Page 48 of Dead Devil's Playground
ThedayofthePlayground's opening passes in a blur of preparations and contingency plans. After the warehouse, we'd grabbed a few hours of sleep before diving headfirst into finalizing every detail for tonight. Hudson's men have been discreetly armed and stationed throughout the club, their weapons concealed but ready. The twins have spent the day memorizing every exit, every hiding spot, every potential ambush point. And I've been everywhere at once, overseeing it all while maintaining the facade that nothing is wrong.
Replacing Oliver proves more challenging than expected. Not just because of the physical skills required, but because every time I see the aerial apparatus, I remember his body jerking with the impact of bullets before disappearing into dark water. Stella, suggests another dancer named Malik who can handle the routine with minimal practice. I approve without really seeing him, too distracted by the memory of Oliver's wide, shocked eyes.
"He'll be fine," Stella assures me, mistaking my distraction for concern about the performance. "Malik's been understudy for weeks."
I nod, forcing myself to focus. "Make sure he understands the importance of tonight. No mistakes."
As the day wears on, the tension builds. We've set our trap, baited it with ourselves, and now we wait for our enemies to spring it. The thought should terrify me, but instead, I feel eerily calm. After days of reacting to shadows, it's a relief to finally have a plan.
By eight o'clock, we are back at the apartment to prepare. I stand before the full-length mirror, my body still damp from the shower, and begin the ritual of arming myself.
First, the basics. Black lingerie, practical but still laced with enough detail to make me feel like myself. Then the leather corset, tight enough to hold weapons but not so constrictive that I can't move. I lace it methodically, my fingers working on muscle memory while my mind runs through scenarios for the night ahead.
The fitted black pants come next, hugging my curves but stretchy enough for fighting if necessary. I slide knives into hidden sheaths at my lower back, along my ribs, and my hips. A garrote wire disguised as a bracelet circles my wrist. Small throwing knives slide into my boots.
I'm applying the finishing touches—dark eyeshadow, blood-red lips, teal hair pulled back severely from my face—when I sense him rather than hear him. Rev stands in the doorway, watching me with an intensity that would unnerve anyone else.
"You look ready for war," he says, voice low and appreciative.
"That's the idea." I meet his eyes in the mirror. "How's security?"
"In place. If anyone tries anything, we'll be ready." He pushes off from the doorframe and approaches, his reflection growing larger in my mirror. "But that's not what I came to talk about."
I turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Rev steps closer, until I can feel the heat radiating from his body. His hands come up to frame my face, thumbs brushing gently across my cheekbones. The tenderness of the gesture contrasts sharply with the weapons strapped to both our bodies.
"Be careful tonight," he says, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "I know you, little bit. I know you'll throw yourself into danger without a second thought if you think it'll protect what's ours. But remember that we need you."
I start to make a flippant remark, to brush off his concern with bravado, but the intensity in his eyes stops me. Instead, I lean into his touch, allowing myself this moment of vulnerability before the storm.
"I'll be careful," I promise.
He shakes his head slightly, not satisfied. "Promise me you won't take unnecessary risks. That you'll let us protect you as much as you protect us."
"Rev—"
"Promise me," he insists, pressing his forehead against mine. "We can't lose you again, little bit. Not after last time."
The pain in his voice reaches something deep inside me. I know what he's remembering—the night Silas nearly destroyed us all. The night I almost died.
"I promise," I whisper, meaning it despite the danger I know lies ahead. "We face it together. All of us."
He kisses me then, deep and claiming, like he's trying to imprint himself on my soul. I surrender to it, letting the connection ground me, remind me what I'm fighting for.
When we break apart, the warrior has returned to his eyes. "Let's go remind this city who rules it."
The ride to the Playground passes in tense silence. Hudson drives, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Kai sits in the passenger seat, unusually quiet. Rev and I occupy the back, our hands linked between us.
By the time we arrive at the club, the transformation is complete. I've locked away the vulnerability, the fear, the grief. My face is a mask of cold confidence as we enter through the rear entrance.
"Showtime," I murmur, and the twins nod in unison.
Hudson peels off to check in with his security team one last time, while we make our way to the VIP mezzanine that overlooks the main floor. From this vantage point, we can see everything—the bar areas, the dance floor, the performance spaces. The perfect place to spot trouble before it finds us.
At precisely ten o'clock, the doors open, and the crowd streams in. The Devil's Playground comes alive in a sensory overload of lights, smoke, and sound. The Arabian Nights theme transforms the space into a fantastical realm of luxury and excess. Silk curtains shimmer down from the mezzanine, creating the illusion of tents in a desert oasis. Dancers twist in elevated cages, their bodies painted gold and draped in strategically placed jewels. The lighting shifts constantly, bathing everything in rich teals, deep blues, and warm golds.
"Impressive," Kai murmurs beside me, his eyes tracking the flow of guests. "No one would guess we've been under attack for days."
