Devil In The Waters, Book 3, Chapter 18 (complete) (Patreon)

Six o’clock now, and she walked the pale marble of the Royal York’s lobby dressed all in black and wearing new heels she’d bought for eight hundred dollars this afternoon. They clicked on the transition from the grand hotel’s hall where it met the stone floor of the Clockwork. Heads turned at the sound and she flinched, alarmed at the attention the sound high heels brought. Then changed her mind and enjoyed the following gaze of a few well-dressed men sitting in lounge chairs and on couches.

The Clockwork was the lobby’s reservation-only luxury lounge. A long and narrow space with high ceilings, the fixtures and decor recalled the hotel’s railway history. At the back, the bar stood below two very tall racks of backlit shelving lined with liquor. At the top of the bar’s towering shelves, a train station clock showed the little hand on the six, big hand past twelve. The barman dressed in black and white; the tables were low, seats comfortable and upholstered in fine fabrics; the seating spaces were intimate and softly lit. Devlin sat in the center on a couch by himself, one leg crossed over the other. He watched her come to him.

She didn’t smile, didn’t give him any expression but the poker face she reserved for court. But her insides squirmed in awful anticipation. She wore no panties under her skirt.

Stopped couch-side, she looked mildly at their seating—two opposing sofas in amber velvet—said, “Our guests haven’t arrived yet?”

“Not yet,” Devlin said, then patted the sofa, “come sit with me.”

When the guests arrived they would sit together opposite them, so she tucked her skirt behind her thighs and sat next to him on the couch, putting her purse on her lap. Phone from her pocket, she shut it off and put it in her bag, set the bag on the floor. “What are you having?” she asked, nodding her chin to the cocktail on the table in front of him.

“Whisky cocktail. Foreign Exchange. I’ll order you one.” He signaled for a server and she crossed her legs, putting her back into the sofa’s corner.

Devlin’s eyes moved up and down her stocking leg from knee to foot. “I love the new shoes, Kimmy,” he said. Then the server was there before she could comment, and he ordered for her what he was drinking.

She said, “Are our guests running late? How long do we wait?”

Devlin checked his watch. “They’ll be along soon. You’re anxious to get home?”

“It’s been a long day.”

“Mel’s shipment still rotting on the dock?”

“I’ve made headway,” she said.

“Tell me about it.”

“I’ll wait till it’s confirmed.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s exciting, Kimmy. ABM said they hit a roadblock.”

She nodded but offered nothing more.

Her drink arrived. She sipped and Devlin watched her.

“What do you think?”

“I think you’ve made me like whisky. What’s in there—cherry?”

He nodded. “Maraschino liqueur.”

She checked her watch. “This isn’t going to sound crazy—because I know you—but I get the feeling there are no guests coming.”

He chuckled softly, brushed his pant leg, then set his cocktail back down. “And yet you came.”

“You said it was for work.”

“You bought new shoes.”

She flexed her foot so she could eye her new purchase. “I saw them, I liked them, I bought them,” she said.

“You’re chillier than I expected.”

“I’ll warm up when the guests arrive.”

“They’ll be here soon,” he said, “drink up.”

She sipped her cocktail again; spice, whisky, cherry. It burned, it was sweet and smoky, and she liked it. Liked sitting here too. Sitting here in a luxury hotel with everyone wondering who this beautiful couple was sitting in a space reserved for four, standing out in their black clothes and their sharp and commanding features. Devlin wore a suit in black with a thin chalky stripe; white shirt with French cuffs, silk tie in azure and knotted perfectly. The watch he wore today was gold to match his cuff links. Hair slicked back and face shaved, he looked devilish and powerful; like he belonged here. She wore her best suit, also in black. Hose and garter belt, her lingerie bra. She’d worn the matching panties, then in the car in the underground she’d stripped them off and hid them under her seat. What the hell for, she didn’t know. But she’d worn them all day and they’d be pungent, and even though there wasn’t a chance Devlin would have been putting his hand in them tonight, she felt funny about it. Then walking in the chill of the underground, her stomach had tightened with the thrill of meeting her awful boss without them on.

She set her cocktail on the table. “Look, Devlin. I hope you remember when you said anything between us wasn’t part of my employment.”

He nodded, waiting.

“Because . . . I can’t.”

He showed her his palms, shrugged. “Never say never.”

“I talked to Josh this weekend.”

He smirked. “Did he find our texts?”

She scoffed at the awful thought. “No. But we just . . . talked.”

“What did he say?”

She looked around the bar, watched people having much easier conversations by lamp light, laughing, smiling, leaning close. This would be much nicer if she were here with Josh and they were having a good time. “I remember you had a reputation in high school—”

“For what?”

“For being a bully. And Josh . . . told me you weren’t very nice to him.”

Devlin didn’t object, moved his eyes around like this news was already obvious. “No, I probably wasn’t.”

She waited a long beat, and he waited along with her. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

Devlin nodded again, watching her, contemplating. He leaned to take his cocktail, sipped, held it on his knee. “Kimmy, no one wants to relive high school. Not me, despite what people might think about guys like me. Everybody assumes to guys like me they’re the glory days . . . I know they’re not. I’ll tell you, I’m a million miles away from that guy I was in high school. I’m not like that anymore. Guys like Josh want me to be. They can’t get away from it. Look at you. Are you like you were in high school?”

“What was I like in high school?”

He flashed a smile. “Blunt?”

“The truth.”

“I didn’t notice you. I didn’t know your name. Well, I knew it was Kimmy. But you were just a skinny Chinese girl who knew all the answers. Got hundred percents. Never, ever saw you out of school. What do I think of you now?”

“I didn’t ask. You’ve already told me what you thought of me now.”

“Right. That proves my point, doesn’t it?”

She averted her eyes to her skirt’s hem. “Maybe.”

“Are you that same girl from high school?”

“No.”

“You wear khaki pants and pastel sweaters with fucking bunnies and shit on them.”

She chuckled. She’d like to. “Sometimes I like to be comfortable.”

Now Devlin smiled and eased closer. She realized she’d given him some room. “Tell me this. Did that skinny stick from high school ever think she could be the kind of woman who’d put on an expensive black dress, thousand dollar shoes, fucking walk in a room like this and get every man looking? Make a man like me swallow hard, get his dick hard, make him work overtime coming up with ways to get you upstairs and into a hotel room . . . Did she ever think she could be like that?”

She hummed in her throat, scratched her neck, looked around again. “No.”

He smiled. “That shy girl—who was so fucking pretty, but so fucking nerdy—the one Amy brought to my house telling me she thought we could get her in bed, would she ever believe the things we’ve already done?”

She shook her head. “Definitely not.”

“You wanted to that night.”

She laughed. “With you and Amy?—I did not.”

“You did. You did but you were scared.”

She rolled her eyes. “So what?”

“Amy picked you. She swore you’d go for it."

“But I didn’t . . . I wasn’t your choice?”

“I kinda knew who she meant when she told me. I was happy when you showed up.”

She chuckled—surprised she could chuckle over the awful event that had shook her teenage life. An event she’d distressed over for years afterward. How could Amy do that to her . . . did the hottest guy in high school actually think she was worthy . . .? A year of reeling from one side to the other: insult and regret. “I had no idea what Amy wanted me there for.”

“You ran.”

“I did.”

“I don’t think you’d run from me now.”

“I’m not running. I’m not afraid. It’s Josh. It’s what you did to my husband when we were younger . . . and . . . what he says you’re doing now.”

Devlin frowned, puzzled. “What am I doing now?”

She rubbed at her temple: the first break in her stony demeanor. She corrected it. “That Double-A stuff is just dumb and mean—”

“That was back in high school.”

“You were saying it to me and Amy at Tiffany’s party and you said it in my apartment.”

He chuckled. “It is dumb. You’re right. I wouldn’t say it to Josh’s face, if that would make you feel better.”

“It’s still juvenile.”

“Your husband was— never mind . . .”

“Say it.”

“He started it.”

She grunted, frowned. “Called himself Double-A?”

“No-no, I started that, or one of the other guys. It started because . . . he was checking out my piece in the shower. I’m an asshole. Sorry. But, Kimmy, I called him that when I was thirteen. You know how stupid thirteen-year-old boys are?—really stupid. And mean.”

“I don’t care, Devlin,” she said. “That’s just . . . you left your card in my front hall table.” She met his eyes.

He nodded, waiting for the bad part.

She said, “Then you texted Josh to let him know it was there.”

He shook his head like he’d been told something impossible. “I did what?”

“You texted him it was there so he’d know you were in our apartment.”

“I certainly did not,” he said, amused, “Josh told you that?”

“You did,” she said, but the whole while gauging his reaction, springing it on him in a calculated move. And unless he’d prepared his response in the mirror, it seemed genuine surprise.

“I don’t even know Josh’s number,” he said, looking around the lounge, his expression tickled—like he’d realized her barrier to sleeping with him was some lie her husband had told her about him, and that barrier was made of cardboard. “Why would I do that?”

“He says to fuck with him.”

Devlin struggled with an answer for a moment, still gladdened by her accusation. “Kimmy, I’m not the guy I was. You’re not that girl. Josh is stuck there. Can’t get his brain out of the last decade. Don’t let him hold himself back. Let him grow up. And for sure don’t let him hold you back.”

“He doesn’t hold me back ever. He supports me.”

“Look at me,” he said, expression going serious, “I did not text Josh I was in your apartment. Why the hell would I do that? I want it a secret more than you.”

“More than me?”

He laughed. “I want to fuck you more than you want to fuck me.”

She scoffed, but a shiver got her shoulders shaking and nipples tightening hearing him say fuck. “Right,” she said, but was thinking maybe he wasn’t kidding. “Then how did Josh know the card was there?”

“Jesus, Kimmy. You’re the smart one. Josh found it. Then made up a story about how he found it.”

It was what she’d worried. Poor Josh. “Why would you leave it there?”

“For you.”

“You left it where anyone could find it. Like my husband.”

“I put it to the side where no one would see it. I wait three days, if I don’t hear from you, I text and tell you to look in the drawer . . .”

“Like a dumb magic trick.”

“Not everything I come up with is a winner.”

“It was dumb and risky and you must have known there would be a chance Josh would find it.”

He flicked his eyes away, looked back. “Careless, yes. On purpose, no. If I wanted to fuck with Josh he’d know about it. There would be no mystery. I don’t think about Josh. I think about you.”

“It could have jeopardized my marriage.”

“I admit it was careless.”

“If anything I do harms my husband, it’s untenable. If you bully him—or have someone else do it—I’m out. Out of Stone, too.”

“Kimmy, Josh is just jealous. Jealous of you spending time with me, jealous you make way more money than him now. He’s stuck in high school. You know it. I’m an asshole, yes. But I’ve got better things to do . . . I left high school ten years ago, if I had time for games like that I’d need my head examined. Josh is trying to pull you back and he’s making up crazy shit because he doesn’t know any better way to deal with problems.”

She looked away, twisting her mouth around. Somewhere along the way, she’d crossed her arms.

Devlin said, “You know that makes more sense than what Josh told you.”

“I thought about it.”

Devlin asked her: “Do you think power is infinite?”

“What are you calling power?”

“This imaginary force you think one exerts over another. Me over Josh.”

“Infinite? No.”

“Then it’s finite.”

“Yes.” She shrugged a shoulder. “So?”

“Is it tangible? Can it be possessed?”

“Sure. It can be possessed. No. Not tangible.”

“If it’s not tangible how can one possess it?”

“I don’t know,” she said, letting out an agitated exhale. “It’s talk like this that got us fighting last time. Is that your plan?—pin me down on the floor here . . . Okay, how does one possess power then?”

He said, “Power is granted.”

She said, “Power is a privilege.”

“Is it? Maybe, but not in the way you think.”

“What the hell are you talking about here?”

“Giving me the label of bully to place blame, to hang it on my shoulders, is as imprecise as labelling Josh a victim. It’s only labels. It’s not truth. Josh and I exchanged energy. The victim draws the bully in, not the other way around. Sometimes someone’s soft energy inspires aggression.”

“He doesn’t ask for it.”

“All due respect: his behavior asks for it.”

She huffed and rolled her eyes again.

“Josh grants the power. The power is bestowed by the weak. Josh’s weakness draws its own response. His weakness can draw the nurturer, like you, or it can draw the dominant like me. Either way, Josh is the one signaling for a response. Darkness isn’t the opposite of light, it’s the absence of light. Cold is the absence of heat. Weakness is the absence of power. And like cold will draw heat, Josh’s weakness will draw strength. When I see weakness I am pulled to it. I don’t seek out weakness out of arrogance or bullying, but when I encounter it, my reaction is magnetic. I’m pulled to it, to quash it, to fill power’s absence.”

“Very philosophical. And nonsense.”

“If Josh didn’t want to be bullied he shouldn’t let himself be bullied.”

“So he wants to be bullied?”

“No. He doesn’t. But I bullied him. Me and others. When we were young. And that’s the way Josh set up his mental office. All his drawers and shelves are lined up and organized to deal with how others interact with him. How he handles you, how he handles work . . . even the pleasure signals in his brain are all arranged to cope with his fears.”

She sat for a long time not saying anything and actually contemplating his ridiculous philosophy.

Devlin asked: “Why are you smirking—what are you thinking about?”

She chuckled, playing with her earlobe, looking away, then back to him. “When I went home after the day we spent in Hamilton—you know, in the cargo container—I was so worried, I was shaking. Worried I’d get caught and I’d hurt him. But then . . .”

“Yeah?”

“Then . . . when it was obvious I got away with it, I . . . I’d been worried he’d smell sex in my hair, but when I got away with it, I asked him . . .”

Devlin’s features were anxious, leaning close. “Go on . . .”

“I asked him to smell my hair.” She scrunched her nose and then laughed. It’d been an awful thing to do—but it had been so exciting.

Instead of laughing, Devlin leaned back, tugged his pant leg, shifted, his mouth hidden behind a hand, playing with his lip. “That’s so hot, Kimmy.” His voice was a low, dry grumble.

“It was awful. Not hot. Awful.”

“Why did you do it then?”

“I don’t even know. It was like . . . I knew he didn’t suspect, and I . . . I couldn’t believe he didn’t suspect it. How could he not? I asked him to smell my hair—for fertilizer—when earlier in the night if he came near me, I was so scared he’d smell sex that I wanted to run out of the room. Once I knew I got away with it . . .”

“You liked rubbing it in his face?”

“God, no. Oh, no way. Do you think that’s what I mean? No. I don’t know what it was, but putting it under his nose and he couldn’t tell . . .?”

“Kimmy the thrill-seeker.”

“Maybe,” she laughed. “That’s what it was: thrilling. That’s exactly how it felt.”

“You like getting away with it.”

She nodded. “I don’t want him to know, I don’t want to hurt him, but, yes, I loved getting away with it.”

“He drew that out of you. When he’s weak, his wife is strong.”

She rolled her eyes. Devlin smiled, mean, eyes narrowed.

“Well,” she said, “that brings us back to start. No guests coming. No texts from guests while we’re waiting saying they’re almost here. You haven’t checked your watch, haven’t checked your phone. You brought me here for one thing.”

“I did.” He looked at her without apology.

“Josh lied to me about some text from you because he does suspect it now. He’s worried. I don’t want to hurt him. I love him.”

“He doesn’t have to know.”

“I’ll know, Devlin. I can’t. I know-I know, I want to, you don’t have to tell me, but I can’t do it. I think I have to go.”

She picked up her purse, stood and slung it over a shoulder. Devlin held her wrist before she could walk away. She waited to hear what he’d say.

“You’ll arouse him when you’re bad.”

The thought leaked into her brain and flipped her stomach. Her knees weakened—but she shook her head no. “I’m not bad.”

“You are and Josh knows it.”

“No, he doesn’t,” she said, and tugged her arm back. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, and walked around the couch and out to the lobby without looking back. But it was in the wide open space of the marble concourse, where her clicking heels disappeared amongst all the other footsteps and voices of the busy hotel, that she felt the sogginess between her legs. Her thighs stroked against each other like they were oiled. The whole time with Devlin, with his arrogance and masculine charm, she’d fought off her desire for him. Somehow, when he’d talked about Josh, she’d grown more deeply aroused. She stopped a moment and stood in place, pretending to look for her phone, but actually flexing her thighs together to test the mess. Could she have wetted the back of her skirt? Hand behind her she tugged the tail of her suit jacket, satisfied it would probably cover.

There were cushioned seats lined around the base of a square marble column, and she rested there a moment, gathering herself; inhaling deep, exhaling like she would before a yoga class. She hugged the purse to her stomach and people-watched for a few minutes before she’d slumped, forearms on her knees, eyes on the marble floor.

When she raised them again a motionless man on the other side of the lobby got her attention. Devlin standing there and watching her, people moving around him, one woman looking back to admire him. Tall, dark, handsome, well-dressed, sexy, hung. In his hand he held a key card. No gesture made to her now, he simply turned and walked deeper into the Royal York. She watched him go, gently beating fists on her knees. Then she rose, slung her purse, turned around and headed to the underground parking. Turned around again, stopped, turned back. Decided, she turned around one more time and passed through the lobby, walking under the art deco chandeliers and past the huge concierge desk and down the hall alongside the Clockwork, headed to the elevator bank. Devlin stood regarding the numbers on the panel waiting for an elevator cab to arrive. She stood next to him. He looked to her and smiled, looked back to the descending numbers. When the elevator doors opened, she got in first, Devlin gesturing for her to go ahead.