𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 | 𝟏𝟖+

35

We pull up to the courthouse, it's way past normal business hours, but that's never stopped Damien before. He has a talent for pulling strings, bending the world to his will with a charming smile and a flash of cash.

We make our way inside, my hand holding Damien's tightly. The judge is waiting for us in her chambers, looking slightly annoyed at being dragged out of bed for a last-minute wedding. But she softens a bit as she takes in our lovestruck, slightly disheveled appearance.

We stand before her, hand in hand, as she begins the impromptu ceremony. The words wash over me in a bit of a drunken haze, but I've never felt more clear-headed, more certain of anything in my life.

The judge begins the traditional ceremony, her voice ringing out in the quiet chambers. "Do you, Damien Caine, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

Damien's grin is blinding as he squeezes my hands, his eyes never leaving mine. "I do," he says firmly.

The judge turns to me, a small smile on her face. "And do you, Catherine Jessop, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

"I do," I whisper, tears filling my eyes," I fucking do."

"Then by the power vested in me by the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss your bride," the judge declares, a note of genuine joy in her voice.

And oh, does he ever. Damien sweeps me into his arms, dipping me low as he claims my mouth in a hot, passionate kiss. I cling to him, pouring every ounce of my love and my devotion into the slick slide of our lips.

Whistles and cheers erupt from our "guests" - the security detail and random court employees who got roped into witnessing this crazy, beautiful, 2 am wedding.

We finally come up for air, dizzy and giddy and deliriously happy. We sign the necessary papers in a messy scrawl, too drunk  to care about the legibility.

And in a fifteen-minute, spur-of-the-moment, slightly intoxicated ceremony in the middle of the night, it's official. And it was perfect. Special, in our own fucked up, unconventional way.

We stumble out of the courthouse, still laughing and clinging to each other like a couple of lovesick teenagers. The cool night air feels good on my flushed skin as Damien practically carries me to the waiting car, his hands roaming over all me.

The second we're in the backseat, I'm straddling his lap, my dress riding up around my hips as I grind against him. Damien groans into my mouth, his fingers digging into my ass as he pulls me closer.

We're lost in a haze of alcohol and lust, hands everywhere, tongues tangling, completely oblivious to the world around us. Until Damien's phone starts ringing insistently.

He tries to pull away, but I just tighten my grip on his hair, refusing to let him go. "Ignore it," I pant against his lips, rolling my hips in a way that makes him hiss through his teeth.

But the phone keeps ringing, and finally, with a muttered curse, Damien fishes his phone out of his pocket. He answers with a gruff "Yeah?", his free hand still firmly planted on my ass.

I grin wickedly, deciding to have a little fun. I start trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down his throat, nipping and sucking at his skin.

"Uh huh... yeah, I'm here," Damien grunts into the phone, his voice strained. "What's the - fuck! - what's the situation?"

I can't quite make out the response on the other end, but it sounds like Rome. Damien's hips buck up involuntarily as I grind down particularly hard, a low groan escaping his clenched teeth. "T-two weeks? Yeah, that's - Christ, Cat - that's doable."

I muffle a giggle against his neck.

"Listen, I gotta - oh fuck, baby, just like that - I gotta go. Keep me posted."

With that, Damien ends the call, tossing his phone aside carelessly. He grabs my face between his hands, his eyes blazing with exasperation and lust.

"You're in so much trouble." he growls, nipping sharply at my bottom lip.

I just grin, rolling my hips again. "Gonna punish me, Mr. Caine?" I purr, my voice dripping with mock innocence.

Damien smiles, his hands tightening on my hips with bruising force. "Oh, you have no idea, Mrs. Caine. No fucking idea."

︻デ═一

We're all gathered in Luis's living room, crowded around the massive oak table. Blueprints, satellite images, and hastily scribbled notes litter the surface, a chaotic roadmap to the vengeance we're about to unleash.

Damien leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks around with a hard stare. "Alright, let's go over this. Weaver, what have you got for us on the location?"

Mr. Weaver clears his throat, tapping a finger on a grainy satellite image. "The Ramirez compound is nestled in a remote stretch of Arizona desert, just a few clicks from the Mexican border. Tough to reach, tougher to breach."

Damien nods, his jaw tight. "We're gonna need eyes in the sky. Rome, you can get that chopper lined up?"

Rome gives a curt nod. "Yeah. Got a bird and a pilot standing by. Just give the word and they'll be in the air."

Luis leans back in his chair, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "Once we've got the lay of the land, it's go time. You hit 'em from all sides. No mercy."

I can't help but chime in, my blood already singing with the promise of revenge. "What kind of firepower are we talking here? Since it's a tough breach."

Damien reaches over, squeezing my hand. "We're going in heavy, baby. Assault rifles, grenades, C-4... anything we need to paint the walls red with Ramirez blood."

Rome nods, his expression grim. "We'll have ten teams breaching the perimeter simultaneously. Snipers will take out the watchtowers, demos will blow the gates. From there, it's room-to-room combat until every last one of those bastards are in the ground."

I can feel my heart pounding, the icy rage in my veins crystallizing into something sharp and deadly. "And Alonzo? What about him?"

Damien's gaze locks with mine, a silent promise passing between us. "Alonzo's all yours, Cat. You find that motherfucker and you make him pay."

I nod in understanding. The real prize, the ultimate goal, is Alonzo himself. He's mine, and mine alone.

Rome's voice cuts through the silence, "we've got two weeks to get our shit together before we make our move. That means two weeks of stockpiling gear, training and tying up any loose ends. We need to be fucking ghosts by the time we roll out."

He looks around the room, making eye contact with each of us in turn. "This isn't just another job. This is personal. We're going up against some serious firepower and we need to be at the top of our game. No fuckups."

There's a murmur of agreement from around the table. We all know what's at stake here.

Luis leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. "Two weeks," he muses, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Plenty of time to get the heavy artillery lined up. By the time we're through, the Ramirez compound is gonna be nothing but a smoking crater."