Page 51 of Dance of Devils

“Of all the fucking people,” Val sighs. “And it’s wasted on Ms. Prude here.”

“I amnot!” Evie squeaks. “I just…” She takes a breath. “I wasn’texpectingit, that’s all. So it…rattled me.”

“Prude.”

She shoots Val a dark look. “Amnot.”

“Cock. Cum. Wet pussy.”

Evie shrinks against me, groaning as her face suffuses with heat. Val, of course, thinks this is the funniest fucking thing in the world.

“Hey, enough.” I poke him, grinning. “Leave poor Evie alone.”

“Okay, okay.” He sighs and reaches out to lift Evelina’s chin, raising her eyes to his. “I kid because I’m jealous.”

She grins.

“I mean…shredded, right?”

She blushes. “He’s…got a lot of muscles.”

Val’s grin turns lecherous. “What about package?”

She frowns. “Package?”

Oh, sweet, sweet Evie.

“Like, do you think he was freeballing in his shorts? Any chub going on?”

It suddenly clicks with Evie, and her face turns purple as her eyes go wide. “Oh myGod, Val!” she squeals. “Don’t be so gross!”

Val erupts in laughter as I punch him in the shoulder.

“Dude, I’m going to return you so fucking hard.”

My friendsreally are the best. Even with all the stuff swirling through my head about the kiss, and Kir in general, Val and Evie’s antics manage to take my mind off it. The rehearsal day is its usual blur of Kuzmina’s own brand of punishment, then I end up getting a coffee with Milena down the street and catching up on everything that’s been going on with her and Nero De Luca, the head of the De Luca mafia family. She’s recently told us she’s in averyserious relationship with him, and I’m happy for her.

After that, though, it’s time to face the music.

Dread pools in my stomach as I approach the back door of The Mirage for my shift. I managed to dodge Lou yesterday, but I know he’s not one to let things go.

He made it clear the other night what he wants, and he’s not going to forget about it.

I shudder, pausing at the back door.

Am I really going back in there?

I exhale slowly, resting my forehead tiredly against the wall next to the door. I could just…not. I could turn, walk away, and never come back to this hellhole.

But then I feel the hunger pangs in my stomach, and the way my toes chafe against the worn interior of my shoes. I think about my bed tonight being the back seat of an Accord. About Derrick, languishing in jail for a crime he didn’t commit. About forensic accountants who cost seventeen fucking grand.

Fuck.

Resignation stabs into me, and I go to open the back door. Just then, I hear the crunch of tires on gravel behind me.

“Brooklyn.”

I instantly tense, confusion, panic, and raw fear flooding my veins at the sound of James’s voice. My throat dries as I turn, looking at him idling his banged-up Mustang, his arm hanging out through the window. He leers at me with a look that’s half-creepy, half-angry as he shakes his head.