Page 36 of Dead Devil's Playground
We've been sharing Rylan for years, Kai and I. But something tells me our duo is about to become a trio, and I'm okay with that. More than okay.
Because anyone who looks at our girl the way Hudson does—like she's simultaneously the most precious and most dangerous thing in his world—deserves a place in our fucked-up little family.
I put the SUV in drive, heading back toward the city that's tried so hard to break us. Let them try. With the four of us united, they don't stand a chance.
As we descend from the overlook, Rylan stirs in Hudson's arms, her eyes fluttering open briefly. She looks disoriented for a moment, then her gaze locks with Hudson's. I watch in the rearview mirror as confusion gives way to recognition, then anger.
"You bastard," she murmurs, but there's no real heat behind it. Her voice is thick with sleep, her movements sluggish as she tries to sit up.
"Go back to sleep, sweetheart," Hudson says softly, his hand continuing its gentle stroking of her hair. "We're taking you home."
She blinks slowly, her gaze drifting to the front seat where she spots me watching her in the mirror. "Rev?"
"Right here, little bit," I confirm. "Kai's on the bike behind us. Everything's under control. Just rest. Please."
She seems to consider arguing for a moment, but at my ‘please’ she lets the exhaustion win out. Her eyes drift closed again, her body relaxing back against Hudson's chest. The last thing I hear before she succumbs to sleep again is a whispered, "Still gonna kill you when I wake up."
Hudson's soft laugh fills the car. "I'm counting on it."
Chapter 15
Ry
Consciousnessreturnstomeslowly, like I'm swimming up through dark water. My body feels heavy, weighted down with exhaustion finally satisfied. I stretch languidly beneath soft sheets, reaching instinctively for the warmth of bodies that should be there.
Nothing. Empty space.
My eyes fly open. Sunlight filters around the closed curtains—curtains we rarely use—casting the room in a muted golden glow. I'm naked, my skin clean and fresh, no trace of blood or sweat or... other activities. Someone bathed me while I slept. Again.
I try to piece together fragmented memories: the coffee shop in ruins, Hudson on the motorcycle, his hands on me, his fingers around my throat—that bastard choked me out. After I came. The absolute fucking audacity.
I sit up, scanning the room for my phone, but it's nowhere in sight. Typical. They're always hiding it when they think I needto rest. As if I'm some child who can't manage my own sleep schedule.
"Fuckers," I mutter, but without real heat. I hate to admit it, but I do feel better. My mind is clearer, the exhaustion that's been dogging me for days finally receding.
I slide out of bed, my muscles protesting slightly—a pleasant ache that reminds me of Hudson's hands, his cock, those surprising barbells. A flush rises to my cheeks at the memory. Bastard.
The bathroom tile is cool under my feet as I splash water on my face and brush my teeth. I study my reflection in the mirror—the faint bruises around my throat, the clarity returning to my eyes. I look... rested. Centered. Ready.
I pull on a black silk robe hanging on the bathroom door, cinching it tightly around my waist before padding toward the bedroom door. Voices drift from the main living area, too low to make out words but familiar enough to recognize. The twins. Hudson. And... someone else?
"—reliable source?" That's Hudson, always the skeptic.
"I know what I heard." This voice is younger, eager, with an undercurrent of anxiety. Oliver?
I push open the door to the living area and four heads turn in my direction. Rev and Kai are lounging on opposite ends of the sofa, looking like mirror images in black jeans and fitted t-shirts. Hudson stands by the window, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable as ever. And perched awkwardly on a barstool at our kitchen counter is Oliver, looking like he's afraid the furniture might bite him.
"Well, look who's rejoined the land of the living," Kai drawls, his eyes raking over me with open appreciation.
"How long was I out?" I ask, tightening the sash on my robe when I notice Oliver's wide-eyed stare. Poor puppy looks like he might spontaneously combust from embarrassment.
"Just about nine hours," Rev answers, checking his watch. "It's early afternoon."
"The day before Dead Devil's Night," Hudson adds pointedly, his gaze heavy on mine. The unspoken message is clear: we're running out of time.
I ignore him for the moment, still not ready to forgive the stunt he pulled last night. Instead, I focus on Oliver, whose presence in our private sanctuary is unexpected, to say the least.
"What's he doing here?" I ask, not bothering to be subtle.
