Page 6 of Dance With A Devil

I come here toremind themwho the Devils really are.

I step deeper into the warehouse, the flicker of fire licking shadows up the walls behind me.

They’re all in the pit.

The crew. The initiates. The liars.

I scan the crowd, the heat of the flames casting them in flickering shades of guilt. My eyes lock on the one I came for, and a smirk slices across my face like a blade.

“Kellan,” I call out, voice sharp enough to slit a throat. “Front and center. Now.”

A ripple goes through the group. Heads turn. Feet still. But I’m not looking at any of them. Just him.

The scrawny little bastard’s head jerks up. His eyes dart left, then right, already hunting for a lifeline. Someone to save him.

No one moves. No one will.

Seconds stretch. Then he finally steps forward, shaking like a leaf already burning at the edges. “I-I’m K-Kellan,” he stammers, voice fragile and pathetic.

My arms fold across my chest as I face him fully. Cold. Steady. “Step forward,” I command, the words cutting through the air like a whip.

He obeys.

I let the silence build like pressure in a pipe, waiting for the break. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here, kid?”

He panics. Eyes flicking around, sweat beading on his brow like dew on a corpse.

“I-I work here,” he blurts, gesturing vaguely toward the clean-up crew. “W-With them, sir.”

Sir.

That’s rich.

I toss my hands on my hips and tip my head, staring down at him like he’s already bleeding. “And how exactly did you come to be employed withthem?”

He gulps again. Another lie dying on his tongue. “I-I was hired in, sir.”

There it is.

I start to circle him like a predator who’s already had his first taste. “That’s an interesting claim… because we don’t justhire infor clean-up. These aren’t janitors.” I stop. Let the weight of my stare bear down on him. “The Devils of Cliffside have a crew. A vetted crew. Blood-bound, oath-tied, silence-sworn. Because when it comes tothis,” I jerk my chin toward the pile of burning bodies behind me, “secrecy isn’t optional. It’s survival.”

He follows me with wide eyes. Terrified. Obedient. Delicious.

“You don’t juststumbleinto a job like this,” I continue, voice low and lethal. “Not unless you’ve got a reason. Not unless someone put you here.”

I step in close, just inches from his face. My breath steady. His, ragged.

“So I’ll ask again,” I say, slower now, deadlier. “And if you lie, even once more, I’ll make sure you live long enough to regret it. Who. Do. You. Work. For?”

He blinks. Swallows.

“I-I work for y-you, s-sir.”

Fucking liar.

I grin. Wide. Wicked. And then I grab him by the throat.

His feet leave the ground.