Page 16 of Dance with the Devil

A hysterical bubble rises up in my throat. “What do they want with me? What are they going to do?”

“It doesn’t matter.” His eyes flash. “They can’t touch you. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll protect you.”

“Cross, I?—”

He cradles my cheeks. “Listen to me, butterfly. Can you do that?”

Over the roar in my head? Over the realization that this is happening? That someone followed us, that they purposely ran us off the road, did something to use to knock us out so that they could lock me and Cross in thiscage?

But if this is my fault like I expect it is, then Cross is an innocent bystander. He’s already tried to break out himself, and when he figured out he couldn’t—and neither could I—his first instinct is to promise that he’ll protect me.

Listen to him? I’ll try. I nod, forcing myself to focus on Cross’s face. The slope of his nose. The sharp edge of his jawline. His fiercely dark eyes.

I shudder out a breath.

He strokes the underside of my jaw. “Okay. We have running water. That means we can piss if we have to, and we have something to drink. That gives us a couple of days at left to figure out what the fuck is going on. That’s all we need. You know why?”

I haven’t a clue. “No,” I whisper.

Cross bows his head, pressing his forehead against mine. I’m pretty sure he does it because he’s trying to keep anyone from seeing his lips move or reading them if they can, but I need the connection at this moment.

I needhim.

“You’re Genevieve fucking Libellula. If there’s one thing I know for sure, no matter why they targeted us, it’s that your brother will come for you.”

“Damien will come for me,” I whisper back.

“That’s right. I’m a Sinner. My guys won’t leave me here to rot, either. They’ll find us. Doesn’t matter that they can’t track us through microchips or any shit like that. I know Tanner. If they were dumb enough to bring out phones anywhere near this place, he’ll find us. We just have to make it until then.”

I nod.

We can do this.

Right?

SIX

QUIET

GENEVIEVE

Our third day in the cell, Cross is once again up already by the time I accept I just can’t stay asleep any longer myself.

It’s my stupid empty stomach that forces me awake. After close to two days of nothing but water, I’ve never been so hungry—and considering my job, that’s saying something. As a professional ballerina, I spent most of my life eating less calories than I should so that I could stay as small as possible. It’s a downside to the career I chose, and I’ve seen too many of my colleagues go down the road of EDs and injuries because they didn’t have enough nutrients to prevent an injury.

I was lucky enough to be born with a slimmer frame. Hours of training gave me the muscle I needed to perform, but if my bones were any heavier, I’d have aged out of ballet years ago. This past year’s recurring ankle injury is just another sign that I’ve probably pushed my body to its limits, but when it came to my diet, I never overdid like so many other dancers. I skipped meals whenever Madame Durand pinched my side and told meI was getting too chubby for my leotard, but I drew the line at starving myself.

Skipping dinner and cutting my portions in half is one thing; it wasn’t healthy, and I stopped doing that after I left Madame’s studio, auditioning as part of a local company for theaters in Springfield, Riverside, and other nearby cities. But neither of us have had anything to eat since breakfast two days ago, and the gnawing hunger is really getting to me.

It hurts, but when I force myself up, resting on my elbows, searching for Cross, I see that he climbed out of the cot. He’s sitting on the floor, back up against the cinderblock wall, head bowed. The longish front strands of his hair are falling into his face, hiding it from me, though when he hears the cot squeak and glances up, I can’t miss his wince.

He’s hurting just as much as I am.

Keeping my voice low so that I don’t make it worse, I murmur, “Still bad?”

“It’s getting better.”

He’s lying to me. Another way for him to protect me, I guess, but if I hadn’t caught him rubbing his temples last night, I don’t think he would’ve even let me know how much his head is killing him right now.

---