The Devil Inside Me by Alexis Adaire Page A

later that doctors told her there was less than a 10 percent chance of recovery, but she’d somehow pulled through. Amber, only 18 at the time, later told Caitlyn that she knew things would be okay. The ordeal had taken a toll on the family, though. Her mother had seemingly aged a decade during that month, and happy-go-lucky teenaged Amber had become a withdrawn, melancholy young adult.
    And now this. It wasn’t fair. Caitlyn watched Amber sleep, fighting to stay awake herself.
    ♦
    “Caitlyn…”
    Someone nudged Caitlyn’s shoulder once, then a second time, harder. She cracked open an eye and saw her mother. It was just after noon and Caitlyn had been asleep for a while. There had been no improvement in Amber’s condition. On the contrary, doctors said she was entering a “critical 48-hour window” and if things didn’t improve soon, they weren’t likely to.
    Her mother insisted that Caitlyn go home and get some sleep. Caitlyn promised to return later that evening to take the night shift at her sister’s bedside.

Chapter 2
    Caitlyn had no intention of going home. She needed a drink badly and pulled out of the parking garage in search of the closest bar. Just a few blocks away she stumbled on the Lucky Devil, an obvious dive. Perfect.
    Heads turned when Caitlyn walked in. Despite her tired appearance, or maybe because of it, she looked sultry as she slid her tall, lithe frame onto a barstool. The jeans and Cavs shirt may have fit right in with the bar’s afternoon crowd, but her perfect breasts and gorgeous ass would have stood out even if she hadn’t been the only woman there.
    “Maker’s Mark, rocks,” she told the bartender, taking a nice long slug when her drink arrived.
    An hour later, Caitlyn was still on her second drink. She’d told herself she’d have one, then go home to get some sleep, but the first drink whispered to her to order another. There were about a dozen guys in the place, all typical dive-bar patrons. She had already shot down three lame pickup attempts and another three guys who just asked if they could sit and drink with her. The three who hit on her were an older guy in a button-down shirt with vaguely Western flourishes, a middle-aged ponytailed biker asshole, and a thirtysomething body-builder guy in jeans and a Pearl Jam T-shirt. Caitlyn let them know in no uncertain terms that she was not there to socialize.
    Looking completely out of place was one guy wearing a dark gray tailored suit and tie who sat around the corner of the L-shaped bar and smiled at Caitlyn when he caught her looking. She averted her gaze and waited for him to show up with an idiotic opening line, but he never came over. In fact, he seemed completely uninterested in her.
    Caitlyn finished her drink and tried to signal the bartender for the check. Before she could get his attention, though, the man in the suit was standing next to her and motioning for the bartender to bring drinks for the two of them. “Don’t waste your money, I was just leaving,” she said.
    In a strikingly deep voice, he replied, “Don’t worry, I own the place. Have a drink with me.”
    Caitlyn didn’t know what to think. He hadn’t called her “baby” or “gorgeous” and had barely acknowledged her until now. Still, she was ready to go home and get some sleep. He held out a business card. “I’m Chris,” he said.
    Those eyes. Holy Jesus this guy had beautiful eyes. They were light brown, almost orange, and looked particularly striking combined with his olive skin, chiseled face, jet black hair and a day’s worth of razor stubble. She took the card and looked at it. There were only two lines:
     CHRIS TITAN
The Lucky Devil Bar
    “Caitlyn,” she said. Chris was probably in his thirties, and though he wasn’t handsome in a traditional sense, there was something undeniably attractive about him. The way he dressed? His regal posture? Maybe his confidence that bordered on arrogance? Caitlyn couldn’t quite put her finger