Devil's Plaything (Playthings, #1) Read Online Free

to stay at the hospital until the buses start.”
    “Are you a doctor, nurse?”
    Julie looked at him like he had two heads and laughed. “Not in this life. I’m a custodian. And this is me. Thank you again. I don’t know what would have happened...” She shivered, the full force of the horrors she’d avoided clearly hitting her. It engaged D’yavol all over again.
    “Take care of yourself, Julie Manchin,” he said and walked away.
    He went to track down the Steel Hearts and formally introduced himself.
    One of them ended up in the ICU.
    ••••
    T he buzz of his cell phone pulled him from his memories. He looked down at it, noting that, as expected, it was Demon, but didn’t answer. Instead he broke into a light jog to speed his arrival at his vehicle. D’yavol hated the things, but recognized their necessity. Still, he wasn’t ready to let go of thoughts of Julie quite yet. Even the less pleasant memories of Julie were preferable to the reality that he was without her. Over the year since that first meeting, she’d calmed him, soothed his soul. That need that had always crackled right beneath the surface, waiting, praying for a moment to come out, had been kept at bay. His work remained inordinately pleasurable, and he still craved the feeling, fist against flesh and bone, the dull thwack of a punch. But lately, he’d allowed himself to imagine a life beyond this. It was stupid; he was D’yavol, the devil. Nothing more. But still...
    He pushed those thoughts aside as he reached his car, drove toward his destination the late, or early, depending on one’s perspective, hour leaving the streets mostly deserted, and parked in front of the nondescript warehouse on the industrial side of town that served as home base. A friend of Demon’s, some rich guy he knew from the old days, ran a string of companies, one of which was this metal-recycling facility that he allowed Demon to use. Some of the other guys preferred working out of the offices, or a fancy gym, but D’yavol preferred it here. Anyone who saw him knew what he was, and he didn’t want to waste time with the pretense and trappings of professionalism. Combat boots, cargo pants, a T-shirt, and his standard icy scowl were his uniform.
    Demon met him at the door.
    “I was on my way,” he said before Demon could even ask why he hadn’t answered his phone.
    “Good. You look relaxed. Did you get enough rest?”
    None, but he wouldn’t tell Demon that. The man got too worked up as fights approached, and he might have had a stroke if D’yavol confessed that he’d spent most of the night in a beautiful woman’s bed instead of focusing and training as he usually did. It was a testament to Demon, their friendship, that D’yavol even cared. Though D’yavol didn’t share the other man’s dreams, Demon had proven a loyal and worthy ally and was one of the few people D’yavol would ever consider trusting.
    D’yavol laughed as he took his first good look at Demon’s attire. Today Demon was decked out in a suit and loafers, his hair slicked back. Undoubtedly, the intent was businessman or accountant, but Demon had missed the mark and was dangerously close to used-car kingpin. He was far from an accountant or a used-car salesman, but unlike D’yavol, he had aspirations beyond the ugly world they’d grown up in. He wouldn’t forget—neither of them could—but Demon, as he liked to say, had plans. What those plans entailed, he’d never really specified, but D’yavol wouldn’t deny his friend his dreams. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t give him shit.
    “You’re going to sell cars today, yeah?”
    “Fuck you, man,” Demon responded playfully. “Have you ever heard the term ‘dress for success’? I’m going places, and to get the part, I have to live the part.”
    “What places?” he asked as he walked across the recycling floor, quiet at this hour but a hive of activity when the trucks started rolling in.
    Demon followed close behind.