Page 40 of Dead Devil's Playground
I raise an eyebrow. "You can ask. Doesn't mean I'll answer."
He hesitates, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "How did they do it? The twins. How did they take control of everything? Make people fear them?"
The question surprises me. It's not what I expected from him—not a question about our relationship, or any of the rumors that swirl around us. Instead, he's asking about power. About control.
"What makes you think they want people to fear them?" I counter, curious about his perception.
He looks at me like I've said something absurd. "I've seen how people react when they realize who they are. Fear is... useful. Powerful."
There's something in his tone—a hunger, an admiration—that makes me reassess him. Maybe there's more to our pretty dancer than I initially thought.
"Fear is a tool," I agree carefully. "But it's not the only one. Respect is more valuable in the long run."
"And how do they earn that?" he asks, leaning closer, hanging on my every word.
I study him for a moment, weighing how much to reveal. "Consistency," I finally say. "People need to know exactly what happens when they cross certain lines. No exceptions, no surprises. Break the rules, there are consequences. Keep your word, deliver what you promise, and you'll have protection."
Oliver nods slowly, absorbing this like it's gospel. His eyes drift to my neck, lingering on the marks there. His fingers twitch like he wants to reach out.
"How did you come to belong to them? The twins, I mean. How did they earn you?" he asks, voice dropping to just above a whisper.
I say nothing, my face going carefully blank as I feel Hudson's eyes on me. I let the silence stretch between us until Oliver shifts uncomfortably.
"And the violence?" Oliver pivots when I don't respond. "The... enforcement?
Hudson's eyes meet mine in the mirror, a silent warning that I ignore.
"Sometimes necessary," I admit. "But never random, never without purpose. Violence for its own sake is wasteful. It should always serve a greater goal."
"Like tonight?" he asks, gesturing vaguely toward the road ahead, toward the docks waiting for us.
"Exactly like tonight," I confirm, a cold smile spreading across my face. "If we find who's been targeting us, they'll learn exactly why crossing us was their last mistake."
Rather than being disturbed by this, Oliver looks... excited. His pupils dilate slightly, his breathing quickens. It's subtle, but I notice these things—I've spent years reading people's reactions, looking for signs of deception or fear.
"I want to learn," he says suddenly, earnestly, as he shifts closer again. "Everything they are willing to teach me. I can be useful to them—and you—not just as a dancer."
I tilt my head, considering him. "And what exactly are you offering, Oliver?"
His gaze doesn't waver. "Whatever any of you need. Eyes and ears in places you can't always be. Someone who doesn't look like a threat until it's too late." He gestures to himself with a self-deprecating smile. "People underestimate me. Always have. Could be an advantage."
He's not wrong. With his pretty face and dancer's grace, most would see him as harmless. A perfect spy in plain sight.
"We'll see," I say noncommittally, though I'm intrigued by the possibility. "Let's get through tonight first, shall we?"
He nods eagerly, settling back in his seat but still watching me with that same intensity. I can feel Hudson's disapproval radiating from the front seat, but I ignore it. I make my own decisions about who to trust, who to use.
The SUV slows as we approach the outskirts of the dock area. Through the windshield, I can see Rev and Kai ahead of us on their bikes, sleek and dangerous in the fading light. Behind us, Camden follows with another SUV full of Hudson's men—insurance in case things go sideways.
"Almost there," Hudson announces unnecessarily, his voice tight with the tension we all feel.
I check my weapons one last time—the knife at my thigh, the one nestled against my spine, the garrote wire disguised as a stylish bracelet. I've played this role before—the lost party girl who took a wrong turn, stumbling into places she shouldn't be. Men always underestimate a pretty face, always want to help the damsel in distress. It's their last mistake.
"Remember," Hudson says, his eyes finding mine in the mirror, "the goal is to observe. We need to know who we're dealing with before we make a move."
"I know how to do my job," I reply, a hint of sharpness in my tone that makes Oliver glance between us curiously.
Hudson's jaw tightens, but he says nothing more as we turn onto the access road that leads to the docks. The sun has nearly set, casting long shadows between the towering stacks of shipping containers. Perfect hiding places for whatever—or whoever—might be waiting.
