The Devil's Good Girl

The Devil's Chauffeur

Serarphina's POV

The car door shut tight around us.

Vincent sat next to me without moving. The leather made sounds when he shifted his weight. His eyes stayed forward. The engine roared and the city moved past us through the windows. Streetlights made warm light rays on the glass.

My bag sat on my lap, I held it close. My nails dug into the canvas material until my fingers hurt.

Vincent spoke once. "Breathe".The word felt heavy when he said it.

I tried to breathe but it came too fast and too shallow. The air smelled like leather and smoke and something metal that I could not identify.

The quietness felt worse than if he had been yelling.

When I looked at him his face stayed the same, His jaw looked hard, His eyes watched the dark road ahead. I wanted him to talk to me but I also wanted him to stay quiet.

We drove past the river where neon lights reflected in the dark water. My chest felt tight when the streets became empty. No one walked around, No one could see us. If he wanted to push me out of the car no one would know what happened.

The car stopped at the airport but not the regular part where families wait with suitcases. This section looked quiet and clean. It had guards. A black plane waited on the ground with yellow light coming from its windows.

Vincent opened my door for me. He did not touch me but the way he did it was like an order and not politeness.

I walked across the pavement. My boots made loud clicking sounds.

Two guards dressed in black held rifles across their bodies. They did not look at me directly. This felt worse because they looked past me like I was already tagged.

Inside the plane, everything smelled like polish and expensive things. The seats were cream colored leather. Crystal glasses were held in place at the bar so they would not move around.

Vincent pointed at a seat.

"Sit."

He used just one word again.

I did what he said.

The plane lifted off smooth and fast but my stomach felt like it stayed behind in Prague.

I put my forehead against the cold round window. I watched the city get smaller until it looked like tiny dots on a black fabric. My home disappeared in seconds along with Evelyn's violin and Dad's blood and my textbooks left on the kitchen floor.

The engines made loud noises. My thoughts got lost in the sound.

Vincent poured whiskey into a glass and drank it without looking at me. His silence felt heavier than the high altitude around us.

I counted the time between when he moved. He would lift the glass then drink then put it down. Each movement looked too careful and exact. He seemed like someone who could kill another person without a second thought.

The hours went by slowly, I could not fall asleep. My fingers wanted to open my bag and touch my clothes to make sure I was still the same person but I kept my hands still.

When the plane started going down, the view outside changed. Prague's cold lights were gone. Now I saw the ocean. It stretched out black and endless except for a thin white line where the moon reflected. Then cliffs rose up with jagged edges. Orange lights scattered along the coast.

Sicily.

When we got off the plane the air hit me first. It felt warm, salty and thick. Crickets made noise in the darkness around us.

Another car waited for us. It looked expensive and armored with black windows. Two more guards stood beside it.

Vincent got in first. I followed him.

We drove on roads that curved around cliffs. My stomach felt sick at every turn when headlights showed stone walls that dropped down into nothing. The ocean crashed somewhere far below us but I could not see it, I could only hear it reminding me how easy it would be to disappear.

We reached gates made of iron that looked massive, They had symbols carved into them that I did not recognize. They opened without making any sound.

Inside the gates was the compound.

It was not a house but looked more like a fortress. High walls covered in vines were lit by torches that burned too bright against the night sky. Men carrying rifles walked around. Their shadows stretched long and thin on the ground.

The car stopped in front of marble steps that went up to black double doors. The doors looked taller than any church doors I had ever seen.

I got out of the car. My knees shook but I made them stay straight. Vincent put his hand on my back but he was not pushing me or guiding me. His hand just stayed there as a reminder.

The air smelled like citrus trees mixed with gun oil.

The doors opened.

He stood there waiting.

Damian Blackwood.

He was tall, He wore a sharp suit that looked black like midnight. He did not smile or frown but just looked at me with eyes that cut through me like he already knew what I would cost him.

His voice sounded quiet and almost bored when he spoke.

"So," he said. "This is the payment."

The doors closed behind me.