Devil In The Waters // Book 9 // Chapter 10 (Patreon)

The limo took them all the way to north Toronto, stopping on the way to drop off Glenn near Forest Hill. Johnny Rumble took a cab home from the strip club. It was almost three in the morning.

Josh smelled like cigar smoke and whisky and cloying perfume. Only one day out in his expensive new suit and he’d have to get it dry cleaned already.

Devlin walked ahead of him, working a kink out of his neck, waving a hand for Josh to follow, saying, “Come on into the kitchen.”

In the kitchen Devlin doffed his suit coat and tossed it onto the glass kitchen table. Josh undid his tie and let it hang around his unbuttoned collar, coming to lean elbows on the kitchen island while Devlin went to the fridge.

Head in the fridge, Devlin said, “I hope you had a good time tonight.”

“Yeah, it was great,” Josh said. “Thanks again. I appreciate the private seats.”

Devlin said, “Ah, don’t mention it. My pleasure. It was good having you there.” Devlin’s head stayed in the fridge, but he began passing things over onto the island. A tub of yogurt, lemons in a plastic bag...

Josh said, “What are you doing?”

Devlin pulled down containers from a kitchen cupboard now, setting them on the island, then undoing his cufflinks and rolling up his sleeves, “Pre-hangover remedy.” Now he moved a blender to the island and plugged it in. “Grass-fed Greek yogurt, coconut water, ginger, ginseng, milk thistle, lemon juice, sea salt. And a metric fuck-ton of B12.” He cut the lemons in half and Josh watched the muscles in his hairy forearms flex. He squeezed out the lemon halves into the blender, stopping to retrieve a single seed that had squirted in. Devlin whirred the concoction, then added more ingredients. “Add some BCAAs, some creatine...”

Josh said, “What, no fruit? No banana? No honey?”

Devlin narrowed his eyes on Josh like Josh was insane. “Before bed? No way, buddy. We’re trying to be healthy here.”

Josh smacked his lips and turned up his nose. “How do I get the taste of a cigar out of my mouth?”

Devlin eyed him over his shoulder. “That was a fucking Cuban, Josh. An eighty-dollar cigar.”

“Well, it’s certainly hanging around.”

“That’s supposed to be a good thing.”

“I suppose it is,” Josh muttered, hating to sound ungrateful. “I’d get used to it.”

Devlin pushed over the drink, poured in a tall glass, frothy and white like a milkshake. “Try that.”

Josh smelled it. “What’s this supposed to do for you?”

“Keep you fresh in the morning after a night of drinking. Help you sleep, banish the headache, settle the stomach.”

“We didn’t even drink that much,” Josh said, then tried the smoothie. Not terrible, but not sweet, and not what he expected when he tried a smoothie.

Devlin said, “Pretty wild seeing Rumble again.”

“You don’t see him usually?”

“Sometimes I do. I meant for you.”

Josh sipped and nodded, wiped his mouth. “I can’t believe he doesn’t remember me.”

Devlin dismissed it. “That guy’s brain is Swiss cheese. He’s a crazy boozer. Like, bottle a night most nights.”

“A bottle of what?”

“I don’t know,” he said, taking another drink—then with a second more consideration, added: “Rye. Rye was Johnny’s drink.”

“I feel like he should remember me.”

“Why’s that?”

Josh shrugged. It was unfair for Rumble’s presence to stay in his life all these years, a manifestation of his teen powerlessness. Rumble didn’t even remember him at all. He’d said, “From where—Dalton?” Of course from Dalton.

Devlin said, “Rumble is only important because you remember him.”

Josh sipped his drink, manners dictating that though he’d like to toss it down the sink, he would finish it to be polite. He cleared his throat. “What does that mean?”

“Put it in perspective for you. Whatever hang-up you feel for Rumble is weightless. An absolute nothing. You could hold it in your palm”—he held up his palm—“and send it away.” Now he puffed air into his palm and then dusted his hands like the matter was over.

“Because Johnny doesn’t remember me.”

“Right. Josh, whatever he did to you, it was nothing to him. You give him power. You give his memory power. In reality, that’s all Johnny is—what you saw tonight?—that’s all Johnny is. Stop giving him power.”

“Sounds like metaphysical bullshit,” Josh said, daring to speak his mind. It was late, and though it had been a weird and uncomfortable night, Devlin had been good to him. It felt acceptable.

Devlin laughed at his retort, enjoying the sparring. He took a sip of his smoothie, then said, “Yup, you sound exactly like Kimmy.”

Josh’s stomach squirmed. That was on purpose. Josh sensed it. Devlin sparred back. Call his pep-talk bullshit, and he had a weapon ready to maim you. Devlin had just flashed his trusty switchblade to Josh, warning him about the way he fought. No rules and very, very dirty.

He’d headed out tonight with an adventurous spirit. Asking himself: could he be friends with Devlin Stone? Devlin had been gracious, fun, and had showed Josh a good time. But if you ever forgot Devlin Stone’s cruelty, he would make you regret it.

Devlin drained his smoothie, set the glass back down on the countertop, then patted at his pockets. He went to the kitchen table and lifted his jacket, saying to Josh as he passed, “Are you going to tell Kimmy you went to a strip club?”

Josh swiveled on the stool. “If I don’t, are you going to tell her?”

Devlin smiled, withdrew his iPhone from the jacket, then shook his head no and crossed his heart—mannerisms not bolstering any confidence at all.

“Of course I’m going to tell her,” Josh said. “We don’t keep secrets.”

Devlin checked messages on his phone. “I’ll vouch you didn’t get a lap dance or a blowjob.”

“She’ll know I didn’t.”

Devlin set his phone down on the table, then returned to the island, slapping Josh on the back as he passed. “You’re a good kid, huh?”

Josh agreed, nodding. “I’m a good kid.”

“You ready to hit the hay?”

***

In the luxury apartment’s raised living room, Devlin gestured at the couch. “Best I can do, buddy.”

“It’s just fine,” Josh said. “I might just grab a couple hours of sleep and slip out before you even get up.”

“Oh, yeah, okay. If you want. You don’t want to grab some breakfast in the morning? I can drive you to the office to get your car.”

“Maybe. I’m just anxious to get home.”

Devlin said, “Kimmy sent a bag for you with your PJs. It’s on the floor at the end of the couch.”

“Got it.”

Devlin made to leave, but seemed guilty somehow. Turning, rubbing knuckles on his ribs, he said, “You sure you’re okay on the couch?”

“Totally fine. It’s a big couch. It looks really comfortable.”

“I have no furniture here. I have my bedroom set and a little bit of an office and that’s it. There’s a guest room, but it’s like completely empty.”

“The couch is fine, Devlin.”

Devlin nodded, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I got a king size.”

Josh looked at him, unsure. Then said, “Are you bragging or something?”

Devlin laughed. “No, I mean, you could climb in with me if you wanted.”

“No, that’s all right.”

“Plenty of room.”

“I’m good on the couch,” Josh said, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Good,” Devlin said with satisfied finality. “I just didn’t want you going home and telling on me to Kimmy, like: ‘Devlin has this big bed and he makes me sleep on the couch.’ You know?”

“Why would I say that?”

“So Kimmy thinks I’m inhospitable.”

Josh shook his head, clear now that Devlin was fucking with him.

Devlin laughed, then said, “Hey, good night, man. I showed you the can, you know where the fridge is. You got a clean pillow there, a couple blankets. If you have to barf, just make sure—”

“I don’t have to barf,” Josh said.

“Not too much bourbon tonight, huh?”

“No.”

“Cigars can make you sick, man.”

“I know where the bathroom is.”

“All right, bud,” Devlin said, putting out a fist to be bumped. “We had a good time tonight. If you’re not here in the morning when I wake up, ciao. Say hi to Kimmy for me. And we’ll do this again, okay?”

Josh bumped knuckles, and Devlin held out a hand in farewell, heading down the hall toward his bedroom. He stopped, turned, saying, “Oh, hey. If you’re going to be away in Italy, you know what would be good?”

Josh took off his expensive jacket and lay it on the loveseat by the couch. “What?”

“I’m going to offer my apartment to Kimmy. I’m like never here. She can use my pad so she doesn’t blow her pay check on gas going home to Ajax every night if she doesn’t have to. You know what I mean?”

Josh nodded, guts squirming again, and an uncomfortable thrill raced through his prostate, tightening his stomach. “Oh yeah, maybe.”

Devlin nodded, thinking to himself. “I think it’s a good idea. All right, night, Josh.”

“Good night, Devlin. Thanks for everything tonight.”

Devlin held up the farewell hand again and disappeared into the hallway’s darkness.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Josh whispered to himself, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

***

On the floor at the end of the couch, Josh found the bag Kimmy had sent for him. A leather tote she’d packed the night before and brought along to work today. It was like being sent on a sleepover with the mean kid from school because your mother was friends with the mean kid’s mother. Only Devlin hadn’t been a mean kid tonight; he’d been decent.

He went down the hall to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, changed out of the suit, which he stored away in the zippered bag that came with it. He slipped into the sweatpants and T-shirt and padded down the dark hall, returning to the enormous leather couch where he’d sleep.

And there, only a dozen feet away and down three meager steps, he could see the dark shape of Devlin’s suit jacket on the glass kitchen table, and next to it the black rectangle of Devlin’s phone. His fingers tingled.

Josh lay his suit on a padded chair with his bag, tucked away his toiletry kit, and turned to look into the kitchen. The lights were off, but from the splash of pale light thrown by the clock on the stove, he could see a device that held many secrets. Or perhaps held none. That was what he would most like to think: that there was nothing incriminating on Devlin’s phone. Nothing was happening behind his back.

But wouldn’t that be a great idea then: to check the phone and find the relief you deserve?

If there was nothing on the phone, and he believed there wasn’t, why even bother to check? Because Devlin had a photo of Kimmy that the more Josh considered, the more illicit it seemed. Why on earth would he take a picture of Kimmy in his hotel room?

If something was going on, then the obvious question was: why the fuck would Devlin dare show off the picture in Josh’s presence?

Back to basics answer: Devlin was a bully and a fucking asshole.

Given that clear truth then, it could be equally considered that Devlin showed the picture specifically because there was no nefarious connection to it at all, but he loved to stir the pot. Devlin was drawn to meanness, and he couldn’t help himself, even when he was otherwise being decent.

Josh stepped down into the kitchen, eyes on Devlin’s phone. The thing would be password protected, so what was the point?

He could always wait until he heard Devlin snoring and sneak into the bedroom and face scan him, open the phone’s security that way, slink into the washroom and find out everything that’s been going on.

Yeah, right, like you would ever do that.

Years of conditioning told him what would happen. Devlin would kick the door open and beat the shit out of him. Maybe call Rumble over and they could tie him to a kitchen chair and take turns punching him in the stomach.

But that wouldn’t happen. Not anymore. The shit you could get away with when you were fourteen, you couldn’t get away with now. He’d press charges against Devlin. He’d sue him. He would have the upper hand. In fact, it would almost be worth getting the shit kicked out of him—hey, it wouldn’t be the first time—for the power over Devlin it would bestow. Devlin in jail for assault. A civil suit.

He stepped back up the stairs, looking around now in the corners of the dark room, imagining Devlin three steps ahead of him, leaving the phone there on purpose to tempt him, and meanwhile security cameras with night-vision were documenting Josh’s mental weakness the whole time.

So with bay language showing he had no care in the world, just a happy-go-lucky fella ready to catch a z or two, he returned to the couch, sat down and stretched his arms up over his head. He yawned, batted the pillow Devlin had given him, flicked open the blanket and scooted underneath it, letting its warmth settle on him. As sleep began to settle on his eyelids, he went over the night again, removing all his suspicion and thinking only of the real things he saw with his own eyes and ignored his awful suppositions. Devlin had been decent. Decent but a dick. But that was his natural state. He was a dick to Rumble, and he was even sometimes a dick to Glenn, too. Maybe Devlin was just—

Josh’s hand slipped under the sofa pillow to plump up his head’s angle of recline and snagged a cord in the webbing between his little finger and ring finger. He had to lift his head to free his hand from whatever trap lay under the pillow. He withdrew a clump of fabric, and as he opened it, a warm and familiar fragrance swelled around him. It was a pair of women’s panties; sexy flower-embroidered panties. They were a rosy pink, the side straps were doubled—two sexy lines of rosy cord sweeping over the hips on both sides, a spray of summer flowers framing the shape of the crotch.