Page 81 of Dance With A Devil
He leans in. “I’m not supposed to break bones either, but I do what needs doing.”
That gets my attention.
“Relax,” he adds with a smirk. “I know people.”
Right.
I should walk away. Run back to the Devils. To Wyck. To the darkness Iknow.
But instead, I walk.
Because Crew might be sweet on the surface, but there’s something in the way he talks, in the ease with which he pulls strings and breaks rules, that tells me he’s not as harmless as he seems.
“You’re one of the few women who doesn’t shut me down when I try to do something nice,” he says, glancing sideways. “It’s refreshing.”
“I’m trying something new,” I admit, eyes scanning the quad. “Trying not to run from everything.”
“Like coming to the kitchen with a maybe-sociopath?”
“Exactly.” I smirk.
We walk in silence for a second before he murmurs, “Well, thank God for the small things.”
I nod, but there’s a knot in my stomach I can’t ignore.
Because small things become big things.
And inCliffside, nothing,nothing, is ever what it seems.
The moment he slid something across the metal prep table, the sound scraped like a blade drawn against bone.
“You can open your eyes now,” Crew says, voice low, soothing in the way soft things can be when they’re meant to disarm.
I blink slowly, lashes sticky from the heat of the kitchen and the stale sting of fluorescent light. A sandwich sits before me, obscene in size, stacked high with thick cuts of meat, crimson tomatoes, and some kind of aioli that looks like it might bite back.
“A sandwich?” I ask, skeptical.
“Not justanysandwich,” he says, eyes gleaming. “Go ahead. Try it.”
I pick it up with both hands, it’s massive, heavy, weighted like a trap disguised as a gift. I sink my teeth in, and a rush of flavors hits me like heat to nerve endings. Salty. Sweet. Spiced. It’s fucking good.
I moan, low and unthinking, as I chew. “Shit… this is incredible.”
Crew watches me too closely.
“No need to thank me,” he says with a wink, “but don’t ask for the recipe. Some things are better left… unspoken.”
I snort. “Sure. Totally normal behavior. Just a man with mystery mayo and secrets in his back pocket.”
His smile twists. “You really shouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?” I ask, licking stray sauce off my fingers.
His eyes track my tongue like it’s something sacrilegious. “Make sounds like that. Not in front of a man who’s sworn off… indulgences.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Did you really just refer to sex asindulgences?”
“I did.” He straightens his glasses like they’re armor. “I took a vow.”
