Beauty and the Devil

chapter 20

Samantha’s POV

The moment Clyde stepped through the door, everything in the room shifted. His shoulders were tense, his face bruised from the wind, eyes burning with a fury that felt deeper than anger.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t ask questions. He saw Aaron, standing too close, my body still pressed into the wall, the faint red marks on my wrists, my expression. It was enough.

Clyde crossed the room in two strides, grabbed Aaron by the collar, and slammed him into the wall with a crack that shook the frame above them. The impact echoed through the house. Dust fell from the drywall. The table rattled. My breath caught in my throat.

“You touched her?” Clyde’s voice was low, dangerous, vibrating through the floorboards.

Aaron didn’t cower. His jaw clenched, lips pulled back just enough to flash his teeth. “I should’ve done a lot more than that.”

Clyde’s fist connected with his gut so fast I barely saw the wind-up. Aaron collapsed forward, groaning, arm wrapped around his middle.

“You turn to the cops too?” Clyde said through clenched teeth, voice tight with rage but still contained. “You think that’ll save you?”

Aaron coughed, spat a streak of blood onto the floor, and looked up, smiling through it. “They know what you are.”

Clyde’s hand locked around his throat, forcing him back against the wall. His body tensed with restraint, but his control was slipping.

“I’m not hiding,” he said, his voice deeper now, strained and cold. “You want to bring the law? Go ahead. I’ll bury you in lawyers, paperwork, charges. I’ll buy the judge. I’ll make your name disappear. Your apartment, your car, your mother’s house — I’ll own it all before they even finish processing the case.”

His grip didn’t loosen. His voice dropped even lower.

“I’ll drag you through court in chains.”

Aaron’s breath hitched, but he didn’t break. “And her?” he rasped. “You gonna own her too?”

Clyde didn’t flinch.

“No,” he said. “I’m going to keep her.”

His voice wasn’t loud. But it landed with finality.

Then everything changed in an instant. Aaron shifted his weight, elbow snapping up into Clyde’s ribs. It was quick, practiced. Clyde staggered slightly, grunted — then lunged back.

They collided again, this time with full force. Both men crashed into the living room. The coffee table splintered beneath them with a crunch. Glass shattered somewhere. A lamp tipped over and hit the ground hard. I screamed, but they didn’t hear me.

This wasn’t about me anymore.

This was something older. Deeper. Ugly.

Aaron landed a hit across Clyde’s face — sharp, bloody. Clyde’s cheek split. He blinked, shook it off, then drove his shoulder into Aaron’s chest and sent him straight into the broken frame of the table. The wood cracked louder. Aaron let out a pained grunt, but still swung upward, catching Clyde’s jaw.

Both men were breathing heavily, slick with sweat, knuckles raw.

Then Aaron kicked out. Hard. Caught Clyde just under the ribs again. He broke free, stumbled, and ran for the door — limping, one hand pressed to his side, blood trailing across his shirt.

Clyde chased him, but Aaron was already outside, half-stumbling down the street, vanishing into the dark.

The door was wide open. The cold air rushed in.

Clyde didn’t follow.

He stood there for a long moment, chest rising and falling, one hand braced against the frame. Blood ran down his lip. His knuckles were scraped and bruised. His shirt was torn at the shoulder. He turned slowly and looked at me.

I was still in the corner, my back pressed to the kitchen cabinet, arms locked around myself, frozen in place.

He stepped forward.

“I told you,” he said, his voice rough with breath. “You call for me, I come.”

I didn’t speak.

He kept his eyes on me. There was something softer behind the bruises, something almost unrecognizable in him. I wanted to speak, but the question burned in my throat.

I asked anyway.

“Who is Elena?”

Clyde stopped moving. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again. His voice came low and steady.

“She’s dead. And he’s never forgiven me for it. Even though I wasn’t the one who left her bleeding in a hotel room.”

The air in the house stilled.

“Did you love her?” I asked.

He didn’t hesitate.

“No,” he said. “Not like I love you.”