Page 63 of Dance with the Devil

She wants tonight.

I’ll demandforever.

“I fuck you, this is it, Genevieve. You understand that? I’m not staying away anymore. I tried. God fucking knows, Itried. For you. Because you deserve better than me?—”

“Iloveyou.”

“You just think you do,” I grit out. “Because I was the only one you had to hold onto when we were being held by Winter. I promised to protect you. I did a shit job of it, but I made you believe in me. Of course you think you love me?—”

She slaps me. Not in the face, but in the chest, right between my pecs. “Stop.”

“Genevieve?”

“I said fuckingstop, okay? I didn’t want to think you were like my brother.Fuck. You know why I feel for you in the first place? Because youweren’t. You were careful with me, sure, but not because I was Genevieve Libellula. That was because I was your butterfly. But you never acted like you knew better than me. We were friends.” She scoffs. “Friends. And I was okay with that because you at least treated me like an equal. You didn’t hide me away like Damien does.”

“No. And that’s how you ended up getting taken by Winter.”

“That wasn’t your fault!”

I shake my head.

“Listen to me. Cross? It couldn’t have been. I mean, unless you were in on it. Unless you planned with Winter and those assholes to lock me up?—”

“I wouldneverdo that.”

“Of course not! But it sounds crazy that I’d suggest that, right? Well, guess what, genius? It sounds crazy to me when you try to blame yourself for something you didn’t do. You were a victim, too?—”

I turn away from her. And there it is. I’ve always been a victim.

Genevieve marches around me, gripping my chin in her delicate fingers, using more strength that I’d given her credit for to yank my head, jerking it down so that I’m forced to look at her.

“Shitty choice of words on my part. You’re no victim, babe. You’re a survivor. We both are.”

“Babe,” I echo. “I wanted to be your ‘babe’.”

“Yeah, well? You were supposed to be.”

A lump lodges in my throat as I see the fire in Genevieve’s eyes. I swallow it roughly. “Supposed to be?”

Fuck. She’s turned me into a mimic, repeating everything she says. But I can’t help it. ‘Supposed to be’... does that mean she’s given up on me? On us?

I should want that. That’s exactly what I should want to hear. I’m no good for her, and if she wants to pick any man from the Playground’s dance floor and let them into her body—into herheart—then I need to back the hell up and let that happen.

Yeah.No.

“You’re mine,” I grate out. “You want to be fucked? You come tome. No one else. I popped your cherry. You bled onmycock. That pussy belongs to me.”

TWENTY-TWO

HEAL

CROSS

Once again, I’m reminded that Genevieve Libellula is a mafia princess. A civilian woman would hear how possessive I suddenly became and beat feet down the street.

Mybutterfly?

Without breaking our stare, she grips the waistband of her tight shorts and wiggles them down to the asphalt. She steps out of them, then does the same thing with her panties. Before I know it, she’s naked from the waist down except for her shoes, and before I can marvel over how amazing she looks with her trimmed pussy on display, she turns around.

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