Page 43 of Dance With A Devil

He shrugs, cool as ever. “Don’t have what you, Wells, and Karter do with her. Not yet. I’m waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“The right time. If it happens, it happens. But I’m not about to force it. That’s not how she works.” He pauses, claps my shoulder. “I want her, yeah. But I want her to want me.”

Then he jacks my next drink without asking and vanishes into the chaos.

Typical Onyx. The only one of us who still pretends he has a conscience.

Several drinks later…

The buzz is thick, warm, coiled around my limbs like a vice I don’t mind. I rise, stretch, and head for the restroom.

Once inside, I ditch the mask and handle my business. The scent of piss, sweat, and spilled booze coats the air.

That’s when I hear them, two assholes stumbling in behind me.

“Bro, the dark-skinned girl in red? Shewantedme. Did you see the way she looked at me?”

His voice is slurred, drenched in cheap whiskey and overconfidence.

“Fuck off,” his buddy snorts. “They were practically begging me to rail them. I’m telling you, I’m gonna get her somewhere quiet, slide my hand up that slit and stuff my fingers in her sweet little cunt until she bleeds.”

Bleeds.

Everything goes quiet inside me. Still. Cold. My dick’s away. My hands are clean. But now, I want them bloody.

I stalk to the sink, letting the faucet run just long enough for the tension in my shoulders to snap. “You dumb motherfuckers picked the wrong fucking club.”

They freeze behind me. One of them, the blond with a roid-bloated chest, narrows his eyes in the mirror.

“The fuck did you just say, boy?”

I turn, slowly, like I’ve got time to kill. And I do.

“I said you picked the wrong club. You should be more careful where you run your mouths. You never know when you’re talking about a Devil’s girl.”

Their faces pale.

“You’re one of them?” the other one stammers.

I pull the mask from my back pocket and slide it on with a wicked grin. “In the flesh.”

“We didn’t know, man. We didn’t know she wasyourgirl.”

“She’s not just mine,” I interrupt, stepping forward. “But that’s not the fucking point.”

They backpedal until their spines hit the wall. Sweat trickles down their temples.

“You sound like the kind of men who have to drug women to get laid. Am I wrong?”

Silence. Then one of them mumbles, “Not all the time… they’re willing most of the time.”

“And the rest?” I growl.

He won’t meet my eyes.

“We spike their drinks. Just enough to make them pliable. Not to hurt them. Just enough to… enjoy them.”