Page 98 of Don't You Pucking Dare

"I've got you, Duchess." His voice rumbles through his chest. For the first time in my life, those words don't feel like a lie.

I press closer, breathing in his familiar scent. My mother sold me piece by piece, but Brody—Brody takes the fragments and holds them carefully, seeing beauty in the sharp edges. Hematches my darkness with his own, understands the violence living under my skin because he carries it too.

The monitors beep steadily, marking time as my tears slow. In their rhythm, I hear what my mother never understood: that love isn't about possession or use. It's about protection, about choosing someone every day, about seeing their damage and staying anyway.

I lift my head, meeting Brody's eyes. "Thank you." The words aren't enough, but they're all I have.

His thumb traces my cheekbone, wiping away the last tears. In his touch, I feel what I've spent my whole life searching for—home.

Epilogue

Gigi's dorm room buzzes with pre-party chaos. Girls crowd every surface, stepping over duffel bags stuffed with costume pieces and dodging makeup brushes. The tiny space feels electric with anticipation. Brody's off handling Reaper business, and for once, I don't mind. Tonight belongs to something I've never had before—normal college life.

Amanda claims the prime spot in front of the full-length mirror, turning the cramped space into costume central. Makeup palettes and false eyelashes cover every flat surface, and the mirror reflects a parade of angels and devils getting ready. The air smells like hairspray and excitement.

"You're going to kill in this." Amanda holds up my costume—a black fallen angel outfit that makes me think of Brody. While half the girls don their white angel wings and halos, I'm going darker. It fits.

The costume hugs every curve, the fabric catching the light like oil. Black stockings disappear under the hem, and the boots add enough height to make my legs look endless. The wings spread behind me, feathers dipped in shadow. Amanda works magic with makeup, turning my eyes smoky and dangerous.

"Holy shit," someone whispers when I'm done. Five girls crowd the mirror, but I barely recognize myself among them. The girl reflected back looks powerful. Untouchable.

Music pulses through the walls as we make our way to the party. The arts building has been transformed—dark fabric draped everywhere, candles flickering in corners, masked figures moving through shadows. My wings brush the doorframe as we enter.

The crowd parts like water. I catch fragments of conversations stopping mid-sentence, heads turning to track our movement. This kind of attention used to make me want to hide. Now I let it wash over me, remembering who I am, what I've survived.

Then I see Jack. He lurks in a corner, wearing a Reaper mask like he still has the right. Like he didn't lose everything when he crossed the line. My stomach twists, but not from fear. He shouldn't be here, and he knows it.

"Drinks," Amanda announces, tugging my arm. "You look good, and that’s why he’s staring."

She's right. I follow her through the crowd, leaving Jack to stew in his corner.

The frat house throbs with bass that makes the floorboards vibrate. Fake cobwebs catch on my wings as we push through the crowd, and smoke from the fog machine turns everything hazy. Red lights pulse across sweaty bodies, turning angel wings blood-red and devil horns pitch black.

That's when I see them. The Reapers claim the darkest corner of the room, a pocket of stillness in the chaos. Brody stands at their center, dressed in all black, radiating the kind of danger that makes people give them a wide berth. Even in the crowd, there's a clear circle of empty space around them.

His eyes lock onto me through the haze. The look he gives me makes my skin heat despite the chill from the open windows.

"Angel?" He pushes off the wall, moving through the crowd like a shark through water. "A dark angel."

"A fallen angel." The wings brush against his arms as he reaches for me. Up close, I can see he's wearing that black button-down I love, the one that makes his shoulders look deadly.

Amanda makes an exaggerated gagging sound beside us. "You guys need to get a room." Her devil horns are slightly crooked from dancing.

I bump her with my hip, watching Caleb watch her from across the room. "Maybe you can take Caleb again tonight."

She tries to hide her smile behind her red solo cup. "Maybe."

Brody's hands find my waist, fingers sliding over the silky fabric of my costume. "You look so fucking hot." His breath hits my ear. "I swear everyone is staring at you."

"Let them." I press closer, feeling the strength in him. "I belong to you, remember? Boyfriend?"

His lips curl into that predatory smile that promises violence and pleasure in equal measure.

The party swirls around us in a blur of costumes and spilled drinks. Fake smoke catches in my throat as we dance, Brody's hands getting bolder with each song. The alcohol makes everything warmer, softer at the edges, but his touch stays sharp, deliberate. Every brush of his fingers leaves fire in its wake.

"Wanna take this upstairs?" His voice carries that edge I've learned to recognize—the one that means he's done playing nice.

I rest my head against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with leather. "Let's."

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