Page 9 of The Devil's Secret

He read me like an open book, as though he’s the one who typed the pages. No matter how badly I wanted to convince him that he was wrong, it’s like he knew my thoughts.Knew me.

Was I really that easy to read? Could the monsters see it all too? Or are they not even paying attention?

We hate them, but we pretend we don’t. We have to pretend, or we die.

Patrick may think he knows me, but there’s so much he never will. I won’t allow him to. Those chapters have been burned, their ashes forever gone.

Just like I am.

CHAPTERTHREE

ENZO

The next day,I return to the strip club as promised, but without my brother this time. I don’t want him to know about my thing with Joelle yet. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

As soon as I walk into Tips and Tricks, I see her. There are three stages here, and she’s in the middle one, her eyes closed, a yellow sparkling bikini top and a matching thong molded to her curves.

Goddamn. I know I told myself I’m not into this shit, but I can’t stop staring at her. She dances like no one’s watching. The music is her only spectator as she grabs the pole, wrapping her thighs around it, gliding down as though making love to it.

She mesmerizes me without even trying.

Every bastard here has his eyes set on her. They all want her. They’re all fantasizing about her body. I flex my jaw, a fist forming at my side as I lower myself into an empty leather sofa.

She spins, the pole sandwiched between her ass cheeks as she rocks her hips to the sultry beat, her back to her audience. Her hands drift behind her, unclasping the damn bra that I want to immediately slap back on her body.

No one should see her. No one but me.

Fucking hell.I’ve never felt an ounce of jealousy over any other woman. It’s not something I ever thought I was even capable of. But here I am, needing to carve out the eyes of every man here.

But I can’t. She’s not mine. I have no damn right to be jealous. But I am. So fucking jealous. I can literally feel it weighing me down.

Her bra drifts to the floor and then she twirls, her round tits, those deep rosy nipples for all to see. The men start whistling as she winks, spinning around the pole, facing her fans.

I need out of here. This was a fucking mistake. I don’t need to know her. I don’t want her friendship or whatever the fuck I said to her.

I’m not here to help some woman who works for our enemy. We’re here to destroy them. That’s where my focus should be. But as I stand up to go, she catches my eyes from across the room.

Her lips part, her brows lifting a fraction, and it’s as though I could hear her intake of breath. She stops moving, her fingertips still wrapped around the pole.

I can’t seem to look away either, caught in a daze. With every other woman I’ve been with, and there have been way too many to count, I never cared. There was no connection. Never anything besides some good fucking. But her, I don’t know. I’m drowning in her eyes, getting lost, and nothing has ever felt this good.

The men start booing, and that causes her to wake up, mouthingsorrybefore picking up her dance again. I instantly want to pick up a bottle and bash it over every one of their heads for insulting her, but that would cause quite the scene.

I head for the bar, not wanting to see her dancing for those assholes, but not being able to leave either.

I lift a finger, calling over the bartender.

“Hey, what can I get you?” a young brunette asks, her cropped top barely covering her.

“Whiskey. Neat.”

“Coming right up.” She winks, but I ignore it.

While she gets me that drink, the song ends, and I don’t even want to see if Joelle’s dancing to the next one.

The bartender returns with my order. “Enjoy.” The flirtatious undertone is there, but it does nothing for me, and she’s definitely the kind of woman I’d fuck.

“Thanks,” I mutter, leaving a tip.

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