Page 23 of King of Pain (Damaged Hearts #1)
Devil Inside
Chance
The neon sign forthe night clubbuzzes faintly as I make my way inside. The DJ is on point, effectively setting the vibe for the growing crowd.
Jen mentioned that Halloween at Devil House is a big event every year. College students and locals alike show up in their best costumes ready to drink and dance the night away.
I don’t have any costumes with me in Arizona, so Lexi and I stopped by the nearest big box retailer on the way home. I found a black hooded robe—then I checked their toy section and lucked out, grabbing the last lightsaber on the shelf.
As soon as I step inside the club, I spot Ant, and my jaw drops.
He came as Indiana Jones. The tan pants are hugging his legs tightly, his shirt is half-open revealing his muscled chest, and the hat dipped low over his eyes is a fucking good look on him.
But it’s the whip that’s doing it for me.
It’s dangling from his hip, just waiting to crack my ass and make me his good boy.
I will riot if I don’t get to touch him soon.
Jen steps up and gently pushes my jaw shut, snapping me out of my daze. She’s dressed as Harley Quinn, of course, and grinning devilishly.
“Not a word,” I tell her. She just grabs my arm, kisses me on the cheek, and winks.
Lexi was taking forever to get ready, so she told me she’d just meet me here.
Speak of the devil—as if she orchestrated the entire moment with the DJ, the door swings open right as“Venus”by Bananarama starts blasting through the club. She strides in, perfectly on beat, rocking a sleek Catwoman costume clinging to her curves like it was made just for her.
Beau, who’s dressed as… Batman, loses his mind the second he sees her. “It’s fate!” he exclaims to anyone who will listen, grinning from ear to ear.
Butters struts up and stands next to Beau. True to his nickname, he’s dressed as a literal stick of butter fashioned from a cardboard box.
Lexi saunters over to the group with her signature swagger, stops in front of us, and places a hand on her hip. “Which one of you fellas is gonna buy this kitty some milk?” she purrs, her smirk daring anyone to step up.
“Catwoman,” Beau greets, his grin stretching impossibly wider.
“Batman,” Lexi replies, tilting her head with a playful glint in her eye.
Beau looks like he just hit the jackpot as he eagerly offers her his arm and leads her toward the bar.
I stifle a laugh, already planning to show up at her place with coffee tomorrow morning. I can’t really blame her. Beau is practically a Viking—about 6’4”, I’d guess—with medium-length wavy blond hair, a chiseled jaw, mountains of muscle, and deep blue eyes.
He’s nothing next to Anthony Pacini, though.
I turn to Jen, who’s also standing there in Lexi’s wake, and it’s my turn to gently push her jaw shut. Then I offer her my arm, and we make our way to the bar for a drink.
Ant approaches, and I try to play it cool. “Indy, huh?” I say, my voice as steady as I can manage. “The whip’s a nice touch.”
He smirks, tipping his hat before removing it and setting it on the bar. His hair is disheveled, and it takes everything in me not to run my hands through it. “Thanks, Skywalker. Didn’t know you were a Star Wars guy,” he responds.
“Old school Star Wars,” I say, already bracing for the incoming argument.
Sure enough, Butters hears me. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who only likes the ‘70s and ‘80s part of the franchise,” he says, leaning in.
I roll my eyes. “Let’s not ruin the night by discussing bad taste.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Butters says, laughing. Then he nudges Ant and adds, “I’m glad you came out with us tonight, PacMan.”
Ant gives him a nod, and I use that moment to get the answer to a very important question. Leaning toward Butters, I begin, “So, what does PacMan really mean—”
Before I can finish, Ant’s hand shoots out, covering my mouth. “Don’t,” he warns, his voice stern, eyes wide.
I blink at him, and without even thinking, I lick his hand. He jerks it back with a look of shock, and there’s no shame in the grin spreading across my face.
“Oh, you don’t know why we call him PacMan?” Butters says, leaning forward with a sparkle in his eye.
“Nooo,” Ant groans, dropping his forehead onto the bar.
Butters claps his hands together, looking like he’s about to deliver the punchline of a joke. “Well, friends, we call Pacini here PacMan not only because of his name, but because he’s packing—and I mean packing —some serious meat.”
Ant’s head snaps up, his face the color of a tomato. He glares at Butters. “I’m going to smother you in your sleep.”
Meanwhile, I’m frozen, my brain screaming.
Fuck me, I did not need to know that .
Jen cackles and shouts, “Okay, be nice, guys!”
Beau’s laughing so hard he has to set his drink down. “Man, you’re never going to live that down,” he says, slapping Ant on the back. “But seriously you guys, we have to get it its own room when we travel for away games.”
Ant groans again, picking up his hat from the bar to cover his face. I look at the ceiling, trying to hide the heat crawling up my neck. Sweet mother of mercy, I was not prepared for this man.
As the night goes on, the party hits its stride.
The DJ plays a mix of nostalgic hits and modern bangers, and the crowd on the dance floor is hyped.
From the corner of the room, I notice Beau flirting with Lexi.
He’s clearly smitten, and she seems to be enjoying his attention, her head thrown back in laughter, hand clutching his bicep.
My eyes find Ant, as they always do. He’s had a few shots and is really loosening up. He’s smiling more, his movements less guarded. Watching him like this—happy and carefree—it’s like seeing a completely different side of him. I can’t look away.
He’s so fucking adorable.
Then he struts over and stops in front of me, his hazel eyes sparkling under the bar’s neon lights.
He pokes me in the chest, his touch sending sparks down my spine.
He leans in until his mouth is nearly grazing my ear.
“I do love the costume,” he says, his tone playful, words starting to slur from the shots.
“But I loved you in my jersey a hell of a lot more.”
I’m just standing here like an idiot, my heart pounding in my chest.
Holy shit. Did that just happen?
Suddenly, the iconic opening laugh to“Devil Inside”by INXS rings through the club, and Ant’s eyes light up. “Ohmigod, I love this song!” he shouts, his voice carrying over the beat. Without hesitation, he makes his way to the dance floor and starts moving.
Who is this person? And wow . I didn’t know he could dance like that.
Ant’s hips pulse effortlessly with the rhythm.
He’s fluid and confident, and the way his body syncs with the music is hypnotizing.
He grips the front brim of his hat and pulls it further over his eyes in a move that’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen on a dance floor…
until he starts grinding deeper with the beat.
Fuck, he knows how to move his hips. It’s a display of pure sex and filth, and a very prominent bulge is making an appearance on every gyration. If I thought Ant was beautiful before, that pales in comparison to seeing him completely uninhibited.
Every thought evaporates except one: Mine.
“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” Jen appears next to me, her voice teasing. “How hot he is? And man, that boy can move.”
I swallow—a futile attempt to quench the desert in my mouth. “Yeah,” I manage, still watching him.
Jen bumps her shoulder against mine. “For the record…” She shouts over the music, “I’m totally Team Chant, if you haven’t figured that out already.”
That snaps me out of it, and I shake my head, laughing at the name.
She smiles like she’s so clever, but then her eyes narrow, her tone suddenly serious. “But help me Goddess—if you hurt him, I will drug you, and you’ll wake up tied to a chair while I pull every single one of your fingernails and toenails from your body.”
I throw my head back, laughing. “You’re a good friend, Jen.”
“I know,” she says smugly.
As the song ends, something changes. Ant freezes in the middle of the dance floor, his face turning pale.
My eyes follow his line of sight, and I spot someone dressed as a priest. The man is heading toward Ant.
His movements seem deliberate, but he could just be crossing the club.
It’s Halloween, after all, and a priest costume wouldn’t be unusual.
But then I see his face, and there’s no mistaking it. It’s the same creep who came into Devil Records.
Ant’s hands fly up defensively, his body language screaming panic.
My blood runs cold.
Without thinking, I push through the crowd, adrenaline surging.
Grabbing the priest by the front of his robe, I lift him off the ground and carry him off the dance floor. I slam him against the wall, and pin my arm against his neck. The man’s eyes enlarge just slightly, but he doesn’t say a word.
“I don’t know what your game is, priest,” I growl, my voice low and dangerous. “But I know intimidation tactics when I see them. If you ever come near him again, I will end you. Do you understand me?”
He sneers at me and doesn’t respond.
I press my forearm harder against his throat. “Maybe I wasn’t clear. If you so much as think of him, I will find you, and I will kill you in the most unpleasant way imaginable. Understood?”
He forces out a strained “yes” from his constricted throat, and my eyes search his for any sign of truth. This method of intimidation—I’ve seen it before from the Black Crows in Boston. The thought of Halloween and costumes flashes through my mind.
Gripping his collar, I hoist him up and slam him against the wall again. “You’re not even a priest, are you? Who hired you?” I demand.
He doesn’t answer, just sneers again, defiance glinting in his eyes. Realizing the scene I’m causing, I reluctantly let him go. The man bolts, vanishing into the crowd just as Jen and Butters push through to where I’m standing.
“What the fuck was that about?” Jen demands, her eyes darting between me and where Ant is still frozen on the dance floor.
“Take him outside,” I say, jerking my head toward Ant. “He needs air.”
Butters nods, grabbing him by the arm and leading him and Jen out the back entrance to the club. I stay behind for a moment, my hands still shaking. The look on Ant’s face flashes in my mind: fear, raw and unfiltered. Whatever this was, it wasn’t random.
I head out the same back exit a couple minutes later. I find him in the alley behind the bar, sitting on a low wall. Jen gives me a look before heading back inside with Butters, leaving us alone.
Ant’s head is bowed, his shoulders tense. When he looks up, his eyes are glassy. “I don’t know what to say right now,” he murmurs. “Thank you. I wish I had the strength to tell you more.”
“You don’t need to tell me anything right now,” I say softly, stepping closer. “Everyone has a story, Ant. And everyone has agency over when and how they tell that story… and to whom.”
A tear escapes the corner of his eye and slides down his cheek. My insides ignite at the sight, a rage building deep within me. I want to pull him close, to tell him he’s safe, but I hold back. For now.
I want to ask him if he’s in danger, but I know he won’t tell me the truth, so I’ll assume that he is and plan accordingly. No, I won’t prod anymore tonight, but whatever this is, I’ll be here for him when he’s ready.
I smile gently, offer a hand up and say, “Come on, Beautiful, let’s go get some cheese fries and talk about how dumb people who like the newer Star Wars installments are.”
A shaky laugh escapes him, and I take that as a victory.
Ant and I walk toward an all-night diner near Devil House, and my pulse races, trying to piece together what the hell just happened.
My fists are still clenched from slamming that creep against the wall, and my chest burns with an anger I’m not ready to shake.
What kind of game was he playing, showing up here?
Watching Ant freeze on that dance floor, seeing the sheer panic in his eyes, fuck, it made me want to break something. Someone.
I’m not sure what this guy’s deal is, or what kind of nightmares he’s dredging up for Ant, but I am sure of one thing: I’ll be damned if I let the man get near him again.
Ant doesn’t have to tell me his story yet, not until he’s ready, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind.
It’s clear something dark has been eating at him for a long time, leaving wounds so deep they threaten to bleed him out.
Tonight, I saw just how close to the surface those wounds are.
The thing that’s messing me up the most is how carefree Ant was before the guy showed up.
Seeing him loosen up tonight—laughing, dancing, even being a little flirty—it was beautiful.
He looked free, lighter than I’ve ever seen him.
The way he poked me in the chest and teased me about my jersey earlier…
fuck, it was killing me not to touch him, to pull him close and tell him how magnificent he is when he lets that guard down.
Maybe tonight would’ve been the night. Maybe if that asshole hadn’t shown up, I’d finally have worked up the courage to make a move.
To slide my fingers through his hair and hold him steady as I searched his eyes for permission—for need—and then, finally, claim the lips that have always looked like they belonged to me.
My anger flares up all over again. I clench my fists harder, digging my nails into my palms to ground myself. Whoever this “priest” is, he’s a threat—and I know how to deal with threats. If he thinks he can use whatever power he has to scare Ant, he’s got another thing coming.
I don’t know who or what haunts you, Anthony Pacini, but I know exactly how I’m going to protect you.