Author: Claire Adams
Category: Young Adult
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/30247_5
“But you don’t think it’s likely… do you?”
I didn’t reply. Instead, I poured myself another mug of black coffee. “Ok,” I said, at last.
“Ok?”
“Your sister can stay here in the house… but just until we find out who exactly this Walter Black really is.”
“Understood,” Devon nodded gratefully.
The Devil's Son - ParanormalCheck out the best interactive novels on Whispers: Interactive stories.
“Can your sister handle herself?” I asked.
“If you mean can she defend herself, the answer is no,” Devon replied. “She’s… not like other girls.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What does that mean?”
“She’s innocent.”
“Well, living here… she won’t be for long,” I said. “She can have the room next to mine.”
I saw Devon look a little uncertain, but he bit his tongue and held back whatever was on his mind. “Ok,” he had no choice but to say.
Chapter Two
Mila
I glanced at the time. It was almost midnight, and Devon still wasn’t here. I was exhausted, but tired as I was, I couldn’t bring myself to sleep. Every time I drifted off, another nightmare had me screaming back to consciousness.
I tried to think about things logically. Walter knew I had a brother in a prominent motorcycle gang. The Fallen Angels had built themselves a reputation over the years. They were not known for criminal activity like the Lucifer’s Knights were, but everyone knew you couldn’t mess with them. I was hoping that that reputation had scared Walter enough that he had high-tailed it out of town to avoid getting into hot water with one of the members.
Then I reminded myself that Walter also knew that I wasn’t very close to Devon. He and I were half-siblings. We had grown up separately and lived our lives with no real connection for a long time. I had slowly got in touch with him in the last couple of years after I’d left my mother’s house, but even after I’d moved to the same town he had lived in for the past several years, it hadn’t done much to deepen our connection.
I had only called Devon out of sheer desperation. Instantly, my mind flew back to the night I had run from Walter. He was still half-drunk and huffing around like a lion in a cage. My throat was still raw and sensitive, and when I concentrated really hard, I could almost feel his fingers constricting around it.
“Get me a drink,” he had barked at me in my corner.
This time, I had nodded obediently and done as I was told. There was a time and place to stand up for yourself, and this wasn’t it. I had gone to the kitchen with my hands still shaking and poured him a drink. I wasn’t sure if it was panic or reason, but I had the presence of mind to grab a couple of sleeping pills from the bottom right-hand drawer and slip them into the glass.
I went out to Walter and offered them to him with my head bowed low. I didn’t want to see his face, and I didn’t want him to see mine. I was scared that my expression would rat me out and he would finish the job he had started only an hour ago and kill me.
It had taken fifteen long minutes, but the moment I heard an unmistakable snore from him, I rushed to the room, grabbed my things, and headed for the door. The whole time, I could feel my heartbeat echoing in my ears like a dirge. If he woke up and found out that I had left him, he would kill me. I knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt.
I had gone to the police station immediately. Cedar Grove was a small town, and in place of a police force, we had a small station that was run by the sheriff. So that’s exactly who I wanted to speak to when I ran in with dried tear tracks imprinted on my cheeks.
“I need to speak to the sheriff,” I had said, to the man sitting at the front desk in a police uniform.
“He’s out,” the officer replied. “I’m Officer Stallone. How can I help you?”
“My boyfriend tried to kill me,” I gasped. “He threatened to finish the job if I ever left him and… I just left him.”
The officer had stopped short and regarded me coolly. He was a young cop, possibly in his mid to late twenties, no more than a few years older than me. He had dark eyes and blond hair, and he looked me over like he was trying to evaluate me. I had become conscious of myself immediately, and it struck me that my appearance might color my credibility. I must have looked like a basket case in my dress, which Walter had ripped. I had a sleeve falling off my shoulder, and the hemline had a tear too, giving me a slit I didn’t want.
My ragged appearance combined with my tear-stained face and my disheveled hair no doubt made me look less than reliable, but I clung to the hope that this officer would take pity on me and listen to my story.
“What’s your name?” Officer Stallone had asked.
“Mila,” I had replied breathlessly. “Mila Mikalson.”
“And your boyfriend’s name?”