Devil Mine: A Dark Cartel Romance (London Underworld Book 1)

“You’re a hard man to track down, Tristan.”

“Fuck me,” my brother exclaims as he jumps, startled by the sound of my voice.

When he turns, he finds me standing at the bottom of his front steps with a huge grin on my face. It’s been too long since I saw him, almost half a year, and I’ve missed him.

I can tell by the expression on his own features that he feels the same.

“Holy shit,” he exclaims, bouncing down the steps and swallowing me up in a bear hug. I can’t help but laugh when his familiar arms come around me, the relief I feel instantaneous. “What the hell are you doing here? How did you know where to find me?”

The answer to his first question is far more complicated than the answer to his second. The truth is, I’d been so turned around by my encounter with Thiago that I ended up taking the train all the way to the end of the line. I got off, disoriented, and took a taxi to the Gare de Lyon where I got on a TGV to Geneva.

It doesn’t matter that our father forbids contact between us, I need my brother. Outside of Dagny, he’s the only person who can bring me comfort, and I sorely need it. I’m tired of running, of constantly looking over my shoulder, and of being alone. I know that Tristan will make me laugh, in the way only your little brother can, and that’s exactly what I need.

There’s no danger of Thiago catching up to me. I left him in Paris, probably raging at my narrow escape, and I ditched my identity as Caroline Mason. It took me too long to realize that’s how he must have been tracking me. So now I’m Sabrina Baker, at least for the foreseeable future, and Sabrina can keep running tomorrow. Tonight, Tess is going to enjoy dinner and some banter with her brother. 

“I’m happy to see you too,” I tell him honestly, still laughing at the shocked expression on his face.

“Seriously, what are you doing here? Why did you risk it? Where does the tyrant think you are? How’s mum?”

My stomach knots painfully at his last question. I have a lot of things to catch him up on.

“Let’s go to dinner and we can talk. I’ll answer your questions then, okay?”

✽✽✽

Tristan correctly guesses that I’m dying for Italian food and takes me to a delicious restaurant in Geneva. There, he tells me all about Nera. While I’m concerned that he’s broken our father’s main rule for his exile, I’m also unsurprised – Tristan has always had low impulse control, especially when it comes to women. I assume this is just another of his many meaningless conquests.

But then he starts talking about her, his eyes glazing over and a smitten smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. His words tumble furiously past his lips, almost like he can’t physically keep up with everything he wants me to know about her.

He’s different from the last time I saw him. Happy. Settled. In love, although I’m not sure he even knows he is yet. I’m thrilled for him, but I can’t help the twinge of jealousy that gnaws at me. I never thought my self-proclaimed manwhore of a little brother was going to meet someone before me.

I don’t tell him about our father’s gambling debts or Thiago and our engagement. Where would I even start? I want to focus on the happy news for once. My brother is in love and spending more time pursuing his passion of becoming a chef, and that’s all that matters.

After sharing an ungodly amount of food, I pay the bill and we wrap ourselves back up in our winter coats before heading outside into the frigid January air.

“How have you been?” Tristan asks, holding the door open for me. “And how’s Mum? Has dad been leaving her alone?”

And there it is, the question I’ve been dreading. Guilt eats at me, voracious and relentless. How am I going to tell him that I abandoned her?

“I don’t actually know,” I finally admit.

Tristan frowns, turning to stare at me. “What do you mean? Didn’t you see her this morning before you came here?”

It’s unbelievably cold outside and my remorse does nothing to warm me up. I look away, unable to meet his gaze. He’ll hate me once I tell him.

“It’s a long story, but no. I haven’t. I haven’t seen her–”

My words trail off when Tristan’s eyes lift from my face to something over my shoulder. His face falls, the easy smile wiping instantly off his lips. A look unlike anything I’ve ever seen etches itself across his face.

I feel a presence, something dark and terrifying moving behind me, and my stomach falls because I know deep in my bones exactly who it is. I’m familiar with how his body moves in the dark, like an assassin mastering the shadows and bending them to his will. Warmth spreads at my back, ushering away the cold like it was never even there.

This is where I stop running, I realize that now.

He’s found me and unlike Paris, this time there’s no plexiglass to protect me.

Taking a deep breath, I turn around and come face to face with my very own devil. Even though I expected it, a shocked gasp still rips from my throat when our eyes collide.

He doesn’t give me the opportunity to even try and run this time. His hand closes around my throat and squeezes. A squeak falls from my lips and I grab his wrist, but he yanks me against him, his other hand closing around my upper arm.

I’m pinned against him, inches from the deranged, frenetic look in his eyes as his gaze roves over my face. Volatile energy pours off of him in waves, making it clear that this situation could easily turn explosive. The air is charged with his anger, his obvious possessiveness. He hasn’t blinked since he laid eyes on me.

Neither have I.

His hand burns around my throat and when I swallow, he squeezes harder. There’s an invisible thread pulling between us, so strong that when he leans forward I find myself tilting my chin up slightly, inadvertently bridging the gap between us. I’m tethered to him, hooked like a fish on a line as I wait for him to speak.

My eyes drop to his mouth where he’s sucking on a piece of candy. His lips part and the familiar smell of cinnamon hits my nose.

“Found you,” he rasps, something akin to relief echoing briefly in his tone.

I inhale sharply, not in fear but in response to his heated breath caressing my face. His exhales abrade against each and every single one of my nerve endings, overshadowing the tight emotion in his words. Hungry eyes lower down to my mouth, and I start shaking. His hand tightens around my throat.

“Who the fuck are you?” Tristan demands. “Get your fucking hands off her.”

Reality crashes in, shattering our bubble. I’m ashamed to say I momentarily forgot about my brother. Reminded of his presence, I’m concerned for his safety, especially since he’s being held by Marco and Paunchy Guy, who remains nameless still. I’ve seen what Thiago did to my father, what he won’t hesitate to do to anyone who gets in his way.

“Tristan, it’s okay,” I answer, my voice tremulous. Thiago still hasn’t looked away from me, which is good. Hopefully Tristan can get out of this unscathed. “Let my brother go,” I order, with more confidence than I feel.

He doesn’t answer. I’d believe he didn’t hear me if his head didn’t tilt in response, his eyes continuing to dissect me.

“Let him go and I’ll come with you,” I offer.

This time, Thiago’s reaction is immediate. His lip curls up, his grip turning bruising as he snarls, “I’m taking you regardless.”

His words are ice cold, delivered on the edge of a blade, and I realize I’m dealing with the cartel boss now.

So I give him the one thing I know he wants above all else.

My total submission.

For now, at least.

I look up at him from beneath my lashes.

“I’ll go willingly.”

A harsh, low sound jerks from his lips. His hand relaxes a fraction, just enough for me to breathe, and then he’s nodding his head and Tristan is released.

My brother takes one look at the Rolls Royce that pulls up next to us and shakes his head.

“I’m not leaving you with a stranger who’s trying to fucking kidnap you.”

I need him to leave before Thiago loses all patience and slits his throat. Already, his fingers are drumming against the side of my neck, rapping impatiently over my pulse point.

“He’s not…” I hesitate, my gaze trailing over to meet Tristan’s. “He’s not a stranger,” I admit.

A rumble from deep within Thiago’s chest erupts into the silence and pulls my attention back to him. He slides his hand around the back of my neck until it closes around my nape, forcing my head back to stare up into his eyes, his massive palm controlling me completely.

“Tell him who I am,” he orders, sharp teeth on display as he grins.

I whimper and his thumb rubs gentle circles on the side of my neck. A more naive girl would mistake the gesture as being soothing, but I know he’s just trying to manipulate me into giving him what he wants.

“He’s…” I start, then stop, unable to finish my sentence. There’s a savage gleam shining in his eyes as they drop to my mouth. He looks to be holding his breath, like he’s hooked on what I’m about to say, like he can’t breathe until I admit what he is to me.

I’ve never said the words out loud. He wants to hear them, but I think he wants to see me give in even more. My lips part again and he leans forward, spellbound.

“He’s…”

His patience snaps.

“Tell him,” he orders hoarsely.

All it takes to sign my life away is saying three little words. I know that once I say them, there’s no turning back. I’m crossing a line that I can’t uncross.

His eyes glide back up to mine and snuff out my remaining resistance. I swallow thickly, then finally, almost like a confession, I say the words he’s waited to hear for months.

“He’s my fiancé.”

Thiago unfurls to his full height, an arrogant, deeply victorious look stamped across his features. His eyes gleam with satisfaction and something like pride.

“What?” Tristan turns an incredulous look in my direction. “When we last spoke, I told you not to be in an arranged marriage the next time we saw each other. Did you forget to Q-tip that morning or what?”

“In my defense, you said I shouldn’t get engaged to a ‘stuffy prick’. Does he look like one?”

Tristan eyes him critically before muttering under his breath, “He looks like he fulfills one of those two criteria.”

My eyes widen, but Thiago brings a swift end to our sibling banter. He uses his grip on my nape to angle my face back up to his.

“Get lost, Tristan,” he snaps, not bothering to even look at him. A lethal glint shines in his gaze and I know referring to him as my fiancé was only a temporary truce. He’s going to make me answer for the past couple of months. “Your sister and I have things to discuss. Don’t we, amor?” 

I shudder in his grasp and he feels it. He doesn’t bother to wait for a response from either of us and uses his grip to push me towards the car instead. I throw a look and a quick wave over my shoulder at Tristan before I’m unceremoniously shoved into the back of the car.