Page 11 of Dead Devil's Playground
The elevator dings, cutting off whatever Rev was about to say. We all tense, hands moving toward weapons automatically, but relax when we see Camden step out—pushing a familiar figure before him.
My eyebrows shoot up. It's the dancer from the club, looking considerably less confident than he did this morning. His copper-blonde hair is disheveled, and there's a bruise forming on his cheekbone.
Camden is one of Hudson's most trusted men and probably the closest thing I have to a friend outside of my inner circle—he still isn’t trusted to know who is really in charge though. Right now he has the dancer's arm twisted behind his back. Despite being in his mid-thirties, Camden moves with the agility of someone much younger. His face is all sharp angles and perpetual amusement, like everything in life is a private joke only he understands. We bonded over our shared appreciation for dark humor and our ability to find the absurdity in the most fucked-up situations. He's one of the few people who doesn't treat me like I'm made of glass, and for that alone, he became my friend.
"Special delivery," Camden announces, his lips quirked in that perpetual half-smile. "Stella over at the Playground rang to say he was going to the cops to report his stolen bike. Thought you might want to have a word."
The dancer's eyes widen when they land on me, a mixture of fear and resignation crossing his features.
Rev's attention shifts immediately, his predatory instincts kicking in as he stalks toward the newcomer. "So you're the one who let her steal your bike."
The dancer swallows hard. "I didn't exactly let her—"
"Shut up," Kai cuts in, moving to flank his brother. "You think we're stupid? You just happened to be there, just happened to leave your keys where she could take them?"
"I didn't—"
"Who do you work for?" Rev demands, getting right in the dancer's face.
The dancer's eyes dart around the room, looking for an escape that doesn't exist. "I don't work for anyone except the club. I'm just a performer."
Kai scoffs, pulling a gun from the waistband of his jeans and pressing it to the dancer's temple. "Try again. Who sent you?"
The dancer goes rigid, his breathing shallow. "My name is Oliver Hart. I'm from Portland originally. I moved here six months ago for the job at the club. I swear to God, that's all there is to it."
"Bullshit," Rev snarls. "The timing's too convenient. Fifth Street burns, and suddenly you're there, offering her a ride out?"
Oliver's eyes widen. "Fifth Street? I don't know anything about that. I was just taking a smoke break!"
I watch the exchange, the fear in Oliver's eyes seems genuine. While I'm no stranger to violence, something about this feels wrong.
"Camden," I say, my voice cutting through the tension. "Give us the room."
Camden raises an eyebrow at me, and I have to force myself to remember he doesn’t know the truth. He looks to Hudson, who gives a short nod.
"You heard her," Hudson says. "Out."
Camden releases Oliver with a shove, shaking his head as he heads back toward the elevator. Disgust flickers across his face before the doors close.
As soon as he's gone, I stand up, moving between Oliver and the twins. "You can't kill him."
Rev's eyes narrow. "And why the hell not?"
"Because he's not involved," I say firmly. "I stole his bike because I was pissed off and wanted to make a point. He didn't offer it to me."
"You don't know that he's not involved," Kai argues, gun still trained on Oliver's head.
I roll my eyes. "What I know is that if he was sent to kill me or lure me into a trap, he did a piss-poor job of it. Besides, I'm the one who approached him, not the other way around."
Oliver's eyes are fixed on me, a mixture of gratitude and wariness in his gaze.
"Put the gun down, Kai," I say, my tone brooking no argument.
For a moment, I think he might refuse, but then he lowers the weapon, though he doesn't holster it.
"You don’t know he’s not involved," Kai shoots back. "Hell, I say we cut him up and bleed him a bit just for being prettier than me."
Oliver’s head snaps to Kai, wide-eyed, frozen like a deer staring at the wrong set of headlights.
