ve actually printed out the digital model already, but until the whole thing has been constructed in the real world, they’re leaving the towers as they were.”

I nod slowly as he explains, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight. It’s like a glimpse into a world frozen in time.

He nudges me gently, and we continue walking along the balcony. “There’s Queens,” he says, pointing towards the borough where we live. But before I can say anything, the lights dim, and an orange tint washes over the landscape. He stops. “Watch the sunset.”

I inhale sharply as the golden–orange replica of the setting sun slowly cuts across the miniature city, the lights lending a mystical, magical quality to the masterpiece. The orange glow darkens until the city is pitch black, and then one by one, tiny lights flicker on in some of the miniature buildings, perfectly mimicking nighttime in New York.

Absolutely stunning.

“Do you believe me now?” His voice is close, low, and suddenly, I feel his hand on my waist. I don’t even think about it—I scoot closer, letting myself melt into the moment as we watch the city slowly light up again. “The whole cycle—sunset and sunrise—takes about ninety seconds,” he informs me as we start walking again so we can actually get a closer look at Queens.

When we reach it, his hand drops from my waist, and I immediately feel a twinge of loss, as if he’s taken a part of me with him. I turn to him, only to see him taking a pack of cigars from his jacket pocket.

I glance around the room, scandalized, but it’s just us and his men. Still, I blurt out, “I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke in here.”

His eyes dance with amusement as he places a cigar between his lips. “Are you a stickler for rules, then?” he challenges, returning the pack into his pocket and exchanging it for a lighter.

The tip of the cigar flares orange, and suddenly the air is infused with a rich hypnotic scent. He takes a long drag, then exhales a cloud of fragrant smoke that wraps around me like a cozy fog. “Well?”

But I’ve forgotten his question, forgotten the panorama, forgotten everything but him. It’s like he has cast a spell, and now I can only focus on him. The warmth of his body so close to mine, the mouthwatering scent of his cologne mixed with the cigar. I had no idea cigars could smell so good.

Or is it just him?

He notices me staring and, as if reading my mind, offers me the cigar. My mind races with wild thoughts, and I don’t know what comes over me, but the tension that’s been riding me since I saw him across the room of his restaurant two days ago finally snaps. I can’t resist any longer.

Heart pounding a storm, I step into his space, just like he’s been stepping into mine all day. Then, before I can second-guess it, I rise up on my toes and press my lips against his, giving him my first kiss.

For a heart-stopping moment, he freezes, and a wave of self-deprecating doubt fills my head. Oh no, I’m a horrible kisser. Terrible, even. What was I thinking?!

I start to retreat, cheeks burning with embarrassment, but then—whoosh—his arm swoops around me, yanking me close. And suddenly, gloriously, he’s kissing me back. It’s no soft kiss either—it’s hungry, hot, and full of this raw need that makes my heart race. Has he been wanting this too? His lips drag across mine, coaxing them open, and when his tongue finally slides inside—wow—a jolt of something warm and electric shoots right down to my core. I’ve never felt anything like it. Ever.

I gasp—no, moan—because the pleasure is so overwhelming, so unexpected as the intoxicating taste of spicy cigar, mint, and him fills my being. My hands, as if acting on instinct, fly to his skull, fingers sinking into the silky strands of his hair, gripping like I never want to let go. Though, I don’t even know if I’m doing this right.

He angles his head, his palm moving in slow circles on my back, soothing and reassuring even as his hot tongue explores the depth of my mouth. When he pulls my tongue between his lips and sucks—holy crap—dark spots blur my vision, and my knees actually feel weak as more pleasure cascades through me. Is this normal? Am I going to melt? Because I feel like I’m losing control, like I’m freefalling into something I’m not sure how to handle.

And then—oh God, what’s that?—something hard pokes against my belly, startling me. No way, is that his—I jolt back, breaking the kiss. My eyes nearly pop out of my head when I spot the very obvious bulge in his trousers, and suddenly, I’m scrambling back, trying to process what just happened.

He lets me go without a word, watching me carefully, and I feel my face heat up. Of course, I’m blushing. Stupid redhead curse. My blush is always so noticeable. But still, he says nothing, just… passes me his cigar again? This time, I don’t even think twice about it as I accept it from him. Anything to distract me from the fact that I just realized he—yeah. He does want me.

I’ve never smoked before. I’ve missed out on so much in my life thanks to my overprotective father who couldn’t handle the loss of his wife. But I’m done missing out. I want to experience everything—all the things I’ve been sheltered from my whole life.

Sex. Being reckless. Not worrying about consequences for once. And smoking this cigar, offered to me by this insanely hot man who I’ve been on a date with all day and just gave my first kiss to.

I place the cigar between my lips, hyper-aware that his lips were just here moments ago. Then, I inhale, dragging the rich, spicy smoke into my lungs like I know what I’m doing, and—oh crap, nope. My throat clamps up immediately, and my eyes water as I choke and start coughing.

“You’re—you’re such a bad influence,” I rasp through my coughing fit, wiping at my tear-filled eyes as I hand him back his cigar. My lungs are on fire, and I probably look like a complete mess, but weirdly, I feel more alive than I ever have.

Less than a week. That’s how long I’ve known him, but already he’s got me running from home, spending hours with him at a children’s park he emptied out just for us, kissing him, having all kinds of sexual thoughts, and now even smoking a cigar. A freaking cigar.

Atë would have a heart attack if he knew what I’ve been up to. He’d lock me in my room for life.

My Italian rubs his hand soothingly down my back, and like magic, a bottle of cold water is being thrust into my hands. I gratefully unscrew the cap and gulp the cool liquid, which helps calm the burn in my throat a little. But when I try to hand it back, the bottle slips from my fingers, and the room takes a slow, dizzying spin around me.

I tilt towards him, instinctively grabbing his shirt for balance, but something’s wrong.

A sudden yawn forces its way out as this heavy, overwhelming drowsiness washes over me. The room spins on a loop like I’m still on the carousel, only this is way more disorienting, and everything is blurring, darkening. What’s happening to me? Is this what getting high feels like? But that’s impossible, right? One drag shouldn’t hit this hard. Am I that much of a lightweight?

“Shh,” he murmurs softly, continuing the soothing movements on my back. “Don’t fight it. Just go to sleep. I’ve got you.”

Wait—no. Warning bells ring through my head at his words, and I groan as the dawning horror hits me.

He drugged me. That bastard!

But it’s too late. As my eyelids grow heavy and darkness pulls me under, that’s when the third clue clicks into place.

How could I not have seen it? Of course, it simply never occurred to me that I could randomly meet a man in the same line of business as my father at a restaurant I just happened to wander into on my birthday—and first time out of the compound in years.

A man who could easily be one of Atë’s rivals and possibly even one of the enemies my brother painstakingly warned me about and trained me to escape from.

Stupid. I was so clueless.

And fell right into his arms.