Page 37 of Dead Devil's Playground
Oliver shrinks slightly under my direct attention, and I feel a twinge of something like guilt. He's been nothing but helpful so far, and here I am, making him uncomfortable in a space where he's clearly already out of his depth.
"He called Hudson with information," Rev explains, his tone neutral but his eyes sharp on my face, gauging my reaction. "We thought it was important enough to bring him up, and we didn't want to leave you alone while you slept."
"I'm sorry if I'm intruding," Oliver says quickly, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "I wouldn't have—I mean, I know this is your private space, but I heard something at the Playground this morning and I thought—"
"It's fine," I cut him off, softening my tone. "What did you hear?"
He straightens, eager to be useful. "I was at the club early, getting in some practice before the opening. I was in the dressing room when I overheard two people talking. They didn't know I was there and they were in the main area so I couldn’t see them, but I could hear them." He leans forward, voice dropping conspiratorially. "They were discussing something happening at the docks this afternoon. A shipment coming in. They mentioned containers specifically."
My interest sharpens immediately. "Our containers?"
Oliver nods, a strand of copper-blonde hair falling across his forehead. "They didn't say whose, but they mentioned something about 'finishing what was started' and 'hitting them where it hurts.'"
I look to Hudson, whose jaw is tight with tension. "Could be nothing," he says, but I can tell he doesn't believe that any more than I do.
"Or it could be exactly what we've been looking for," I counter. "A lead. A chance to catch these fuckers in the act instead of always being one step behind."
Kai stands, stretching like a cat. "Either way, worth checking out. We can set up surveillance, see if anything happens."
"I can go back to the club," Oliver offers quickly, sliding off the stool and taking a step toward me. "Try to get more information from them."
I notice how he gravitates in my direction, like a satellite caught in my orbit. His eyes follow my movements with that puppy-like devotion that's becoming familiar. It should be annoying, but there's something endearing about his eagerness to please.
"No need," Rev says, his gaze flicking briefly to Oliver before settling on me. "I think you've earned the right to ride along with us to the docks. If you want to."
Oliver's eyes widen, genuine surprise and pleasure lighting up his face. "Really? I mean—yes, absolutely. I want to help however I can."
"It's settled then," I decide, ignoring the way Hudson's eyebrows rise at my easy acceptance of Oliver's inclusion. "We'll go tonight, see what's happening at our docks."
I move toward the kitchen, suddenly ravenous. Nine hours of sleep has awakened an appetite I've been ignoring for days. As I pass Oliver, he shifts slightly, unconsciously moving closer tome, his eyes tracking my movements with that same desperate need for approval.
"Thank you," he says softly, just for me. "For trusting me with this."
I pause, studying him. There's something in his expression—a hunger that goes beyond simple admiration. It reminds me of how I felt years ago, desperate to belong, to be seen, to matter.
"Don't make me regret it," I tell him, keeping my voice low enough that only he can hear.
He shakes his head vehemently. "I won't. I promise."
I believe him, which is rare enough these days to be noteworthy. There's something about Oliver that feels genuine, despite—or perhaps because of—his obvious fixation.
"Ry," Hudson calls from across the room, his voice deliberately casual. "A word?"
I turn to find him watching me with an intensity that sends heat racing down my spine. Memories of last night flash through my mind—his hands on my throat, his voice in my ear, the stars bursting behind my eyes.
"Sure thing, old man," I reply, deliberately provocative.
His eyes narrow at the nickname, but he says nothing as he leads the way to the other end of the room past the dining area. I follow, aware of the twins watching us with identical knowing smirks.
The moment we have an illusion of distance and privacy, Hudson turns to face me. "Are you sure about bringing the dancer?"
"His name is Oliver," I correct, leaning against the glass wall. The city stretches out below us, bathed in afternoon sunlight that does nothing to disguise its grime and decay. "And yes, I'm sure. He's proven himself useful so far."
"He's a liability," Hudson argues softly, stepping closer. "Untrained, unpredictable, and completely infatuated with you. That's a dangerous combination."
I arch an eyebrow. "Jealous?"
His expression doesn't change, but I see the muscle in his jaw jump. "Concerned. We don't know enough about him."
