Heart of a Devil Read online

  Heart of a Devil

  Quentin Security Series, Volume 4

  Morgan James

  Published by Morgan James, 2021.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  HEART OF A DEVIL

  First edition. February 25, 2021.

  Copyright © 2021 Morgan James.

  ISBN: 978-1393235354

  Written by Morgan James.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek at Pretty Little Lies | Chapter 1

  Also by Morgan James

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Vince

  I was seriously not cut out for this shit. The bar crowd had never been my scene, and it was even less so now that I was surrounded by a bunch of immature twenty-somethings who thought they were hot shit. I fought to keep my expression neutral as I watched the scantily clad bodies dry humping each other on the dance floor.

  I ripped my eyes away from Gemma and glanced around the crappy little hole in the wall bar. Louie’s was a favorite post-show hangout, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. The place reeked of booze, sweat, and perfume, and a sticky substance that I prayed was alcohol coated the floor in spots. My boots made a disgusting sound as I shifted, returning my gaze to Gemma. My principle—the woman currently under my protection—was on the dance floor shaking her skinny ass to some country pop song one of her friends had released a few months ago, and the dude behind her was doing his best to get his hand up her short as fuck Daisy Dukes.

  Gemma Malone’s band members were scattered around the small club, each scouting a new piece of tail to take home for the evening—or the morning, in this case, considering it was past midnight. I’d spent the last ten hours at the venue playing babysitter for her during the final show of her tour. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I’d been obligated to accompany her to Louie’s when she decided she wanted to come out and unwind with the rest of the band. It was fairly local, thank God, so I was only about an hour from home. All I wanted to do was herd Gemma out the door, drop her off at her house, then pour myself into bed for a couple of hours before I had to be back at her place. It was already creeping close to one o’clock, and I was supposed to be back over there by eight to take her to the studio.

  The guy plastered to Gemma’s back was getting bolder, his hand moving between her thighs, and I wondered if she was stupid enough to let him feel her up on the dance floor. Gemma was the chosen poster child for Magnolia Way records and a supposed role model for little girls. I snorted. She wouldn’t be much of a role model for long if one of the people standing around the floor waving their cell phones got a picture at just the right angle.

  Unfortunately, it was my job to keep her safe, both from the person sending her threatening letters and from herself, so I stomped across the dance floor and wedged myself between them. “Time to go.”

  Big blue eyes glared up at me. “What the hell, Vince?”

  I tipped my head toward the door. “Let’s go before you get in trouble.”

  Her face fell into a petulant expression. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

  “Yeah, come on, man,” the drunk kid wheedled. “We was just havin’ fun. Right, babe?”

  We both ignored the drunken idiot, and I focused on Gemma. “You were practically fucking him on the dance floor. Unless you want to end up a headline on tomorrow’s tabloids, I suggest you get your shit and go.”

  She rolled her eyes and stomped away, but not in the direction of the front door as I’d hoped. I followed her to the bar where one of her fellow bandmates sat with a beautiful brunette draped over his lap, her tongue currently trailing up the side of his neck. A tumbler of what appeared to be whiskey sat on the bar in front of Brandt, and he lifted a hand, signaling for the bartender to deliver another as he watched Gemma approach.

  He slid the glass her way, and she slammed it back, then wiped the back of her wrist across her mouth, all the while glaring at me. Brandt Meacham smirked, his gaze bouncing from me then back to Gemma. “Bodyguard cracking down again?”

  Gemma threw back another shot as soon as the bartender placed it in front of her, then turned her attention to Brandt. “I think I’m up for a ride.”

  He chuckled around the woman trying to suck his face off. “Suit yourself, Gems.”

  She pinned me with her brilliant blue eyes, one eyebrow lifting toward her hairline. “What about you?”

  I clenched my molars together, barely managing to rein in my irritation. “No.”

  One corner of her mouth kicked up in a smirk. “What? Don’t think you can last eight seconds?”

  I stared down at her, unwilling to rise to the bait. A couple silence-filled seconds later, she let out an irritated little huff and spun on her heel, then stomped toward the mechanical bull in the corner. Fucking great. This night just kept getting better and better.

  Beside me, Brandt shoved the brunette’s head away from his face and glanced at me. “You can take off, Ink. We’re all headed back to my place after this.”

  Oh, hell no. Bad shit seemed to follow Brandt wherever he went, and the trouble that didn’t follow him he brought on himself. He was a borderline alcoholic, and I didn’t trust the kid as far as I could throw him. The last time they’d hung out at his place, he decided it was a good idea to pull out a pistol indoors. One of the other morons in the band had dared him to pull the trigger, and he either hadn’t checked to see if it was loaded or he hadn’t given a shit. The bullet had passed through two walls before lodging in the drywall of the bedroom where one of his drunken trysts was passed out. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that I was letting Gemma hang out with that stupid fuck.

  “She’s gotta be up early,” I said by way of response. “We’re taking off as soon as she’s done here.”

  I closed my eyes and released a long exhalation through my nostrils as a loud—and very familiar—“Hey, y’all, watch this!” split the air. Turning toward the small padded arena, I watched with dismay as Gemma lifted one arm high over her head, the other hand fisted around the reins of the fake bull as it began to rock back and forth. I had to give the girl credit. She was actually pretty coordinated, even half-intoxicated.

  A small crowd gathered around, and hoots and hollers filled the air as the bull bucked wildly and Gemma did her best to hold on
. Her tiny denim cutoffs bunched up around her hips with each rocking motion, exposing the curve of her ass cheeks. Resigned to let this play out, I folded my arms over my chest. If she wanted to make a spectacle of herself, that was her choice. Her PR person made way more money to put up with her shit than I did.

  Almost as soon as the thought crossed my mind, Gemma was thrown off the bull’s back and landed with a giggle on the inflatable floor surrounding the contraption. I pushed off the bar and strode toward her, then hooked one hand around her elbow as she stumbled to her feet. “Fun’s over, trouble.”

  Snatching up the fringed cowgirl boots on the floor, I hauled Gemma across the bar and out the door.

  “Hey!” Gemma dug in her heels, trying to pull me to a stop, but I paid her no attention as I pushed out the front door. “What are you doing?”

  She pulled against me again, and I ran my tongue over my teeth. Releasing her elbow, I wrapped my arm around her waist and lifted her to my hip like a toddler. My other arm slid under her ass, and I sucked in a breath as my fingers skated over miles of perfectly toned flesh. She seemed too stunned to speak as I stormed toward my truck, and I was grateful for the temporary reprieve. We crossed the parking lot, and I opened the passenger door, then plunked her ass down on the seat and tossed her boots on the floorboard.

  “Hey, asshole, that’s—” She abruptly cut off and gave me a funny look.

  I settled one hand on her shoulder and dipped my head to look into her eyes. “You good?” She pressed her lips together and nodded slightly. “You sure? Because if you feel—Fuck!”

  I tried to jump backward as that last shot of whiskey and everything that had preceded it throughout the course of the day splattered across my boots. Keeping one hand on her shoulder to steady her, I closed my eyes and counted to ten. I ground my molars together and glanced up at Gemma’s pale face. Perspiration dotted her forehead, and I lightly tapped her cheek to get her attention. “You with me?”

  Her eyes opened slowly, sluggishly, and met mine. She gave a listless nod.

  “Come on. May as well get the rest of it out.” As if my words triggered another bout, she leaned forward and heaved again. This time, I was quick enough to move out of the line of fire. Avoiding the pile of vomit on the pavement, I maneuvered myself between the open door of the cab in an attempt to keep anyone from seeing her. I was grateful that the parking lot had been packed when we arrived and we’d had to park all the way off to the side. I glanced around but saw nothing, and I prayed that no one had seen. We’d made something of a spectacle leaving the bar, and it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if someone tried to capture our little scene on camera.

  Turning my attention back to Gemma, I ran my hand in light circles over her back. When she was done, she leaned back against the seat, panting heavily. I opened the back door and hunted around for a bottle of water, then passed it to her. “Drink.” She did as she was told, then moved to hand it back to me. “Keep it. You need to rehydrate.” I curled her fingers around it and set it in her lap so she’d have it when she needed it.

  Pulling the seatbelt across her torso, I snapped it into place then slammed the door. For the first time ever, I cursed the fact that we weren’t at one of her tour stops with a hotel nearby. I could get us a place for the night, but I was already tired as shit, and all I wanted to do was get her ass home then do the same.

  I headed around to the driver side, then cranked the engine and pulled out of the lot. On the radio, one song was ending, bleeding right into another, and Gemma roused enough to reach over and crank up the volume. Before I had the chance to brace myself, she belted out the lyrics, and I cringed as her high soprano bounced off my eardrums. “Jesus, woman!”

  Gemma took the volume down a couple notches but continued to sing along with Reba enthusiastically. A few minutes later, she grew quieter and quieter, then finally—blessedly—completely silent. Thank fuck. Forty-five minutes later, I pulled up in front of her house and cut the engine, then pocketed my keys. “Let’s go, sleeping beauty.”

  Next to me, Gemma snored softly in her seat. I rolled my eyes, then made my way around and pulled her out. Her head lolled back as I lifted her in my arms, and I awkwardly maneuvered her dead weight toward the front door. I punched in the code to the electronic keypad above the doorhandle that she’d opted to use instead of a physical key. The security system beeped a warning as I stepped inside, and I juggled Gemma as I closed the door and disengaged the alarm.

  Gemma blinked up at me as I made my way through the living room and down the hall. “What are you doing?”

  “Putting you to bed.” I used my elbow to flick on the light as I carried her into her bedroom. She swayed as I stood her on her feet next to the bed. “Your boots are still in my truck. Do you want me to get them?”

  She waved my offer away. “No. I need to use the bathroom.”

  She stumbled in that direction, and I waited awkwardly in the bedroom, trying to ignore the sound of her using the toilet. Water flushed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank Jesus. Now she could go to bed, and I could go home. My hopes went up in smoke as I heard the shower come on.

  “Goddamn it, Gemma.” Growling in frustration, I stormed toward the bathroom. I stopped dead in my tracks in the doorway, stunned, as I took in Gemma standing under the spray of the shower, fully clothed. Jesus Christ. “What the hell are you doing?”

  She turned those giant blue eyes on me. “Washing off. What does it look like?”

  I stared at her for a long moment, barely fighting back the urge to tell her exactly what I thought. “Come on, let’s just get you to bed.”

  “Hold on,” she complained. “I’m almost done.”

  I waited for about half a second before I stomped across the room and flicked off the water with a quick turn of my wrist. “Now.”

  “All right, all right. Jeez.” But instead of climbing from the shower, her hands moved toward the button of her shorts, and she shimmied the soaked denim over her hips and down her legs, taking a pair of skimpy pale pink panties with them. I quickly averted my eyes and grabbed a towel from the rack, holding it in front of me like a shield.

  God give me strength. I wasn’t gonna lie— Gemma without clothes was something else. Not that she’d ever know it, but I’d lusted over her hard for the past twelve days, ever since I’d been hired on. It was my first job since my honorable discharge from the Marines, and I was nervous as hell. I didn’t want to screw up. She’d flirted with me a bit over the first couple of days, but, hard as it was, I refused to give in to her charm. I wasn’t about to risk my job for a pretty face. Good thing I hadn’t tried anything, either, because her true colors revealed themselves soon after. For the past week and a half or so, she’d acted like an absolute spoiled little brat who treated me like a servant instead of the man hired to protect her. It irked the hell out of me, but I’d be damned if I let her know she’d gotten under my skin.

  I watched over the edge of the towel as her hands moved to the pearl buttons of her pink and blue plaid shirt, and it seemed to take an eternity for her to get them all unsnapped. She pushed the fabric off her shoulders, then let out a little grunt of distress as her arms got trapped inside the sleeves.

  “Stupid thing...” She shook one arm, succeeding only in making it worse as the wet fabric clung and tangled together.

  “For fuck’s sake.” I dropped the towel and reached for her. “Turn around.”

  She wobbled on her feet but managed to turn her back to me, and I peeled the sodden material down her arms and dropped it in the tub.

  She gathered her hair, and dragged the damp locks over one shoulder as she glanced back at me. “My bra?”

  Jesus. Who had I killed in a past life to deserve this? Clenching my teeth, I released the clasp in the middle of her back and yanked the straps down. As soon as it hit the ground, Gemma let out a little sigh and fell back against me. I caught her around her waist to keep her from falling, and she grasped my arm where it banded just
beneath her breasts. I forced myself to stare straight ahead and not give in to the temptation to look at those gorgeous tits spilling over my forearm. Gemma tipped her head back against my shoulder and wiggled her bottom against me as if trying to get closer.

  “Gemma...”

  My dick obviously didn’t give a shit that she was drunk—maybe even drugged, considering her erratic behavior—and stratospherically out of my league. It thickened at the feel of her and pressed against the front of my jeans, instinctively seeking out her heat. Gemma reached behind me and grasped the back of my thigh, arching her back like a kitten as she rubbed against me. That in itself told me how out of her mind she was. The girl never looked at me with anything other than complete and utter disdain. For her to touch me, let alone intimately like this, was completely out of character.

  I peeled her hand away and spun her in my arms. “Look at me.” Her glassy eyes flitted around for a moment before locking on mine. “You good?”

  “I could be better.” She lifted her hand and cupped my erection tenting the front of my jeans, then smiled, slow and sultry. “I could make you feel better, too.”

  I snatched her hand away. “Gemma, stop.”

  She leaned forward, pressing her breasts against my chest and pouted up at me. “Why don’t you like me?”

  I swallowed down the urge to comfort her. It was just the alcohol talking. “Let’s just get you to bed. You’ve had too much to drink.”

  “Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and pulled away from me, her lips turning down in a frown. “I don’t know why you hate me so much.”

  The way she said it sent a little pang of unease through me. “I don’t hate you.”

  “Right.” She threw a sad look my way before leaving the bathroom.

  I propped my hands on my hips and tipped my head back, drawing in a deep breath. I didn’t hate her—I didn’t. She was just... young and immature and frustrating as hell. My cock throbbed in my jeans, reminding me once again how long it’d been since I’d had a gorgeous woman throw herself at me. I adjusted myself, thanking God that I’d had the presence of mind to turn her down. My dick wasn’t happy about it, but I liked my job, and I wouldn’t jeopardize it, even for her. My only consolation was that Gemma was almost completely inebriated, and with luck, she would forget all about this by the time she woke up tomorrow.