Page 150 of Dance With A Devil
His gaze catches mine. Brown, but not soft. There’s a storm in them now. Sadness too.
“They’re real,” he says. “We were friends. All of us. You used to light up a room just by breathing.”
Something fractures inside me.
That truth lands like a hammer to the ribs. My knees buckle. My past slams into me like a freight train. Strong arms catch me before the fall, Wyck.
I look up at him, at the man who’s haunted my steps and stolen my sleep.
“I don’t blame you,” I whisper, even as tears sting my eyes. “I just… I wish I could remember.”
His grip tightens like he’s trying to keep me from slipping away again.
“I’m starting to remember pieces,” I say. “The journals help. Some feelings come with them, like muscle memory. But none of it explainshim.”
“Who?” Dash asks.
“Bash.” His name tastes like rot. “What the fuck does Bash have to do with any of this?”
My chest aches. My stomach growls like something caged and starving. Like it knows the truth is coming and it’s going to devour us all
“Sounds like you need food,” Dash says with a low chuckle, trying to break the tension.
My stomach growls again, traitorous and loud, and I give a dry laugh in return. “Yeah, well... after everything that went down tonight, I need food, a scalding shower, and maybe a coma.”
Thunder cracks outside, shaking the windows and throwing lightning-blue shadows across the room. I flinch, breath hitching as another boom rumbles through the air.
Fuck storms.
I shift closer to Wyck on instinct. “We need to go back to our room. I don’t want to be alone if this storm keeps up.”
Wyck’s voice is all gravel and steel. “We’re not staying here much longer.”
His tone flips a switch in me. That dangerous, no-questions edge. That voice that takes me apart molecule by molecule when we’re alone.
“It’s late. We’ve got forty-eight hours to figure this shit out, and we’re gonna use every damn second. Dash, bring the Escalade around back. No lights. Wells, text Fred and Ryan, meet us there. Same location.”
Watching him take control like this makes something primal uncoil in my belly. He's always been unshakeable, but tonight? He’s feral. On edge. Protective.
I’m already halfway wet.
But I still need answers.
“Where are we going?”
His gaze snaps to mine, and the corner of his mouth lifts, wolfish. “So many questions, Brat... all will be answered in due time.”
I know that look. That locked-jaw, lip-nibbling stare that means he's thinking ten steps ahead and probably won’t share a single damn one with me until the moment it matters.
Then Karter, in true Karter fashion, blows it all up.
“So…” he drawls, eyes on me like a hunter, “does he fuck better than us?”
I nearly choke on my tongue.
“What the hell?” I spin around so fast I almost trip over myself. “Are you serious right now?”
“Dead serious,” he says, tone light, but jaw tight. “Because I wanna know if I should snip his dick off. I’m gonna do it anyway, for touching what’s ours, but, y’know… intel helps.”
