Page 24 of Dance with the Devil

NINE

ENOUGH

CROSS

Iknow what Genevieve thinks. That I’m a nice guy.Sensitive. Good. Even though she knows I’m high-up in the Sinners Syndicate, part of her is convinced that I only got into because of my lifelong relationship with Rolls and my skill with my tattoo gun.

That’s on me. When I saw that innocence in her pretty blue eyes, I had this irresistible urge to keep it there as long as possible. If that meant hiding the darkness that’s taken root inside of me long before the fire… I did it. For as long as she believed I was worthy of being near her—knowing we could never last—I needed her to see that good in me.

But I don’t have the luxury of doing that anymore. I gave her my word that I’d protect her for as long as we’re trapped behind that glass door. My butterfly is beautiful. That’s not my attraction to her talking, either. Anyone with eyes can see how gorgeous she is. Our jailers haven’t hidden how they gawked at Genevieve, and I’m absolutely positive the cameras are aimed on her, especially when she’s discreetly trying to use the open toilet.

So, yeah, I was expecting this. One of these pricks thinking they can take advantage of her? Sorry, sick men will always prey on those they consider weaker than them; I know that one all too well. It was inevitable that someone would try, even with me here.

And I’m ready for it.

Because I’mnota good guy. Not anymore. For her, Iwantto be, but I’ve been a Sinner under the Devil of Springfield for close to a decade now, and that was after all the trauma I kept tucked behind an impassive mask. I know exactly what I’m going to do.

I might not have a gun, but that doesn’t mean I’m defenseless. I’ll only have one shot at this, too, and I swear I’ll make it count as I drop down in front of Mickey.

After the fire, I blamed myself. If I’d just dealt with Chad myself, if I’d waited until I was grown and strong enough to fight back without threatening to tell my mom the truth… maybe she’d still be here. Ana Lucia, too, and Rafe. Every time that he slipped into my room and told me I had no choice… I fantasized about my revenge.

I never got the chance to get any back when I was twelve and overpowered by my stepfather. Now?

As I thumb the corner of my mouth, then part my lips as though ready to suck down a beer instead of Mickey’s cock, the dark side of me admits that I can’t fuckingwait.

The familiar tang of salt and unwashed skin nearly makes me hurl as he doesn’t even give me a chance to prepare for it. As though trying to prove how much I’m at his mercy, he shoves the head of his cock past my lips and into my mouth.

I’d planned on waiting until he’d fit as much of himself inside as he could before I reacted. Maximizing the damage was the plan since I don’t expect to survive what happens next, but I underestimated how much I would trigger my past when the tip touches my tongue and my teeth clamp down.

As a kid, I did the research once. With the right amount of force, a human could section and sever an erection with their teeth by clamping down with their jaw. I’d thought about doing it a dozen times, but was too afraid of the repercussions if I did.

Carlos was afraid.

Cross isn’t afraid of anything.

I bite as hard as I can, and when my mouth fills with blood and something the same texture and size as a bite of a fucking hot dog, it’s obvious that I took off the tip of his cock.

Not as much as I wanted, but by the howl that tears out of Mickey’s throat, it’s more than enough.

He jumps back, the bloody stump of his cock pulling free from my teeth. I spit out the tip from my mouth just in time for him to kick me dead in the face.

My head explodes, and over the roar of pain that echoes around my shattered skull, I hear Genevieve scream.

My cheek is probably fractured. It’s better than being shot, though that’s probably because Mickey’s initial reaction to having part of his cock bit off was to kick me away from him instead of using the gun in his hand.

But he’ll remember that he has one eventually, and when he does, I’m dead.

That’s okay. I think part of me knew I was the second I bit down.

He’s still howling. “Get on your knees. Get on your fucking knees!”

A boot to my side has me flopping to my belly as my arms give out. I don’t even have a second to respond to his demands before Mickey lunges at me, gripping me by my hair. He yanks it so hard, I have no choice to follow his pull unless I want to be scalped. I rear back, my ass against my boots. Another tug and I’m back on my knees again, forced to look up at him.

There’s murder in his eyes, and a promise of retribution in every line of his narrow face. Shock, too, and agony as he shoves the gun at my face.

Good.

The mouth of the gun bites into my forehead. “You’re dead. You hear me?Dead.”

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