Spin Devil

Chapter One

It had been four years.

The six friends had parted ways after college with a last
night of drinks, dancing and sex. Cleo Sonterra remembered the night full well,
for it was the night she and David had made love after months of flirting,
taunting and teasing. He’d made love to her in his dorm room, in a small
rumpled bed, with the lights turned off. Cleo had expected him to be thorough
and tender, but in reality he’d been shaky, clumsy and too drunk to think
coherently. Her lack of enthusiasm hadn’t helped matters much, and that was
only because she’d been thinking of someone else entirely—someone she
shouldn
’
t
have been thinking of at that moment.

It was the first time Cleo and David had sex—and the last.

It had been a night such as this, friends gathered out on
the beach with a bonfire that blazed high and mighty toward the dark skies.
Tonight there was no massive fire except for the flames blazing in the six
pairs of eyes present, and that was merely a reflection of the flickering
orange lights from the dozens of steel lanterns scattered over the sand.

They sat in a circle on thick old blankets strewn around the
sand, the lulling sound of the ocean’s waves crashing against the shore a very
distant second to the loud sounds of their laughter. Several yards behind them
stood the two-story contemporary beachfront house where Jason now lived. His
home encompassed a good stretch of beach on the east coast of Florida.

The six friends were playing an old college game, this time
with a plush red devil—complete with pitchfork and tail—that Luella had brought
from Los Angeles. It was a strange little toy, covered in smooth, shiny red
satin and a bit too heavy for its size, with dark, beady eyes that seemed to
stare right through you. Despite the toy’s strangely unsettling appearance, all
of the friends had been more than willing to give it a spin.

So the devil had replaced the bottle, and the truths and
dares had become extreme and, yes, devilishly sinful. This was no longer a game
played by college students. It was a game played by consenting adults who were
very drunk…and maybe just a little horny.

Personally, Cleo had had her reservations about attending
the reunion. First and foremost because she had no desire to see their group
“leader”, a man with absolutely no affection for her—and one with no scruples,
either. Sebastian Russo cheated at cards, lied at his leisure, stole to prove
that he could, smoked, drank, cursed and whored to his liking. He had always
teased and taunted Cleo mercilessly for being what he considered a “damned
prude”—as if he were an authority on the subject, when he had zero principles
to speak of. He clearly couldn’t comprehend why Cleo preferred to cuddle at
home with a book rather than get drunk every single day—like
he
usually
did. And although her friends, Luella and Haley, didn’t drink that often
either, Sebastian would
only
tease Cleo about it.

Yet no matter how much she dreaded facing him, Cleo missed
her friends as much as she missed her college years. Every moment they’d
shared—the tender, the wild, the sad, the first and the last. Luella and Haley
had even threatened to fly up to Seattle and haul her down to Florida if she
didn’t get her butt down here to their reunion.

“You
have
to come. We all want to see you, we really
miss you, sweetie,” Luella had said on the phone a few weeks ago. “Even all the
guys have been wanting to know if you’re coming…well, except Bas, but you know
how he is.”

Of course Cleo knew how he was, and just knowing he probably
didn’t
want
her to go, because to him she was just a “damned prude” who
would only spoil his fun, Cleo decided she
had
to go. She couldn’t—and
wouldn’t—let the fear of facing one man keep her from enjoying a lovely reunion
with the rest of her friends.

When Cleo first arrived at Jason’s place, she’d felt awkward
and shy, noting how each of her friends had grown during the past years. All of
them looked more mature, the years gone by somehow etched in their brows, the
spark of experience glimmering in their eyes. But now, hours later, she gazed
at each of them while they drank and smoked and dared and laughed, and realized
that time had not changed them. They were still the dear, reckless friends
she’d known before.

Jason was still as handsome as she remembered, with his
tanned jock’s body and regal blond hair. He played professional golf now and
she’d often seen his familiar face on TV, brow usually furrowed in
concentration as he focused on his swing. Jason rarely found fault in anything,
and his easygoing, carefree manner accounted for the dozens of times someone
had pulled him aside to spill his or her guts to him, treating him like a
shrink. Jason didn’t mind at all. In fact, he seemed to enjoy having an excuse
to laze around quietly and do nothing more than nod.

Being his complete opposite and a man who inspired nothing
but shivers, Sebastian Russo was as dark as night, and as reckless and rude as
ever. For some cruel reason the years had only enhanced his masculinity,
something he seemed blatantly aware of—and which he used to his advantage. His
eyes, those coal-black eyes, hawk-like and narrowed under the vicious slashes
of his eyebrows, served as weapons to issue unspoken threats and bend his
targets to his will—be they man or woman. There was strength in his face, in
his brow, in the straightness of his nose and the firmness of jaw, as if he’d
been cast in iron—which could account for his seeming inability to smile or
grin or laugh.

He wore his thick mass of silken black hair longer now, falling
past his ears with a light curl at the ends. His hair and his luscious full
lips were his mildest characteristics—though not necessarily the least
threatening. The truth was, just by sitting there, Sebastian managed to engulf
the space surrounding him like a black hole—consuming and overpowering
everything around him. Cleo had no idea what he did for a living but she
imagined it was something that fit his vicious black heart. Maybe even killing
for hire.

Then there was David—tall, distinguished-looking David, who
was a man with ideals, with goals. A man known throughout college for his
kindness and sensitivity as well as for his hard work and ambition. No matter
how big a salary he was earning on Wall Street, he still looked every bit the
studious, clean-cut frat guy Cleo had always known. Of course, he’d grown even
more gorgeous during the years, his sculpted face now firmer, stronger, having
lost some of the boyish qualities that Cleo had found so attractive when they’d
met during their first year at college.

Next was Luella, who’d highlighted her light brown hair with
silky blonde streaks. Though she now looked every inch the bombshell with her
new boobs, she was still the same foul-mouthed smoker Cleo knew so well. Enjoy
life to its fullest was Luella’s motto. There was probably nothing she wouldn’t
try and no feat too impossible for her to tackle. Even if it
was
impossible, she’d never let that keep her from trying. She worked in real
estate now and she sometimes slept with her clients to celebrate a purchase, so
she thought her job was “fucking great”.

Then came the spirited, talkative Haley, a recently
confessed fashion freak since she’d lost a few pounds. Now her body, although
petite, was curvaceous and enticing, her long, wavy hair blazing red under the
glow of the flickering lantern lights. She was a publicist at a tobacco company
and had brought free smokes for them all—which had been, for the most part,
consumed by Sebastian.

And finally Cleo. Shy, sweet Cleo, who wore the same solid,
conservative dresses she used to wear—the ones that hid her uncomfortable C-cup
breasts rather well—and her shiny black hair in the usual neat bun at her nape.

Unlike Haley and Luella, Cleo disliked colorful, revealing
clothes, and because they were so uncomfortable and impractical, she
religiously stayed away from high heels. She preferred flat, pretty sandals.
Rather than wear heavy makeup, she used gloss on her lips and a natural blush
to add color to her cheeks. Her face was too doll-like to accept much makeup anyway.
Her lips were heart shaped, small and pouty, while her eyes were big, dark
brown in color, framed by rows of eyelashes Luella and Haley had repeatedly
sworn they’d kill for. Her hair was long, though she rarely wore it loose, and
it was so dark it made her skin look even fairer, a porcelain white that was
unfortunately much too sensitive to see the sun for long.

None of her friends had ever been bothered by her plain
appearance except
him
. His face had turned into a dark, unyielding mask
of disapproval the moment she stepped on the beach. And if she thought she’d be
able to see him again without being the least bit affected, she’d been sorely
mistaken.

She’d had two beers up until now, only because the occasion
warranted she drink something, while the rest of her friends had had dozens,
and it was hard to keep from smiling at their antics and their dares. The
retirement home where she worked seemed worlds away from here, her drunken
friends proving a stark contrast to the solemn, somber old people she looked
after. When they misbehaved, the old people smuggled chocolates into the home
and played harmless pranks on some of the nurses, while her friends…were
another story.

“Okay, spin it!” Luella called.

Needing no more prodding, Jason took the devil between his
thumb and forefinger and with a flick of his wrist sent it spinning over a
large Frisbee they’d set on the sand in the center of the circle. It suddenly
stopped, the pitchfork pointing straight at Sebastian, the tail at Cleo. Cheers
erupted, yet Cleo couldn’t help but feel rather nervous.

“Sebastian, it’s time to pay the rent, old boy,” Luella said
with a wicked smile twitching her lips.

“Come on, Cleo, give him a good one,” someone encouraged.

Smiling shakily, Cleo looked into Sebastian’s deep black eyes.
He sat with one leg folded and an arm resting on top of his knee, a cigarette
clasped tightly between his thumb and forefinger. His blue jeans were old,
faded white over his thighs, and his dark brown leather jacket was slightly
torn at the elbows.

Cleo was grateful that she was able to keep her voice
steady, since she’d always seemed to have trouble speaking directly to him.
“Truth or dare, Sebastian?”

His smile was slow and lazy. “Dare. Of course.”

Everyone laughed and Cleo glanced around the circle, her
brain racing with thoughts. How did one dare a man who feared nothing? How did
one dare a reckless, crazed man who acted like he had a death wish?

The cigarette blazed bright red as Sebastian took a drag,
his eyes narrowed above the billow of smoke. It was impossible to dare the
devil himself, so she just said the first thing that came to mind. “I dare you
to…kiss Luella. On the mouth.”

His chest heaved when he grunted. “Is that the worst you can
do, Cleo?” He flicked his cigarette into the air. He looked like the devil
incarnate, and though they’d all been friends, Cleo had always been secretly
afraid of him—because he had the power to hurt her. And he always did.

David laughed beside her. “That really sucked, Cleo.”

“Not for
me
it doesn’t suck!
Thank you
,
sweetie!” Luella said excitedly, sinking the bottom of her beer into the sand
before she turned to Sebastian next to her.

Sebastian faced Luella with a wan, lazy smile, so sure of
himself and his disgustingly potent sex appeal. He looked casual and confident,
as if he did this sort of thing every day, which was probably a correct
assumption.

Cleo watched as his big tanned hands cupped Luella’s cheeks
and he bent forward to kiss her. No matter how many times Cleo had watched
Sebastian kiss someone—which at college had been more times than she’d cared to
count—it never failed to shock her. His victims always unfailingly reacted the
same way—in a way Cleo thought the feminists in the country would greatly
disapprove.

It was as if he hypnotized them, and within seconds they
would be limp in his arms and breathing fast and furiously. He, on the other
hand, would drop his hands as if he’d finished doing something as mundane as
brushing his teeth, and look as unmoved as a mountain during a storm.

Cleo had thought about this repeatedly during the years.
Although Sebastian’s eyes were enough to send a woman running for cover, she
wondered what it was about his mouth and those strong, powerful lips that could
melt almost anything they touched.

Luella was no exception to this power, and by the time the
kiss ended she was limp and flushed and gasping for air. Cleo, meanwhile,
fought with her own share of emotions, among the fiercest—one she hadn’t felt
in exactly four years—was envy. The sick, green slime was slowly winding its
way through her veins like poison.

Sebastian turned to look at Cleo and she felt even more
agitated by his stare. A winged black eyebrow rose in inquiry. “There. Does
that suit you, Sister Cleo?” There was no mistaking the mockery in his voice.

Everyone laughed at his words except Haley, who said,
“You’re always such a jerk, Bas.”

Luella was too busy struggling to breathe to even notice.

While Cleo…she was used to his insults. And she had never
been frontal about her defense.

This was not the time to do things differently.

She tried unsuccessfully to swallow back a lump of thick
saliva stuck in her throat, rendering her speechless. At one point during her
college years Cleo had wished she had the balls to tell Sebastian up front what
she thought of him and his mockeries, but she was unfortunately a traditional
woman, and she had
no
balls.

“I need another vodka,” Luella mumbled, still visibly shaken
by Sebastian’s kiss.