Page 1 of Demon’s Temptation

Chapter 1

Brent Silva unbuttoned his jacket and sat forward, gripping his phone tight enough to make it groan. “Tell me you got it?”

“The building’s yours, sir.”

He shot to his feet and paced around to the front of his desk and back. “It’s mine?” The second property he’d acquired here in Roxburgh.

“Yes, sir.” His lawyer’s thin voice continued to echo through the receiver, but Brent didn’t hear a word of it, his mind already racing ahead. Let this be it, the hit that finally draws the bastard out.

“Mr. Silva?”

He forced himself to concentrate on what the guy was saying. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what do you plan to do with it?”

“Not a damn thing.” The first acquisition, the building he currently occupied and had recently opened for business, was a sex club like the one he’d owned in Chicago. Toxic had made him a lot of money. Demi-demons like him—half demon, half human—were often drawn to this lifestyle, especially those with incubus or some other species of sex demon making up half their DNA, but he didn’t really give a shit about money at this point.

It had been time to make the move, to come back. He’d left Roxburgh after Lazarus—one of the knights of Hell, half demon, half angel warriors created to protect Brent’s kind—had rescued him over three years ago, and after he’d recovered and finished his training, he left. He never thought he’d come back. But as he’d grown stronger, his hatred and need for revenge had grown with it. If he wanted to take that fucker down, he had to be here, in this city.

And right now, all that mattered was he’d beaten Garrett to another property. It wasn’t as satisfying as putting a bullet in the demon’s head, but it was another dent in the guy’s armor nonetheless.

So far, the male remained a shadow. Brent had never seen his face and his voice had always been disguised. He didn’t even know if Garrett was his first name, last name or something else entirely. He’d endured the fucker’s breath down the back of his neck, his cold, grasping fingers on his skin, completely under the monster’s command—but he wouldn’t recognize him if he passed him on the street.

And that’s what kept him up at night, had him waking in a cold sweat.

“Are you sure that’s wise? It’s a prime location. More than one buyer was clambering to get their hands on it. You can’t just let it sit there.”

“No?” Steel laced Brent’s voice, emotion from the direction his thoughts had taken slipping through. He had no desire to explain his actions to anyone, least of all someone who was paid extremely well to do as he was asked and keep his mouth shut.

“Apologies,” the guy murmured. “I’ll have the paperwork sent over to you right away.”

“I’d appreciate it.” Disconnecting, he shoved a hand through his hair and paced the room, trying to ease the tension thrumming through his body.

Garrett was the last one. He’d hoped the constant barrage of attacks on his businesses would draw him out. So far, nothing. Not a fucking peep.

It’d been time to up his game, which meant moving back into Garrett’s territory and making sure Brent was seen.

When he’d been freed from that hell that, as it turned out, had made him his own jailor, a place he never imagined could exist, not until he’d been lured there, seduced, intoxicated on lust and emotion, betrayed by his new powers to the point he had lost himself completely—he thought he would never recover.

Two months he’d been there, helpless, ruled by the incubus blood he’d inherited from his father. A father he never knew existed.

That was how he learned what he was. How he discovered that demons existed on this Earth. That he wasn’t entirely human.

Four years later—with nothing to go on but the name of the monster who had preyed on him, who had used what he was against him—he’d managed to find out the building he’d been found in by Lazarus had been owned by Garrett Industries.

Garrett.

He’d made it his mission to track and target anything with the name attached to it.

But the male himself remained elusive. A goddamned ghost.

Snatching the bottle of water off his desk, he drank deeply, mouth suddenly bone dry. He needed this to be over but at this point wasn’t any closer to putting the bastard down than he’d been the day he walked away from that nightmare.

He was still lost. Would remain that way until Garrett was six feet under.

“Fuck!” He sent the bottle flying, the thud of plastic colliding with the opposite wall not nearly satisfying enough.

God, he was close to crawling out of his skin. He needed a drink, a real one, a whole damned bottle, but that wasn’t an option. He’d never walk out onto that floor with an ounce of alcohol in his system. The risks were too high, especially in his current frame of mind.