Page 13 of Dance of Devils

I shouldn’t have gotten involved. And it’s not that I regret it now that Ihave, but this is quickly becoming something I wasn’t expecting or prepared for.

“It’s okay,” I growl, glancing at her again. “You won’t have to face the guys who attacked you. But the police can put together some composite sketches, and call that club back there to check security footage?—”

“No police…” Her head loosely flops side to side, her eyes still closed. “Please…”

My jaw ticks. A piece of the puzzle slides into place, tugging at me as I glance over at her again, her small frame illuminated by the glow of the dashboard.

I’ve been where she is. Before the power, and the money, I’vebeen there: hurt, broken, beaten down, and knowing that the police weren’t an option.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m getting into with this. But for whatever reason, she doesn’t want the scrutiny that will comewith going to the cops. And if she goes to hospital looking like this?

Theywillget involved.

I take a slow, deep breath.

Fuck it.

I tap the map on my touchscreen again, switching destinations. I stomp on the brakes and pull a U-turn in the middle of the street before I roar off in a different direction.

She needs help.

I’m going to give it to her.

The gatesto my sweeping estate in the Bronx swing open before I even come to a stop. I glide up the long, white gravel driveway, and then head around to the back of the main house.

“Something you’d like to tell me, boss?”

Isaak’s voice rumbles from behind me as I lean into the passenger side and gather the girl in my arms. I lift her easily and turn to face my number two. His brow arches eloquently as his gaze drops to the unconscious girl in my arms.

“Nope.”

His gaze drags back up to mine.

“You’re…sure.”

“Quite,” I grunt. “But if you could bring a medical kit to the guest room, that’d be great.”

“Which guest room?”

Fair question. It’s a ten-bedroom home.

“Second floor, first at the top of the stairs.”

Isaak nods, glances at the girl again, then heads inside. I follow, but where he veers toward the storage room off the main kitchen, I head for the stairs. She’s still totally out of it as I climb them, holding her frame in my arms carefully, like I might break her if I walk too fast.

Inside the guest room, I lay her gently down on the bed, my jacket still covering her. I’m wetting a washcloth in the adjacent bathroom when there’s a knock at the bedroom door. Isaak steps in holding the medical kit and glances at me as he sets it down on the bedside table.

“I have to ask?—”

“No, you don’t.”

He frowns. “Kir?—”

“I stepped into something I probably shouldn’t have,” I growl. “And now I’m following through. That’ll be all, Isaak.”

He glares at me. “I’m not your butler,” he grumbles.

“Then you can stop standing around like you’re waiting to take my drink order.”