Chapter 202
Aria's POV
Devon's arm circled my waist as we exited Mount Sinai Hospital, his grip possessive yet oddly distant. Though physically close, the emotional chasm between us seemed to widen with each step. His jaw remained tight, eyes fixed ahead with an intensity that warned against conversation.
The evening air hit my face as we stepped outside, a welcome relief after the antiseptic staleness of the hospital corridors. I couldn't help glancing back at the building's entrance, wondering if Marianne Blake might come charging after us, demanding more confrontation.
"What's wrong? Worried Marianne might run out and tackle you?" Devon's voice cut through my thoughts, razor-sharp with mockery.
I turned to face him, startled by the venom in his tone. "I was just—"
"Get in," he commanded as Marcus pulled the Bentley to the curb.
The leather interior enveloped me in luxury that felt suddenly suffocating. Devon slid in beside me, his body language rigid as Marcus pulled away from the curb.
For several blocks, silence hung between us, heavy and accusatory. I watched the Manhattan skyline through the tinted windows, trying to make sense of his anger.
"You know," Devon finally said, his voice deceptively casual, "you're quite the contradiction, Aria Harper." He turned those storm-gray eyes on me. "All claws and teeth when we're alone, but in front of Marianne Blake? A trembling little fawn."
My spine stiffened. "I wasn't trembling. I was being strategic."
Devon let out a cold laugh that contained no humor. "Strategic? Is that what you call it?" He leaned closer, his cologne enveloping me as his finger tilted my chin upward. "Next time someone tries to intimidate you, hit back harder. You have me backing you now."
His touch sent an involuntary shiver down my spine, but his words sparked something defensive in me. "I appreciate the concern, but I don't want to keep troubling you," I replied softly. "I understand my position and my limitations."
Devon's expression froze, something dark and unfathomable flickering in his eyes. He withdrew his hand as if burned.
"Troubling me?" he repeated, each syllable precise and cold. "Your position? Your limitations?" His lips curved into a bitter smile. "So that's how you see this, Ms. Harper."
Before I could respond, he rapped on the partition. "Marcus, pull over."
"Devon, what are you—"
"Here will be fine," he told Marcus, ignoring me completely.
The car slowed to a stop in a fairly ordinary Brooklyn neighborhood. Not particularly dangerous, but certainly not where I'd choose to be alone at night.
"Get out," Devon said flatly.
"Excuse me?"
"Since you're so aware of your position and limitations," he said, each word dripping with sarcasm, "you can make your own way home. Wouldn't want to trouble me further."
"You can't be serious." I stared at him in disbelief.
His expression remained impassive. "I'm always serious, Aria. You should know that by now."
A mixture of anger and disbelief bubbled up inside me. "Fine," I snapped, gathering my purse and phone. "Thank you for the lovely evening."
The cool night air hit me as I slammed the car door, watching as the Bentley pulled away without hesitation. Pride kept me standing straight until the taillights disappeared around a corner. Only then did I let my shoulders slump.
My mind raced, trying to make sense of Devon's reaction. What had triggered such anger? Was it my comment about not wanting to trouble him? The whole conversation replayed in my head as I walked aimlessly, barely noticing where my feet carried me.
I needed a moment to think. Spotting a quieter side street, I turned and walked until I found a relatively secluded spot near a closed storefront. I leaned against the wall, fishing in my purse for cigarettes.
As I lit one, inhaling deeply, I tried to understand Devon's perspective. Had my words sounded like rejection to him? Like I was distancing myself? I'd only meant to be respectful of his time and position, but perhaps he'd interpreted it as something else entirely.
Lost in thought, I didn't notice the customized black SUV slowing beside me until a voice broke through my reverie.
"Hey, beautiful. Taking a smoke break?" A heavyset middle-aged man with a shaved head and multiple gold chains leaned out the passenger window.
I ignored him, dropping my cigarette and crushing it under my heel before walking away.
"I'm talking to you, princess," he called, the SUV crawling alongside me. "Pretty thing like you shouldn't be out alone this time of night."
The car stopped and two doors opened. The driver and another man stepped out, both wearing black leather jackets. Instinctively, I quickened my pace, realizing too late that my distracted wandering had led me to a much quieter area than I'd intended.
I turned to head back toward the main street, but the three men now blocked my path.
"Well, well," the heavy man said, stepping forward. "If I'm not mistaken, you're Aria Harper, right?" His voice lost its false charm, hardening into something businesslike and threatening.
My pulse quickened. "You have me confused with someone else," I said firmly, calculating whether I could run past them in my heels.
"Nah, I don't think so." He pulled out his phone, displaying my photo. "Word is your daddy owes my boss a considerable sum. Three hundred grand of gambling debt." He smiled coldly. "Seems William Harper's check 'accidentally' bounced."
"That's my father's problem, not mine," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady while scanning for escape routes.
The man laughed, a harsh barking sound. "In our business, sweetheart, debts are family affairs." He moved closer, backing me against the brick wall. "But we're reasonable people. There are... alternative payment arrangements we could discuss."
His hand reached out to stroke my cheek. I jerked away, swinging my handbag hard into his face. The heavy designer purse connected with his nose, causing him to stagger back with a howl of pain.
"You bitch!" he snarled, blood streaming from his nose.
I kicked at his knee, connecting solidly, and darted past him. But my stiletto caught on the uneven pavement. I stumbled, twisting my ankle painfully, and crashed to the ground. My palms scraped against the rough concrete as I tried to break my fall.
I scrambled to get up, but a strong hand grabbed my ankle, dragging me backward. The gravelly pavement scraped my legs as I kicked frantically with my free foot.
"You're gonna pay for that," the man growled, his face twisted with rage.