Page 47 of Dance With A Devil

And I’m still high on the taste of Wyck. Still aching from the way his hands buried into my hair, the feral look he gave Karter right after. I shouldn't be the reason those two ever go to war.

But maybe I already am.

“This place is insane,” Fred shouts over the music, pulling me from my thoughts. “God, I forgot what it felt like to have air on my skin and not feel like a captive.”

I glance at her, catching the twitch in her fingers, the shift of her weight from foot to foot. She’s hiding something. I’ve seen that twitch in the mirror before.

“You a prisoner in that house?”

Her eyes widen for a second too long. “No. I mean… not a prisoner. Just… locked in my room. Unless they need me for something.”

I raise a brow. “Definesomething.”

Her mouth opens, closes. She chews her bottom lip, then grabs my hand. “Let’s get a drink.”

Avoidance. Noted.

She drags me to the bar and we slip onto stools, our knees nearly touching. I swivel toward her, not letting it go.

“C’mon, Fred. What kind ofthings?”

“Let me get something strong enough to shut me up first.” She waves the bartender over. “Two margaritas. Top shelf. Heavy on the tequila.”

The bartender nods and gets to work.

She leans in. “Don’t get mad, okay? But I know you know about the whole… pool stunt Wyck pulled.”

I nod slowly, letting her dig her own grave.

“Well… before that, when I first showed up... Wyck and I... we-” She hesitates. Her voice goes soft. “We slept together. Just that night. It didn’t mean shit. It wasn’t even that good.”

I blink.

She said Wyck wasn’tgood in bed?

That’s rich.

“Fred…” I say, my lips twitching. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I mean, look at me. I’ve been screwing his father forhow long now?And now his son’s got his claws in me, too.”

She laughs nervously. “I mean, yeah. We’re basically in the same boat, except mine was a one-night mistake. Just… repeated a few times in the same night.”

“You little slut.” I say it flatly, watching her expression collapse in horror before I burst out laughing.

Her frown deepens until she realizes I’m teasing. “Okay, okay, I deserved that.”

“Deal,” I say, holding my hand out. “Just don’t fuck him again.”

She grabs my hand and shakes. “Deal.”

The bartender slides our drinks across the bar. “Ladies.”

Fred grabs hers like it’s a lifeline. “You know how long it’s been since I had one of these?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Too fucking long. Bottoms up.” She throws half of it back like it’s water and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

I raise a brow. “Damn, you drink like you’re auditioning for a relapse.”