Page 77 of Dance with the Devil

He does. About how he was barely asleep when he woke up to the smell of smoke, just like I figured he would. He went right for the fire escape, and when he saw that the window leading outside was glued shut or locked or something, he didn’t waste time with it. He ran downstairs, saw the fire, and noticed Mickey Kelly smirking at him from the other side of the shop glass.

That’s when he grabbed his stool, smashed the glass, and, to put it bluntly, beat Mickey to death with his bare hands and the sidewalk street.

Cross gives me a sideways glance as he goes on to admit that, when he thought Mickey was still alive, he stole a car, threw Mickey in the trunk, drove him out of Springfield while only stopping long enough to steal some rope, a shovel, and a pair of shoes. By the time he arrived at the dumping point where heplanned on torturing Mickey to find out what is plans were if he accomplished killing Cross—because seems like I was that sick fuck’s next target, whee—he was dead. Cross buried him, then?—

He rubs my bicep. “I had to make sure you were okay. My phone burned up in the fire. It was the middle of the night. I drove all the way to the East End to assure myself you were still sleeping soundly. When I saw your light was on, I got worried, because I knew you needed to sleep for your meet this morning.”

“Screw my meet,” I say. “I’m so fucking happy you’re okay.”

Cross kisses the top of my head. “You, too, butterfly. I came all the way back here since I didn’t want to break into your place in case you decided you got a taste for sleeping with the light on after Winter fucked with us.”

I snort, and he gives me his first grin since I saw him tonight. “See. Made you laugh.”

I know what he’s doing. I can’t only imagine how freaked out I looked before he showed up and proved he survived the fire, and even though I understand better what happened now, that doesn’t excuse the fact that I spent the last hour or so, losing my mind because I didn’t know where he was.

All along, Cross was afraid to treat me like my brother did. I guess he shouldn’t have worried, because of the two of us, I’m the Libellula. Which is why, now that I know he’s safe, I’m going to do everything to make sure Ialwaysknow that.

Moving out from under his arm, I jab Cross in his butterfly-covered chest. “You’re getting a tracker.”

He raises his eyebrows. “What was that?”

“You heard me.”

From behind me, Devil makes an amused noise. “You want to give me one reason why I should let you track my artist?”

Crap. I forgot he was there.

Oh, well.

“Why?” I ask, whirling on him. My hands go straight to my hips. “The truce.”

Devil scratches his stubble-covered jaw. “I’m listening.”

“Springfield runs better when the Sinners and the Dragonflies work together,” I tell him.

“Seems like we’ve had nothing but fucking trouble since your brother put a gun to my wife’s head.”

I resist the urge to turn and give Damien a dirty look. You’d think that, after all I’ve seen and done and learned since I broke free from my cage, I wouldn’t be surprised at my brother’s ruthlessness.

And then one of his former rivals-turned-allies lets slip that he had a gun to his wife’s head. Or I remember that my first meeting with Damien’s wife was after she stabbed him in the side with his own knife, then he forced her to marry him—before ‘convincing’ her to blow him.

I shake my head. “Think that if you want. But you have to admit, Winter is still out there. He’s still a pain in our ass. Damien might’ve put a gun to your wife’s head, but he didn’t pull the trigger—and that’s when you were still considered rivals. Can you say the same about the head Snowflake freak?”

Devil’s expression turns murderous, and I finally think I understand why they call him by that name. If he sprouted a forked tail or horns right now, I wouldn’t be surprised at all.

“I will never let anyone get close enough to Ava again, he growls.

“Because you track her, don’t you?” I glance at Damien. “I know you and Savannah can find each other. Why can’t I find the man who means everything to me?” Back to Devil, and I amaze myself by not quailing under his stare. Damien doesn’t scare me. Devil? He’sterrifying. “You can track me if you want.”

“You wouldn’t let me,” my brother points out.

Yeah, well, obviously. If my brother could track my every move, I would’ve never had any freedom. He would’ve kept me locked up, safe and sound, and it wouldn’t have been necessary to have a tracker at all if I never left the third floor.

“I love him,” I say simply. “I love you, too, Dame, but not like I do Cross.” I turn, searching for him, unwilling to look away from him for too long in case he disappears again. When I see the love and affection and worry in his dark eyes… I fling myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist, burying my face against his chest. He smells like smoke, another reminder of how close I came to losing him. “You’re mine.”

His arms close around me. Cross rests his chin on the top of my hair, giving me a squeeze as he whispers, “From the moment I drew that butterfly, I’ve been yours. Track me if you want. If I have it my way, I’ll never be apart from you again.”

Know what? I don’t care if it’s crazy. I don’t care it’s possessive. I don’t care if he decides that I’m too much to handle and he wants to get rid of me after all.

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