Page 18 of Exile (Dance with My Demons #4)

I don't know why it didn't cross my mind before, but I found out there's a safe in his office, hidden behind the desk.

No one knows the code of course, but Grey had filled Damon in prior to his return about my situation.

No idea how he managed it, but he made a pitstop on the way back to Lilydale with Connor, grabbing a few supplies.

Mainly a crowbar and blowtorch.

And wouldn't you know it… the spare key card was in the safe. Mocking us.

Somehow in my sleep deprived state, I also missed Damon using his new toys to open the door to solitary confinement.

I'm assured that it didn't take long, the white noise of the blowtorch probably lulling me into a deeper state of unconsciousness since I'm only hyperaware when it comes to the sound of footsteps for some bizarre reason.

Even though they had the key, they decided to destroy the door so that the room can't be used against us anytime soon .

Grey and Theo had stood guard upstairs, ensuring my prison break wouldn't be disturbed. With Whittingham away from the premises, the guards are walking around in confusion, just manning the halls with no direction or instruction.

I have to hand it to the guys though—they really do think everything through. The blowtorch is going to make an excellent addition to Cirque des Morts' tool stash, lined up next to open the damn doors at the end of the hallway by the stairwell.

They run me through their plan, and I'm told it's similar to what they had to do when rescuing me from the hands of the mad scientists.

We're going to start working on a plan tonight, Byrone and Jillian already working on breaking through the security systems. They are getting close to finally cracking it without detection, so I'm a nervous ball of energy waiting.

It might take a few days before we can fully get downstairs. In the meantime, Theo and Damon are checking the new door panels to determine how quickly we can pry them open with a blowtorch while Grey is working on hand toys.

If I thought he was proud of his shiv, it's nothing on the new one he nearly flings at my face during a trip to the library.

"What do you think?" he asks quickly, excitement lacing his words .

Gripping the metal handle, I run my fingers over the cool texture, carefully looking at the angular blade poking out. "It's great," I say amused. "Reminds me of a Stanley knife."

He nods, like all his Christmases have come at once. "That was the general inspiration. Do you recognize the blade?"

I glance at it, not noticing anything special at first until I spot some gaps in the middle of the silver. "Is this a razor blade?"

"The very one you smuggled from the showers."

My mouth falls open in awe. "The one I had to clench between my ass cheeks?"

Grey grins, clearly solely focusing on the mention of my ass. "This fine peach deserves protection. I made this for you."

"Wait," I pause. "This is for me? Like… a present?"

The small dip of his head is my confirmation, and I jut my bottom lip out, taken aback by emotion. No one has ever really gifted me a present before—except Paige of course and my father made sure to destroy it.

I don't know why but I've always valued sentimental, homemade gifts over expensive belongings. It feels personal—made just for me. And knowing Grey's attachment to his weapons, this is the most thoughtful present I've ever received alongside Theo's tattooing skills to hide my burn scars .

"Ooft," he groans as I fling myself into his chest, knocking him into the bookshelf. "If I knew you'd love it that much, I would have started giving you knives sooner."

"It's perfect," I mumble into his chest, the handle resting against his shoulder. "I fucking love it."

Grey snakes his arms around me, squeezing our bodies together so tightly that I struggle to breathe—and love every damn second of it.

"Are you done yet?" Damon calls out from the tables. "We need to make a start on these plans. No banging Avery in the aisles. The floors are still relatively clean."

Throwing a sly grin my way, I can't stop the squeal that falls out of my mouth as I'm suddenly hoisted off my feet and slammed into the bookcase.

Grey decides to take Damon's words as his own personal challenge because before I can even respond, my shorts are ripped aside and I'm filled to the brim with Grey's cock.

"Fuck," I moan, announcing loudly that we've detoured and gotten distracted.

"You feel so fucking perfect," Grey groans, smashing his hips into mine.

Feeling inspired, I grip the knife firmly, pressing it against Grey's neck. His eyes sparkle maniacally, somehow managing to fuck me even harder against the bookshelf as I cry out from the sheer force.

I dig my nails into his shoulder to balance myself, and to ensure I don't actually end up slicing his throat. The pain from my grip spurs him on further, his hands grabbing my thighs hard enough to leave finger marks.

"I love the knife so much," I breathe out, holding it steady against his skin.

Grey leans forward, startling me for a moment as I quickly move to readjust my hold. He nearly impales himself on the blade, completely unfazed as he captures my lips in his.

My climax crashes through me quickly when his tongue molds into mine, hand shaking and accidentally nicking his skin.

Before I can panic over drawing blood from him, he growls heatedly, the cut sending him over the edge as he hastily slams into me a few more times before shooting his release into me.

A droplet of blood drips down his neck, staining his shirt as we keep kissing passionately, still wrapped up in each other.

Pulling back for a moment, Grey calls out, "We're going to need a few more minutes, Deadman. I'm not done with Avery yet." Then, making good on his promise, Grey and I, plus the blade, go round two.