Page 3 of Dance With A Devil
I meet his gaze. Hollow. Smirking. “And if I say no?”
He grins. Something wolfish. “Then I guess I’ll get creative.”
He taps his chin with a finger. That mock-pensive look he wears when planning torture like it's a boardroom agenda. “Let’s say… it’s everyone you care about. One by one. Screaming your name while I make you watch.”
He doesn’t even blink.
And something inside me ruptures. Like a rib snapping inward.
My silence is a coffin. But my mind… My mind is sharpening blades behind my eyes.
“I’ll give up,” I whisper. “For now.”
He claps his hands. Smug bastard. “Knew you had it in you. Daddy always knows best.”
I’m gonna peel his skin off one day. Piece by piece. Make him beg with his own tongue nailed to the wall.
“Get him on the plane,” he barks to his men. “Thirty minutes. I want him out of the country before the bruise on his jaw blooms.”
That word,plane, hits like another punch. “What the fuck do you mean, plane?”
“You’re studying abroad. Exile, education, call it whatever you want. You’ll return when I say you’re ready. Or not at all.”
“You can’t just ship me out like-”
“I can. I will. And if you breathe a word toher, I’ll start with her first.”
His eyes gleam with something feral. He knows exactly whoheris.
Fucking bastard.
I stay silent. Let his men grab me. Haul me out like trash. Because I know something he doesn’t.
You can bury a Devil.
But you better be damn sure the coffin’s sealed.
Because when we come back?
We bring Hell with us.
Chapter Two
Wyck
Present
They say the mind is a terrible thing to waste.
I say it’s a weapon, loaded, cocked, and always aimed at the back of your skull.
It doesn’t whisper.
Ithunts.
Dragging up shit you thought you buried in blood and concrete. The kind of thoughts that can make even the strongest man flinch.
Everyone’s got a job.
