Deviant Hearts: Chapter 31

“Look, I’m really fucking sorry, Neve—”

“Shut up.”

I’m so angry—so absolutely furious—that I can barely talk.

“Neve—”

“Just shut the FUCK up, Jack.”

He pauses at the front door to his building, fishing his keys out of his pocket.

“I’m serious, Neve. This wasn’t my idea. I swear.”

I whirl on him. “Then why are you doing this?!”

“I…” he winces, avoiding my eyes. “Look, I’m in trouble. Financially, I mean. And they’re going to get me out of it.”

“With my money?” I snap.

Jack gives sheepish look. “Neve, it’s nothing personal. Look, you’ve got tons of money, and when you pay them, they’re going to destroy the pictures—”

“Like they ‘destroyed’ them before?!”

Jack exhales unhappily as he looks away to unlock the door. My phone dings. When I pull it out, my heart wrenches when I see a text from Ares.

Ares: where the fuck are you

I can practically feel his presence through the phone, and it breaks my heart.

Yes, I was livid when I left the apartment just now. But it wasn’t just finding that pair of fucking panties on the bathroom floor. I was already keyed up, with my emotions running so hot I was about to explode before even laid eyes on them.

As Jack unlocks the door, I glance at my phone, my eyes landing on the last text messages that came in before Ares’ just now. The ones from Greg Leery, telling me he still had more of those pictures. Telling me to come to The Banshee with two hundred thousand dollars. Immediately. Or the photos would end up online.

The ones that said if I told my husband, or anyone else, what was going on, those pictures of me would go viral within an hour.

That was my mental state when I walked into the bathroom to find Lucia fucking Bolinaro’s underwear shoved halfway under the floating vanity. And given how close I was to snapping as it was, it sent me tumbling over the edge into full-scale psycho mode.

I didn’t even make it down to the lobby from the penthouse before I almost broke down and ran back to Ares to apologize. I know this insane idea of him sneaking around with Lucia—who is obviously just a business associate—is just my own insecurity talking. And I know I only accused him just now because I was nearing a mental breakdown after getting the texts from Greg.

After I secure those last photos, I’m going right back to Ares. I’m going to throw my arms around him, explain everything, and tell him I love him.

But first, I have to do this.

Wordlessly, ignoring Jack’s pathetic attempts at trying to make himself look like a secondary victim in all of this, I follow him up the three flights of stairs to his apartment. He gives me one last sheepish look before he opens the door and we step inside.

Instantly, I tense as Greg and Mike get up from Jack’s small couch. I’ve hated those two for so many years. But it’s only now, being face-to-face with them again, in a small, confined space no less, that I realize it’s not just hate I feel when it comes to them.

It’s fear.

These two assholes may not have had sex with me or assaulted me physically. But they still violated me. They still took intimate pictures of me while I was blacked out. Not to mention the nauseating ones of them with their dicks out near my face like some sort of disgusting amateur porn shoot.

Both of them are still sporting bruised faces. Mike, from Ares beating the shit out of him outside the Banshee. And Greg, presumably, though Ares never told me the details, from when my husband got the supposedly “last” pictures from him before.

“Hey, Neve,” Greg hazards.

“Fuck you both.”

He smirks, like he’s barely holding back a crude joke or suggestion. My stomach turns.

“Did you bring the money?”

“Yes.”

I seethe as I glance down at the purse slung casually over my shoulder. It’s not like I went to the ATM and took out two hundred grand on the way over to The Banshee, even if I’ve got that much in my trust fund. But I’ve seen Ares open the safe in the bedroom a half dozen times. I know the combination.

I feel terrible for taking it without asking, especially after the way I shut him out and then exploded at him. But when this is all over, I’ll make sure he gets that money back.

Mike makes a move to approach. But I hold the bag tight, taking a step back from him.

“You have the pictures?”

Greg nods, pulling a white envelope out of his jacket and waving it. “These really are the last ones.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“I swear it’s true,” Greg mutters. “You have my word.”

“Your word means shit to me.”

He shrugs. “Then you’ll have to trust me. The same way we’re trusting you not to tell your prick husband about any of this.”

I sneer at him. “And what’s keeping me from doing that?”

“Nothing. But I’ll say this,” Greg glares at me. “I’ve got the ear of both the mayor and the police commissioner. If that Greek psycho comes anywhere near either me or Mike, I’ll have the city open a full-scale investigation into the Drakos and Kildare families. You tell Ares about this, and I’ll fucking tear your worlds apart. You think your sister has a shot in hell of still going to Columbia for business school after every single bit of your family’s dirty laundry ends up splashed all over the news?”

I swallow, hatred flowing from my eyes into his. Greg just shrugs. “It is what it is, Neve. Now, are we doing this or not?”

My teeth grind.

“We are.”

I hold my hand out as I unsling the bag from my shoulder. Greg hands me the sealed white envelope as Mike plucks the bag of money from my grip. I watch the two of them yank the bag open and start to paw through the stacks of cash as I march into Jack’s kitchen.

Wordlessly, I light his gas stove, touch the corner of the envelope to the flame, and then drop it into his sink. I watch in cold, icy fury as the paper burns away. Then as the Polaroids within curl and smoke in muted colors as the chemicals catch fire. I watch until the flames are completely out before turning to level a chilling look at the three guys.

“Happy?” I snap.

Mike grins at me. “Happy. Pleasure doing business with you, Neve.”

“Go fuck yourself.” I shake my head angrily, holding back tears and emotion. “You two are a couple of fucking disgusting excuses for human beings, I hope you know that.”

Greg shrugs. I sneer at them.

“And now you managed to even get Jack mixed up in this shit? Because he needs the money?”

Greg’s mouth drops open.

“Is that what he told you?”

Jack shoots him a quick look. “Leery, c’mon, man—”

“Jack’s doing just fine, Neve. Shit, he makes a killing flirting with all those hipster chicks at The Banshee.”

Jack swallows. “Dude, enough—”

“He’s mixed up in this, because he’s always been mixed up in it.”

My face pales as I slowly turn to see Jack looking at the floor, looking extremely uncomfortable.

“What the fuck is he talking about?” I hiss quietly.

Jack just shrugs and looks away.

Mike snickers. “Neve, come on. Who the hell do you think took those pictures that night?”

It feels like I’ve just been punched in the stomach. I wince, choking a little as my eyes snap back to Jack. Jack, who’s been my favorite friendly bartender for years. Jack, who I’ve always considered a good friend. Jack, who’s been to my goddamn house.

“Jack…?” I choke.

I want it so badly not to be true. But when he looks up with a nauseated, horrible look on his face, I know Greg isn’t lying.

“You motherfucker,” I whisper.

“Neve, I’m so fucking sorry. Everyone was drinking. And, you know, I knew it was fucked up. But Leery said it was just a prank, and—”

“You’re all dead.”

He stops babbling as the words tear brutally from my lips. I turn to level a vicious look at Greg.

“Do either of you honestly think I’m scared of your pathetic threats?”

The smirk drops from his lips as he and Mike glance at each other.

“Neve, if you think I’m bluffing—”

“Oh, I don’t. I think you’re a joke, actually.”

I’m done. Fuck this, and fuck them. My family alone has enough power to shut down whatever bullshit Greg thinks he might be able to stir up. But with the Kildare and Drakos alliance?

He’s not going to just get shut down.

He’s going to get buried.

Literally.

“I think you’re all fucking pathetic jokes,” I hiss. “Do you have any fucking idea what it means to threaten me and my family? Or what it means to threaten the family I’ve married into? Never mind the two families together.” I laugh coldly as Greg, Mike, and Jack all grow a little paler.

“Do you honestly think I’m still some teenager you slipped a fucking roofie to?” My lips curl dangerously. “Because I’m not. I’m a fucking queen now, you stupid, limp-dicked pieces of shit.”

Greg swallows uneasily, shifting nervously on his feet.

“Okay, okay. Hang on. Look, it’s done, okay? We can all just walk away—”

“Wrong.” I smile coldly at him as I square my shoulders. “In fact, you’re so fucking wrong it’s actually funny, Greg. No. I ‘walked away’ from this years ago. Then again last month. But then you were stupid enough to walk right back to it again.” I shake my head. “No, assholes, your last chance to ‘walk away’ was when my husband beat the fuck out of both of you. That was it. That was your wipe the slate clean card. But now?”

My lips curve up in a dangerous smile. My pulse roars with power, vengeance, and the absolute absence of fear.

“Now? He’s going to fucking kill you all.”

“No, he won’t.”

The voice behind me is like a blade cutting into my throat and severing my vocal cords. It’s the voice from my nightmares. The voice of death itself.

The voice of a monster.

In slow motion, I watch confusion and then fear twist across the faces of the three men in front of me. I begin to turn around, everything sluggish and slow, like I’m moving through waist-deep snow. When I finally do see who they’re looking at, the very floor drops out from under me.

Seamus O’Conor. Still very much alive, and still very much with two hands.

“No, he won’t,” he growls again in a chilling, flinty voice. “But I will.”

The gun in his hand raises. My hands fly up to my face, but then he’s firing past me—three shots, all fired with the world’s most bland, unemotional look on his face.

Three bodies hit the floor behind me. But I can’t look away. I can’t breathe, or talk, or even blink as my monster grins pure evil at me.

“Hello, little bird. Time to go.”