Devilish - A Demon Stepbrother Romance

Devilish
A Demon Stepbrother Romance

Michaela Adams
Copyright 2015 Michaela Adams
All Rights Reserved

This work is not bound by DRM, which allows you as a reader to enjoy this story on any digital platform you choose to use. But please respect the work of this author. No part of this book may be reproduced or copied without permission.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Any similarities to events or situations is also coincidental.

Cover Design by LM Creations

© 2015 Michaela Adams

All Rights Reserved

Dedication

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Excerpt

“So you
will
help me?” I asked. It wasn’t just a ruse as I thought?

Liam gave me a slow, lazy grin. “Oh most certainly I will help you. I am beholden by the oldest laws to always uphold bargains struck between demon and soul.” Reaching down, he yanked the towel away, making me gasp.

I was standing there in a flimsy pair of panties and bra, nearly naked. I fisted my hands to hide the trembling.

“Now the question is, are you going to
use
my help at all?” he asked. His finger traced down my cheek toward my neck, leaving a blazing trail of heat in its wake.

“What do you—”

Liam’s hand suddenly cupped my breast, pinching my nipple through the bra so hard, I gasped. The pain shot straight down my belly to the traitorous wetness that was quickly growing between my legs.

“I am not your stepbrother,” he murmured against my ear, the stubble of his cheek brushing harshly against my own softer cheek. He pulled against my other breast, emphasizing his words with his actions.

“And I did not give a once in a lifetime opportunity to a little girl who cowers in her bathroom.” His hand plunged lower, slipping below my panties. A magma of fiery need melted through me. This was more intense than anything I could have imagined. His hands were so familiar and forceful. They touched me like they knew me. And from the responses it was eliciting from me, perhaps they did.

“I gave this chance to a soul on fire,” he said, pinning me again with his glowing eyes. “That was the soul I saw. And that’s the soul I want.”

Suddenly, he thrust a hard finger into my pussy, sliding deeply through the wetness. I gasped, my eyes widening in shock. My whole body shuddered at his thrust. His gaze, hard and unforgiving, pinned me body and mind. “So be that fire, that rage, or be nothing at all,” he whispered, his lips only a breath away from mine.

I felt his hand cupping me, his finger deep within me. Instead of quenching any desire, his touch only stoked the flames. I looked up at his green eyes, the steel beneath them. My trembling stopped. My spine straightened.

A soul of rage and fire.

I shoved him off me, as hard as I could, although it felt like pushing a brick wall under water. “Get out,” I said, straightening my bra. “I need to shower.”

Liam grinned. He raised his hand, his fingers still glistening with my wetness, and took a long lick of his middle finger. I watched, mesmerized, my cheeks flushing and my heart racing.

“Mmm,” he said, looking delighted. “There’s my girl.”

Chapter One

              I tried to blink but dried blood had crusted my lids shut. I would’ve brushed the heel of my hand against my eyes to clear the blood but I was pretty sure my arm was broken.

              Actually, both my arms.

              The aching pain that had been screaming up my arms had finally dulled into a slow pulse that indicated that both arms were now useless.

              But did I even want to open my eyes? I tried to shift a little against the wall I was slumped on. No use. My body was too broken to move.

              Even without my eyes, I knew what was in front of me.

              Above me was the high, arching ceilings of our palatial home’s living room. Beautifully done to look like a chic Tudor manor, the home had lovely exposed beams and an enormous fireplace.

              Below me, I could feel the plush rug of Merino wool. Well,
normally
plush. Right now it was stiff with my drying blood.

              And in front of me, my mother’s dead and abused body sprawled over the oversized walnut coffee table. My father’s body was sitting upright and almost proper in his normal leather recliner. His body looked completely whole and unblemished, the only mark on him being the bullet between his eyes.

              My mother’s punishment had been to be tortured and raped.

              My father’s had been to watch.

              And my punishment…?

              I could hear the low voices of men murmuring to each other.

              Just a few hours ago, although now it felt like eons ago, I had been sitting in the living room, curled up next to my mother while my father was trying to finish reading a survey report from the office.

              I was just thinking how much I was enjoying spending time at home after living apart for so long. From a young age, I had wanted to differentiate myself from my family. I didn’t want to be known as a Madewell, living off the Madewell fortune, not all of which had been gained through reputable means. I especially didn’t want such a reputation since I know most people already pointed fingers about me behind my back since I wasn’t my father’s
biological
daughter.

              I was already ten when he had met my mom and I knew many people looked at me like the luckiest kid in the world to get the ultimate free ride on the Madewell coattails. But that’s not what I felt.

No, I wanted to be known as my own person.

              And although dad was supportive for the most part, he would always remind me that the only person who could succeed him at Madewell Ltd was me. It took awhile but eventually I gave in and came home to learn the business.

              I knew Madewell Ltd was making big changes. They were trying to overcome their crooked beginnings. There was so much potential and at twenty seven years old, I finally wanted to be at the helm of it.

              So I had come home.

              And tonight, like many of the other nights before it, I was enjoying just being back with family and feeling the satisfaction of knowing my future path.

              That was until the knock.

              Well into the evening, a loud knock had echoed against the wide double doors of the front entry.

              Dad had startled from his report, so into his reading he had been. He looked up confused.

              “Who would be knocking at this time of night?” mom asked, her voice slightly unruffled but not afraid.

              But I could see dad tense up. My own spine stiffened.

              Our house was an enormous estate that sat lakeside on our private six acres of land. It was quite a drive to come all the way to the front door. Especially without having any kind of security protocol go off to alert us of their presence.

              Dad stood up, a little stiff on his legs.

              Oh dad.

              Having grown up in the heart of the Bronx with nothing but whatever food or money he could steal, he had worked, schemed, and yes, even killed to rise up in the world. From a petty criminal, he became a crime kingpin. He had run one of the most powerful mafias for years until an ambush left him riddled with bullets and nearly paralyzed for eight months.

              That was when he decided to turn things around and get his money in a world where problems weren’t solved with bullets. They were solved with lobbyists, congressmen, and smoking room deals.

              That was when he created Madewell Ltd, now one of the biggest minerals suppliers in the world.

              Then when he married my mom and met ten year old me, dad really worked hard to go legit. He wanted to leave me with a legacy I could be proud of. He worked as best as he could to undo the wrongs he had done.

              But even years later, dad’s legs would stiffen up from his old bullet wounds if he was sitting too long.

              With the hairs on the back of my neck standing on edge, I listened to dad’s footsteps out in the main hallway as he approached the front doors. But before he could even open them, I heard a loud wrenching sound as the solid oak doors were thrown open.

              “Who the hell—” I heard dad roar before his words are cut short by what sounds like a fist.

              Mom and I gasped as we saw three men in black ski masks enter, dragging dad with them. They threw him at us. He stumbled trying to regain his balance while still stunned from the punch. His cheek was already swelling and there was a bloody cut right below his cheekbone, probably from a ring.

              Dad stood up, positioning himself in front of mom and me.

              “Who the hell are you?” he growled. “And what the fuck do you think you are doing in my house?”

              One of the men’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “We’re here to make sure Madewell shit doesn’t stink up the world any longer,” he said, his voice so low it was nearly a growl.

              Dad stood, staring at them assessingly with a calculating eye. “Who sent you?” he finally asked shrewdly.

              The man who spoke shrugged. “Why do you think anyone sent us? Maybe people were just sick of Madewell assholes pretending like they’re more than what they really are—a bunch of lowlife punks who lucked into some real money.”

              Dad shifted his weight. I could tell his leg was really hurting him tonight. No doubt when he had been hit and thrown back, he had landed awkwardly on his bad leg.

              I could hear what sounded like the ocean crashing against my ears and was terrified to realize that was my pulse.

              “Now listen—” dad began.

              But nobody was interested in listening. Instead, they punched him hard in his ribs, making him keel over and wheeze in pain. They grabbed his hunched form and threw him into his recliner. One of the men stood by him, clearly there to make sure he didn’t rise again.

              Another man approached us.

              He was the tallest of the three. With a body nearly as wide. He looked like what a brick wall would look like if it were animated. We could see him leer at us through his mask.

              “Now,” he started, his voice husky, “which would be more painful to watch, Madewell? The wife or the daughter?”

              “You…Don’t you…” dad wheezed, making a motion to stand again. But the man next to him gave him another blow. This time dad coughed and hacked up some blood. I could feel my mom shaking next to me.

              The man in front of us laughed. “The daughter, obviously. So we’ll save the best for last.” He reached out. “We’ll start with the wife.”

              Feeling my heart pound bruisingly against my ribs, I moved without thinking.

              I lunged forward and actually got a good tackle against the man. He stumbled back in surprise, making an “oof!” sound. Clearly, he had not expected either of us to fight back.

              “—the fuck!” the man grunted as he grabbed the back of my shirt. He yanked me back then grabbed me by my throat. “You’ll have your chance too. Don’t you worry, sweetheart,” he said, his voice gravelly and low. I could see his eyes darken with a knowing threat.

              Keeping a hand on his wrist, I brought my knee up hard, aiming for the softness between his legs.

              But he saw my movements a half second before impact and instead my knee made contact with his inner thigh. It was still hard enough though to make the man double over in pain.

              His hand releases my throat.

              I capitalize on my attack by driving my elbow down on his back. Every nerve, every cell seemed to be on fire within me. Adrenaline was pouring into every crevice of my body, leaving me wired and shaky.

              But before I could make another hit, I hear a voice behind me bark out, “One more move and your mommy’s brains are splattered against this nice white wall.”

              I turn around and see the third man with his arm around my mom’s shoulders, a gun pointed directly at her head. Her face was white with fear, her eyes round and wide. “Sophia…” she whispered. I could hear everything in that one word. Her fear for herself, her fear for me, her fear for my father. I could hear her desperation in wanting to protect me while also fighting against the overwhelming terror of the cold barrel pressed against her temple.

              That pause was all that was needed.

              The tall man had recovered enough to punch me hard in the stomach. I could hear and feel my ribs crack upon impact. So hard was the hit, I couldn’t even cry out, the air completely evaporating within me.

              “You fuckers! You let her—” my dad started.

              But I didn’t hear or see the rest. The man gave me another punch. He slapped me so hard, I could feel the shatter patterns immediately crack against my cheekbone.

              He pushed me hard until I fell against the wall. He kicked me again and again until all I saw the darkness consume me.

              I woke irregularly, consciousness pulling me back up into the hell that my home had become.              

              Who were these men? Where had they come from?

              I watched blearily through bruised and swollen eyes as the men raped and abused my mother. I watched my dad try again and again to fight against the men. Growing impatient with his resistance, the third man had put a bullet neatly in his head.

              I watched dad slump slowly down in his seat, his face falling into a look of soft surprise.

              I don’t know how my mom died. Shot? Suffocated? I don’t know. I lost consciousness one moment and woke up the next an orphan.

              Then for who knows how long, it was my turn. The men were ready for their next plaything.

              “We wanted to have your daddy watch us take this sweet body,” the tall man had murmured against her cheek as he ripped at her clothes. “But he did not want to cooperate with us. Shame.”

              I couldn’t remember how many times each one of them had used and abused me. When at one point I had tried weakly to fight off one of the men who was taking his turn again with me, I felt the cold barrel of the gun pressed hard between my legs. “Do you think a bullet up the pussy would come straight out the head?” he breathed. “Should we find out?”