Page 42 of Dance With A Devil

Athens.

Fucking hell.

I saw the outfit before. Glanced. Thought I understood it. I didn’t.

Not until now. Not until she’s descending into our world like a weapon carved out of sex and sin.

Those red pumps are a promise, fuck-me heels that make her legs stretch for miles. The black skirt clings to her waist like it was poured onto her, slits slicing up both thighs, showing skin that should be illegal.

And that top… that thin white halter that barely hides the tips of her nipples?

I’m going to rip it off. With my teeth.

She’s art. But not the kind you hang. The kind youworship. On your knees. In blood.

Fred flanks her like a flame of her own. Red dress, loose around the neck, clinging to her body like it knows she’ll break hearts tonight. Gold heels wrap her calves like shackles made for sin. She’s smirking, eating up the attention.

Good. She earned it. She protects what’s mine… or she burns for it.

The crowd parts for them like a living sea, drawn to divinity. Hands reach out, weak men playing the role of servants, offering stability as the girls descend the stairs like royalty carved in vice.

They thank them. Civilized. Then ghost toward the bar like they already own the place.

I don’t move. I don’t intercept. Not yet.

Let them decide how this night ends. Let them drink. Let them tease. Let them feel in control.

Because when the lights dim lower… When the masks come off…

They’ll remember. Who owns them. And what happens when a Devil gets jealous.

Luckily the club is full of Devils who aren’t in disguise, so I know they’ll always be safe. Picking up my phone, I fire off a round of texts to make sure it stays that way no matter what.

Me: Athens and Fred just walked in. I want eyes on them all night, no exceptions. This isn’t about killing your vibe. It’s about killinganyonewho thinks they can touch what’s mine.

Devils: Understood.

Me: Good. Let’s enjoy ourselves. But keep your blades sharp. I don’t want a scene… Unless I’m the one making it.

I stalk toward the booth tucked in the shadowed edge of the club, the one that gives me the best view of everything and everyone.

The second I sit, I signal the waitress with a flick of my wrist. Scotch, no bullshit. Straight up. No ice, no mercy.

She brings the first glass, and I down it like I’ve been bleeding for weeks and this is the only thing that makes the pain stop. It scalds going down, burning like gasoline on the throat, but I welcome it.

“Keep them coming,” I growl, and she nods without making eye contact. Smart girl.

“Yo,” Onyx slides into the booth like a shadow, dressed in black and masked like the rest of us. “What’s good?”

“Nothing. Just needed a fucking minute to breathe,” I mutter, eyes locked on the crowd.

“You hear anything new about your old man?” he asks, scanning the dance floor like a predator.

“Not yet. Had Niko and Felix tail him last week. They’ll be here soon with the update.”

“Bet.” He leans back. Then, like a strike to the temple, he asks, “Why haven’t you fucked her yet?”

My gaze cuts to him over the rim of my next drink. “Curious, huh?”