Page 24 of Dead Devil's Playground
With that, he turns and heads toward the exit, his boots clicking against the polished floor. I wait until the door closes behind him before allowing my shoulders to slump in relief.
"That was too close," I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
Hudson nods, the tension in his jaw finally relaxing a fraction. "We got lucky. If Oliver hadn't found those men when he did..."
"We made our own luck," I counter. "Your team worked miracles."
He accepts the compliment with a slight nod, but I can see the pride in his eyes. His security team is hand-picked, trained personally by him, and their loyalty is absolute. They worked through the early morning without complaint, understanding exactly what was at stake.
I straighten, really looking around for the first time in hours. I had been so focused on the pending disaster that I hadn’t noticed where Oliver was in all the chaos. "Where is our puppy, anyway?"
"Sent him home a few hours ago," Hudson replies. "Kid was dead on his feet after staying up all night. Thought it was best to get him out of the way before the inspector arrived."
"Good call," I agree. Rev had needed Kai back at the Lair to help with damage control for the overdoses and since I was surrounded by Hudson’s team it was more logical that Kai return to the Lair. The mess there needed to be handled carefully. The last thing we need is the police digging too deeply into our operations.
The club manager, Stella, approaches us, her eyes wide with surprise. She arrived only minutes before the fire marshal, clearly shocked to find us already here.
"I still can't believe you beat me here," she says, glancing between us. "Is everything okay?"
Hudson steps forward, smoothly intercepting her concerns. "Just some last-minute adjustments to the security systems," he explains, his voice calm and reassuring. "Nothing to worry about."
She doesn't look entirely convinced, but she nods anyway. "Well, I'm glad we passed inspection. The staff is prepped and ready for opening night."
"Good," I say, forcing a smile. "Make sure everyone gets plenty of rest. We want them at their best."
Stella nods again, turning to address one of the workers who's calling for her attention. As she walks away, I feel the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me. I haven't slept in over fourty-eight hours, and the events in that time have left me drained.
Hudson studies my face, those green eyes missing nothing. "You should get some rest," he says quietly.
"Not yet," I reply, watching as workers begin installing the final decorative elements around the club. "We still have too much to do."
We stand in silence for a moment, both of us surveying the space. The Playground is truly magnificent—a fantasy brought to life with silk drapes cascading from the ceiling, intimate alcoves nestled along the walls, and the performance stages positioned for maximum impact. It's everything I envisioned and more.
And someone tried to burn it all down before it even opened.
"The repairs aren't our real problem," Hudson says finally, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "We need to find whoever is behind this."
I nod, feeling the anger that's been simmering since last night rise to the surface again. "The attack on the Lair was a distraction," I say, the realization crystallizing as I speak italoud. "They wanted us focused there while they sabotaged the Playground."
"And they probably think they succeeded," Hudson adds. "I doubt they knew the Fire Marshal was due for the final inspection today. Which means they'll have something planned for opening night."
I turn to face him fully, my voice hardening. "I want names, Hudson. I don't care what it takes. Someone in this cesspit of a city knows something, and I want to speak to whoever does."
His expression darkens, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. "I'll put out feelers. My contacts on the street and even some of my old military connections. If there's chatter, we'll hear it."
"Good." I feel my lips curl into something that's more snarl than smile. "Nobodyfucks with what's ours."
For a brief moment, the professional mask slips, and I catch a glimpse of the same fierce possessiveness in his eyes that I feel burning in my chest. It reminds me of last night—his hand around my throat, his breath hot against my skin as he demanded I come for him. The phantom sensation of his fingers sends a shiver down my spine that I try desperately to hide.
But as quickly as it appears, the moment passes, and we're back to business. Hudson has been nothing but professional since what happened at the apartment, as if he's determined to pretend it never occurred. Part of me is relieved; the other part is... disappointed? Frustrated? I'm not sure, and I don't have time to examine the feeling too closely.
I glance around the club, noticing for the first time that the bar shelves are still half-empty. "What happened down at the docks?" I ask, remembering that Hudson was supposed to investigate the tampering with our alcohol shipments before everything went to hell.
His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking beneath the skin. "The latest shipments weren't just tampered with," he says grimly. "They were stolen. The containers were completely empty when they arrived."
I curse under my breath. Sourcing quality alcohol in this dead city is nearly impossible—the local stuff is more likely to kill you than get you drunk. It's one of the reasons our clubs are so popular; we import everything from outside the city, using connections that took years to establish.
"That's not a coincidence," I say, my mind racing. "First the overdoses, then the sabotage, now this. It's all connected."
