Devil’s Redemption: The Devil’s Pawn Duet Book 2 Read online

  Devil’s Redemption

  The Devil’s Pawn Duet Book 2

  Natasha Knight

  Copyright © 2022 by Natasha Knight

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Contents

  About This Book

  1. Jericho

  2. Isabelle

  3. Jericho

  4. Jericho

  5. Isabelle

  6. Jericho

  7. Isabelle

  8. Jericho

  9. Isabelle

  10. Isabelle

  11. Jericho

  12. Isabelle

  13. Isabelle

  14. Jericho

  15. Isabelle

  16. Jericho

  17. Isabelle

  18. Jericho

  19. Isabelle

  20. Isabelle

  21. Jericho

  22. Isabelle

  23. Jericho

  24. Jericho

  25. Isabelle

  26. Jericho

  27. Jericho

  28. Isabelle

  29. Jericho

  30. Isabelle

  31. Jericho

  32. Jericho

  33. Isabelle

  34. Isabelle

  35. Jericho

  36. Isabelle

  37. Jericho

  38. Jericho

  39. Isabelle

  40. Jericho

  41. Isabelle

  42. Isabelle

  43. Isabelle

  44. Jericho

  45. Isabelle

  46. Isabelle

  47. Jericho

  48. Isabelle

  49. Jericho

  50. Isabelle

  51. Jericho

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  What To Read Next

  Also by Natasha Knight

  About the Author

  Thank you

  About This Book

  Isabelle

  * * *

  Just when I was beginning to trust my husband, he betrayed me.

  * * *

  Just when I thought I was falling in love he showed me the beast he truly is.

  * * *

  I understand his thirst for revenge. But I don’t want to play this game of pawn and puppet master.

  * * *

  No matter how his hands make my heart race and my body crave his devil’s touch, I won’t give in.

  * * *

  I love his daughter.

  * * *

  But I can’t let myself fall in love with her father.

  * * *

  Jericho

  * * *

  I have exactly what I want. Revenge.

  * * *

  Soon everything the Bishops have will be mine.

  * * *

  But it will cost me more than I bargained.

  * * *

  Isabelle Bishop hates me. As she should.

  * * *

  I know what I am. And now she does too.

  * * *

  But falling in love with my wife was never part of my plan.

  * * *

  Devil’s Redemption is Book 2 of The Devil’s Pawn Duet. You’ll want to read book 1, Devil’s Pawn first.

  Click here to find Devil’s Pawn in your preferred store.

  1

  Jericho

  “What did you do?” Isabelle hisses. She’s naked, on her feet pounding small fists into my chest. She has no energy, though. Her strength is zapped from days of not being able to keep any food down and probably weeks worth of frustration.

  To look at her now, I’ve gotten what I wanted. The beginnings of it at least. A Bishop in my clutches. Weak to the point she can barely stand. My baby in her belly.

  My future should be bright. I’m well on my way to burying Carlton Bishop. But it doesn’t feel very bright right now. In fact, I don’t feel anything but a creeping darkness as I take her in my arms trying not to bruise her. Not to hurt her.

  What I accused my brother of—his weakness when it comes to the suffering of this particular Bishop—have I become so weak? Has she worn me down as much as I’ve worn her down?

  “What’s happening?” comes a little voice from the hallway.

  “Get her out of here!” I yell to anyone who is listening. “Get Angelique out!” She will not witness this. I won’t allow her to see Isabelle in this state. See me in this state. She cannot know what I’ve done.

  My mother’s soothing voice comes over Isabelle’s accusations and a moment later I hear the door click closed. My mother was the one who alerted me to Isabelle’s ‘bug’. She knew, I’m sure, that it was no bug.

  “Lay her down. I’ll give her something to relax her,” Dr. Barnes says.

  “Get your hands off me!” Isabelle protests as I wrap a towel around her, lift her, cradling her against my chest. “Let me go you bastard! You lying bastard!”

  “I never lied to you,” I clarify calmly as I carry her to the bed. She struggles. Doesn’t she know yet I won’t let her go? Especially now. But her struggles don’t matter much. They only cause the towel to drop to the floor.

  Dr. Barnes has the blanket pulled back, but I shake my head. “I want her in my bed,” I tell him and let him follow me through the connecting door to my room.

  “No! Let me go!” She’s half sobbing, half fighting now.

  “No, Isabelle,” I say, voice low and steady. “I’ll never let you go.” I lay her down and sit beside her, keeping both of her wrists in one of my hands with just enough pressure on her to keep her down. “Stop fighting me.”

  “I will never stop fighting you,” she cries out, her voice catching as tears stream from her eyes. Her gaze moves beyond me and her panic is renewed. A glance over my shoulder tells me it’s Dr. Barnes approaching with a needle.

  “It won’t hurt them?” I ask.

  “No. If there’s a baby this won’t hurt mother or child.”

  I nod.

  “No! Please!” Isabelle thrashes, kicking her legs. I have her arms pinned to her chest. I turn her onto her side and trap her legs with my free arm as Dr. Barnes swabs an alcohol prep over her hip then pushes the needle in.

  She whines as he does it but the effect is almost instantaneous. I feel her legs and arms go weak, her body grow limp.

  I loosen my grip and roll her onto her back. When I release her, her limbs relax. She tries once to slap at me, but it doesn’t work. She can barely lift her arm a few inches.

  “Why did you do it?” she asks, her words beginning to slur as she struggles to keep her eyes open. “Why would you do this to me?”

  Guilt grips me in a way it never has before. Not when Kimberly died. Not when I took Isabelle. Not since and not ever before. This, what I’m doing now, I am actively doing.

  I am doing the damage.

  Causing the harm.

  I am consciously destroying this life.

  It’s a choice.

  You always have a choice. All of life is a choice. My own words haunt me. When I spoke them to her they were over something so inconsequential. Now, this? It’s the opposite.

  I swallow the guilt down. Harden my heart. I make myself think about Kimberly. How she died in my arms. But something has shifted. Something has changed. And all I see is Isabelle’s face. Hear her desperation. The defeat in her voice.

  “Why?” she asks weakly one last time, eyes closing as her head lolls to the side.

  I’m saved from answering because she’s gone now. Asleep. I draw the blankets up over her and brush wet hair off her face. I look at her here in my bed. Small and vulnerable. So vulnerable. And innocent.

  I know the monster I am. I’ve always known it. I’ve just never cared. Until now.

  “I’m sorry,” I say so quietly no one could have heard me.

  Dr. Barnes clears his throat. I collect myself and stand. I draw a second blanket to her chin.

  “Will she dream?” I ask the doctor without taking my eyes off her.

  “Pardon?”

  I turn to the man who I’d guess to be in his late forties. He’s one of the new Society doctors. He’ll do exactly what I need him to do. I think about that. About how I’ve planned every detail of this.

  “Dream. Will she dream?” I ask, my tone shorter than I intend.

  “No.”

  “Good.” Because I don’t want her trapped in that hell she dreamt the night of our wedding.

  I draw a deep breath. “Do what you need to do. I need confirmation she’s pregnant. How far along. She’s been sick. Lost a few pounds.” How had I not seen how thin she was getting? “She’ll need something so she can keep food down. And vitamins. She’s a vegetarian,” I add, surprising myself because the only thing that should matter should be the baby. “Whatever you can give her now, do it.”

  He puts a hand on my shoulder. “She’ll be all right. Go wait outside while I see to your wife.”

  I shake
my head. “I’m staying.”

  “It’s better—”

  “I’m staying.”

  He shuts his mouth and nods. I’m sure any doctor who wasn’t employed by The Society would question what the hell was going on, but Barnes won’t do that. Another benefit of my status within The Society. Thanks dad.

  Dad. Fuck. I need to get on a plane to Austria tomorrow. I can’t leave her like this. Not until I’m sure she’s okay. Not until I’m sure she won’t harm herself or the baby. Although she won’t do the latter. I know enough about Isabelle to know she’s not capable of that.

  I take a seat on the armchair and watch the doctor do his work. He draws several vials of blood and I want to ask if he should take it easy. She’s so small. He examines her, taking care to cover her so she’s never fully exposed. After what feels like an eternity, he gives her a shot of vitamins and sets two containers on the nightstand.

  I get to my feet.

  “I’ll write out a prescription you can refill as you need, but try the vitamins first. They should help with the nausea. If she still can’t keep anything down, you can give her these.”

  “They’re safe for her and the baby?”

  “Yes. Although the nausea should go away on its own in time. I’ll have my office email you some pamphlets. She is quite thin.”

  I glance at the slight form beneath the blankets and nod. Is it because of the pregnancy though or had I already started the process of breaking her down the moment I’d brought her into this house and made her my prisoner?

  “We’ll keep an eye on her. You just make sure to give her what she can stomach. Plain foods. Lots of snacks rather than big meals.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’d like to see her in my office soon. This week.”

  I nod. “When will you know the results of the pregnancy test?”

  “Within a few hours. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Barnes.”

  “Of course, Mr. St. James.”

  A knock comes on the door then. It’s my mother. She glances at Isabelle then at the doctor and me.

  “Can you walk Dr. Barnes out?” I ask her. “I’d like to stay with my wife.” My wife. How strange it sounds. How off course life has gone in five years’ time.

  “Of course, Jericho. This way, Dr. Barnes.”

  They leave and the door closes behind them. When it does, I walk to Isabelle’s bedroom to get a pair of panties and from under her pillow I find that ratty T-shirt she likes to wear to bed. I carefully dress her before laying her back down. I notice how cold her feet are so I go back into her room and find a pair of fuzzy socks. I slip those on as well before I tuck her in. Her breathing is quiet and calm, so opposite how she was just a little while ago. I look at her for a long, long minute before leaning down to kiss her forehead.

  The door opens just as I’m doing it. I school my features and turn, expecting to find my mother. But it’s not her. It’s Angelique. I can see she’s been crying and her eyes grow wide when they settle on Isabelle.

  “Is she hurt?” she asks, a sob breaking the sentence, her lip trembling.

  I go to her, lifting her up to carry her to her bed. “No, she’ll be fine. She just hasn’t been feeling well so Dr. Barnes gave her something to help her sleep.”

  “When will she wake up?”

  “In a little while, sweetheart,” I say, brushing her hair back from her face. She inherited Kimberly’s wild curls.

  “I saw you kissing her.” She smiles but her eyes are still sad.

  I don’t say anything but smile back.

  She touches my cheek. “You’re bleeding, daddy.”

  I look at her little thumb, see the smear of red. I wipe off her finger. Isabelle must have scratched me when she was struggling.

  “It’s nothing. Just cut myself shaving.” I watch Angelique. “She isn’t your mommy. You know that right?”

  Her eyes flit to Isabelle again and she nods. “Why don’t I have a mommy?”

  Fuck.

  She’s asked this before and it never ever gets any fucking easier.

  Because Isabelle’s brother murdered her. That’s why.

  “Your mommy died before you were born, sweetheart. I know she was sad not to be with you. She loved you very much. I can tell you that. She was so excited to meet you.”

  “But she couldn’t.” She knows these answers. This conversation never changes.

  I nod. My throat is closing up. It’s the look in her eyes. Her young mind unable to process. To understand something so unnatural. So wrong.

  “Why did she die?”

  “I don’t know,” I lie. “Let’s go fix your book, okay? I know Isabelle would want to do it but since she can’t, I’ll help you. If you’ll let me,” I add.

  “Why were you fighting?” she asks, eyes so much like mine it’s as if they see right to my core. Does she see the monster there?

  “How is she?” my mother asks from the door saving me from having to answer.

  “She’ll be all right.”

  My mother looks at me a bit longer but knows not to ask the question we all want confirmed. Is Isabelle pregnant?

  I turn to Angelique again. “What do you say? Let’s go get your book and we’ll fix it. That way when Isabelle wakes up, we can show it to her.”

  “Will you read me the story after?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. But leave the door open a crack in case Belle needs us,” Angelique says as I carry her out into the hallway, leaving the door open a crack just in case.

  2

  Isabelle

  I wake slowly my vision fuzzy as I take in the light filtered by drawn curtains. On the nightstand is a book. I can’t read the title on the spine. It’s too creased. There’s a jacket hanging on the back of a chair. Beyond it is a door.

  The door that connects my room to my husband’s.

  It’s open. My towel lies on the floor. And I remember why, just as my gaze lands on the man sitting across the room in the large leather wingback chair.

  Jericho St. James.

  My husband.

  My devil.

  The liar.

  I shift to sit up and he sets his reading material aside. I notice it’s my notebook.

  “What are you doing with that?” I ask even though there are about a thousand more important questions that need answering.

  He walks over to me. “You write your own music,” he says. It’s not a question. “Why aren’t you in school?”

  “I’m slow, remember?”

  “It’s good.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and I see the line of worry between his eyebrows. He looks different than he has before. Is it guilt I see in his features? In his stance?

  No. A man like Jericho St. James wouldn’t feel guilt. It’s not in his DNA.

  “My music is none of your business,” I tell him.