Page 102 of Devil in Disguise

“You’re not staying?”

“No.” The pretty woman sighed. “Not really my cup of tea anymore. Besides, tonight is for the club brothers and the old ladies.”

“I wish you would stay.”

“I like you, Dante.” She smiled. “But I’m not an old lady. I’m just a club whore.”

Frowning, I said, “No, you’re not. I’ve been around club girls before and Amber, you are no whore.”

She shook her head. “That’s kind of you to say, but I’ve been a whore for as long as I can remember.”

I was intrigued why she would think that and asked, “How so, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It’s a long story, but the CliffsNotes version is I haven’t had the best life, and when the Golden Skulls rescued me from a trafficking ring several years ago, they gave me a new identity and money to start over in Chicago as a barista. It was a good job, and I liked it until I had to leave. Anyway.” She sighed. “I better go check on the girls. I’m sure they are making a mess in the kitchen. I’m glad you’re staying, Dante.”

Silence clawed at me as she turned and walked away, her words a phantom sting at the back of my skull. A prickling unease, like a half-remembered conversation just beyond my grasp, coiled in my gut. Amber wasn’t like the other girls, no cheap smiles, she didn’t flaunt her body; she wasn’t desperate for attention. She was... different. Pure. And she shunned the brothers, utterly. Their usual hungry gazes softened around her, replaced by a strange, almost reverent protectiveness.

The taste of bile rose in my throat as I racked my brain, trying to decipher what it was she said that bothered me. Watching her navigate the suffocating press of bodies, I saw King sidle up, whispered confidence in his voice. He didn’t touch her, not even a graze. It had always been that way; a respectful distance, a protective barrier, unlike the usual animalistic possessiveness of the club.

Then the kiss. King pressed a kiss to her temple—not a lustful press, but something... familial. Brotherly, almost. But Danny’s wink, directed at Amber as she melted into the crowd, sent a jolt of icy fear straight to my core. My neck prickled, a shiver snaking down my spine. The hairs stood on end as I pushed myself to my feet, the memory of Haizley’s words and Danny’s callous confession, a burning brand in my mind.

“I told the bitch she used to be a barista in some Chicago coffee shop before she vanished. Went by Bethany Norwood. That’s all.”

Bethany Norwood. My sister. My twin.

The sister Danny had sacrificed to Jane Craven—to save me.

The kitchen swallowed Amber whole. My gaze locked onto Danny’s. His confusion was evident. His eyes, usually slick with knowledge, were now wide, lost, drowning in a sea of something I couldn’t quite place, something that tasted suspiciously like guilt. But beneath that, a cold, hard fear mirrored my own. The air throbbed with unspoken accusations, with years of buried secrets now clawing their way to the surface, threatening to tear us apart.

Amber was my sister.

No wonder Danika looked like her. She was her aunt!

My sister was right here all this time, and I didn’t see it. We looked alike. Her hair color and eye color were different, but those could easily be changed. We had the same smile, yet I didn’t notice because I was too wrapped up in my own shit to see what was right in front of my face.

Everything made sense now. Why King kept a watchful eye on her. Why the brothers protected her. Why Danny needed to make sure she was safe. Why Nav was helping Danny. Everyone around me fucking knew. They knew she was my sister and not a single fucking one of them told me.

“Dante?”

Blinking, my eyes focused on Danny, who was now standing right in front of me. The urge to yell, to scream at him, clawed at my throat, but I was paralyzed. I stared at the man I’d vowed to spend my life with, the man I wanted to build a future with... a future that felt like a house of cards, built on a foundation of lies. The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow: I didn’t know him at all. Not the real him. This man, Sypher, the enigmatic hacker of the underworld I’d glimpsed in stolen glances and whispered conversations, was a stranger, and the Danny I loved was a carefully constructed façade.

“Babe, what is it?” His voice was a low rumble, distant and muffled by the sudden eruption of applause as Ghost and Melissa descended the stairs. Their happiness felt like a cruel mockery.

“Dante, what’s wrong?” Haizley’s concern was a sharp stab of guilt. She deserved honesty, yet telling the truth meant shattering everything. The weight of it pressed down on my chest, suffocating me.

I couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t just about the secrets; it was about the betrayal of my own values. I hated lies; I abhorred deception, yet here I was, complicit in Danny’s elaborate charade. Keeping his secret, protecting him, meant protecting a lie, a lie that was slowly poisoning my soul. It felt like a compromise with a part of myself I despised, a part that was willing to sacrifice its integrity for the illusion of love.

A choice clawed at me, sharp and brutal. Do I expose him, risk shattering his world and ours, sacrificing the dream I’d envisioned? Or do I continue this charade, knowing that every day I participated, I’d be slowly dying inside, betraying not only Amber but also myself? My hands trembled; the easy path, the path of silence, was tempting, a siren song of comfort in the face of overwhelming chaos. But my silence felt like cowardice, like a slow, agonizing surrender of everything I believed in. The knowledge that choosing to remain silent meant choosing a future riddled with more secrets, more lies, more compromises, filled me with a sickening dread. It was a bad choice; I knew it, but the fear of the alternative was paralyzing. The fear of failure, of destroying everything, was stronger than my desire for truth. This moment, this choice, felt like a certain path to regret. And yet, I remained silent, already tasting the bitter fruit of my compromise.

A cold wind blew into the room, and it chilled me to the bone.

A dog growled.

The music stopped and then I heard Bane. “What the fuck are you doing here, Sinclair?”

Spinning around, I stared into the dead eyes of the Devil himself as he pointed at me and clearly articulated, “I’m here for Dante, of course.”

“Think again, motherfucker.” Bane’s rasp, thick with venom and cheap whiskey, scraped against the air. The metallic scent of gun oil stung my nostrils as Bane’s hand, a gnarled claw, tightened around the cold steel, the barrel a blunt finger aimed dead center at Sinclair’s chest. Sinclair, however, remained unnervingly calm, a predatory stillness in his eyes that belied the chaos swirling around him.

---