Devoured (Devoured, #1)(50)

A woman with henna red hair and gray eyes. She’s beautiful, but so are most of the women here tonight. What really strikes me about this particular woman are her eyes. They’re unfocused and wild. Scary. “So you’re Luke’s little bitch?” she demands between clenched teeth, pressing all of her body weight—which isn’t very much considering she’s short and skinny—against me.

“I’m his personal assistant,” I say. But even then, the word doesn’t sound quite right or believable.

She opens her mouth to say something but then her face changes from furious to a look of understanding. “That wasn’t Kylie this morning, was it?”

I suck in a deep breath through my nose. “Sam?” I blurt out.

Her lips curl up into a sneer, and she bobs her head. “If you go near him again, I swear to God I’ll ruin you,” she says. “I swear to God I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” I demand, shoving her away from me. “And just who are you anyway?”

“I’ll ruin him,” she promises, choosing not to answer my second question.

That feeling of dread that I felt when Lucas was on the phone with this woman comes back to me, hitting me hard, and it’s impossible to get it to go away this time. Who the hell is she? And what does she have on Lucas that lets her provoke such a nasty response from him? That gives her enough courage to threaten me?

“Stay the f*ck away from me,” I warn, brushing her aside so I can leave. She grabs my arm again, this time, raking her nails into my skin. This time, I slam her up against the wall. So hard that the back of her head makes a loud thumping noise.

She laughs like a crazy person, shaking her head from side to side, and saying, “You have no idea who you’re talking to, slut.”

“Hey!” a voice shouts out. Both of our heads snap to see Cilla standing in the doorway, her eyes squinted and a shot glass in each hand. “What the f*ck are you doing in here?” She touches the earpiece that she’s wearing, hissing “Security!”

I almost expect Cilla to have me escorted away by the two bouncers who come back just moments after they’re called, but instead, it’s Sam she tells to literally f*ck off and burn in hell. Sam gives me one last look, shrugs off the bouncers, and stalks off.

I rub my hand across the spot on my arm her fingers clawed. “You alright?” Cilla asks me, and I shake my head.

“You know, I’m not your biggest fan because you’re with Luke, but nobody deserves to have to deal with people like Samantha,” she says.

“Who is she to him?”

Cilla’s beautiful face is suddenly surprised, but she recovers quickly. “His ex-wife.”

?



Lucas doesn’t waste any time taking me back to the hotel. It’s another one of those painfully quiet car rides. As we ride the elevator up to our suite, a horrible feeling slinks its way through my chest. As soon as we enter the room, he tells me to sit on the couch. I obey, wringing my hands together.

“Sienna . . . I can’t—” He heaves a sigh and glances away from my face at the marble flooring in the foyer. “You’ve got to go.”

I feel everything inside of me shut down, as he refuses to look into my eyes. “What the f*ck are you talking about?” I demand at last.

“I’m dismissing you. You’ve fulfilled the terms of our contract,” he says.

I come up out of my seat, rushing across the room to stand in front of him. “No. No. I’ve got two days left. Lucas, tell me what’s going on?” I plead.

He drags his hands through his thick dark hair and makes a low, violent noise. “God, Sienna . . . just f*cking go, okay? The house is yours. You’re done—just go before I call security on you.”

He doesn’t sound like the Lucas I know. He doesn’t sound like anyone I’ve ever known. My heart is beating wildly as I take another tentative step in his direction. He backs up, shaking his head.

“So, that’s it?” I demand, tears rolling down my cheeks, singeing my skin. “No explanation, no . . . nothing.”

“I’ve given you a house. I don’t f*cking owe you anything else,” he says, his voice cold. I start to argue with him more but he turns his back to me. Clenches his hands—the same hands that touched me so intimately hours before—into tight fists. “Concierge is taking care of your flight to Nashville. Be out before I return tomorrow.”

I’m shaking so hard that’s it’s impossible for me to speak. I hold myself close, wheezing. When the words do come to me, it’s too late.

He’s already left, slamming the door behind him.

Slamming the door on us.





CHAPTER NINETEEN





There’s 750 dollars in my bank account when I arrive in Nashville the next morning, day nine, and I use a little less than half to rent a small rental car that smells like stale fast food. The guy at the rental counter says that I’ll get $150 of my money back when I return the car, and all I’m able to do is nod.

I’ve not cried since leaving the Four Seasons. To be honest, I can’t. And believe me, it hurts but I just . . . can’t.

I drive around for two hours, unsure of where I should go, what I should do. I know what it’s like to be used. My mom had made sure I was well-equipped with that knowledge over the years. Yet somehow, the few days I spent with Lucas seem like so much more than a lifetime with Mom.