Page 28 of Dead Devil's Playground
"I swear, I never got a name! He wore a hood, kept his face hidden. All I know is he had this accent, like he was from way outside of the city."
I turn back to him, knife glinting in the harsh light. "That's still not good enough."
I take a step toward Marcus, twirling the knife between my fingers. The blade catches the light, sending little rainbows dancing across his terrified face. I'm so tired that the colors seem to leave trails in the air, like shooting stars streaking across the night sky. Beautiful. I giggle at the thought.
"An accent," I repeat, tapping the flat of the blade against my lips. "That's what you're giving me? An accent?" I lean in close enough that my breath stirs the hair matted with blood against his forehead. "Do better, Marcus."
His eyes dart frantically between me and the twins standing behind me. "I swear! He kept his face covered! All I know is he paid in cash—old bills, like they'd been stored somewhere for years. And he knew things about the club, about the security. Said he used to work here, back before—"
Hudson's phone rings, cutting through Marcus's babbling. He steps away to answer it, but I can still hear his sharp intake of breath, the low curse that follows.
"When?" he demands, his voice tight with controlled fury. "How bad?"
I turn, knife still in hand, watching as Hudson's face darkens. The room suddenly feels too small, too hot, the walls pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
"I'll be there in fifteen," he says finally, ending the call. His eyes meet mine, and I know before he speaks that it's bad.
"The coffee shop on Seventh," he says, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle ticking. "Someone set it on fire. It's still burning."
The coffee shop. Another one of my first legitimate businesses. One of the first truly good places I created in this dead city to bring it to life again.
"I'm coming with you," I say immediately, already moving toward the door.
Rev's hand clamps around my arm, yanking me back with enough force that I stumble. "No, you're not."
"Let go of me," I snarl, trying to wrench my arm free. The room tilts slightly, exhaustion making my movements clumsy. "That's my fucking coffee shop!"
"And this," Rev says, shoving me roughly toward Marcus, "is our only lead. Hudson can handle the fire. You're staying here."
I whirl on him, knife still gripped in my white-knuckled fist. "You don't give me orders, Rev."
His eyes flash dangerously, but instead of backing down, he steps closer, towering over me as his voice drops low. "Tonight I do, little bit. You haven't slept in days. You're running on fumes and rage, which makes you sloppy. And we can't afford sloppy right now."
Hudson is already moving toward the door, phone to his ear as he barks orders to his security team. I take a step to follow, but Kai blocks my path this time, immovable as a mountain.
"Get out of my way," I hiss.
"No," he says simply. "You're staying here. With us." He nods toward Marcus, who's watching our exchange with growing terror. "Finish what you started."
Hudson pauses at the door, his eyes finding mine across the room. Something passes between us—concern, understanding, maybe even longing. Then he's gone, the door closing with a final-sounding click.
Chapter 12
Ry
"Fuck!"Iscream,hurlingthe knife. It embeds itself in the wall with a satisfying thunk, quivering from the force. The room spins, and for a moment, I think I might collapse. I press my palms against my eyes, willing the world to stop tilting.
"Hey," Kai's voice is suddenly closer, his hand warm on the small of my back. "We've got this. Let Hudson handle the fire. You focus on getting answers out of our friend here."
I drop my hands, blinking rapidly to clear the black spots dancing at the edges of my vision. Marcus stares up at me, eyes wide with renewed fear. The sight of his terror centers me, brings everything back into sharp focus.
"Right," I say, a smile stretching across my face that feels too wide, too sharp. "Where were we, Marcus?"
I retrieve my knife from the wall, testing its edge with my thumb. A bead of blood wells up, bright red against my pale skin. The pain is clarifying, grounding. I suck the blood away, never taking my eyes off Marcus.
“Please,” he whispers as I step closer. “I told you everything I know.”
“I don’t think you did,” I murmur, circling behind him. The knife’s tip presses against his shoulder, enough to make him flinch but not to draw blood. “I think you’re holding out on me, Marcus. And I don’t like that.”
