Page 49 of Dead Devil's Playground
He's right. The club is perfect—a testament to our power and resilience. Guests from every stratum of society fill the space, from known criminals to politicians to celebrities, all mingling under the illusion of civility that our rule provides. They're drawn to the danger, to the edge of chaos we control, like moths to flame.
Hudson rejoins us, his tall frame instantly recognizable as he moves through the crowd. He's dressed in black from head to toe, somehow managing to look both formal and ready for combat. His eyes meet mine across the distance, a silent question that I answer with a slight nod. All good. So far.
He makes his way up to the mezzanine, positioning himself slightly behind me. "Security is running smoothly," he reports. "Camden has the crowd flow under control. No red flags yet."
"Early still," Rev comments, his gaze never stopping its constant sweep of the club below.
Another hour passes, I force myself to circulate, to play my role as one of the gracious hosts. Hudson remains my shadow, never more than a few steps behind me. The twins work the crowd separately, their identical faces causing the usual double-takes and whispers. To most of the city, the Draven twins are myths, dangerous legends rarely seen together in public. Tonight, they're making an exception, a show of force disguised as celebration.
The night progresses without incident. The crowd grows larger, louder, more intoxicated. The music pulses through the floor, vibrating up through my boots. Dancers perform increasingly elaborate routines. Drinks flow freely. By all appearances, the opening is a spectacular success.
But beneath the surface, tension coils like a serpent. My nerves are strung tight, anticipating an attack that hasn't yet materialized. Hudson's men report nothing suspicious. The twins find no threats among the guests. It's all going too smoothly, and that makes me more uneasy than any obvious danger.
"Midnight," Hudson murmurs behind me, checking his watch.
I nod, scanning the crowd below. It's the witching hour, the true height of Dead Devil's Night. The moment when—
The club plunges into absolute darkness.
The music cuts off abruptly, leaving a vacuum immediately filled by confused murmurs that quickly escalate to frightened shouts. The darkness is complete, oppressive—even the emergency lights haven't activated. This isn't a simple power failure.
"Hudson," I hiss, reaching out blindly. His hand finds mine instantly, steady and reassuring.
"Stay close," he orders, his voice tight with controlled tension.
Screams erupt from the dance floor as panic spreads through the crowd. My other hand moves to the knife at my back, fingers closing around the familiar handle.
Then, suddenly, a single spotlight cuts through the darkness, illuminating the central performance platform. The crowd's panic subsides to confused murmurs as Malik appears in the beam of light, his body painted gold, suspended from silk curtains that cascade from the ceiling.
Music begins again—not the pulsing club beats from before, but something haunting and ethereal. Malik's body twists gracefully through the silks, his movements fluid and precise.
I watch as Malik performs Oliver's aerial routine, his body twisting gracefully through the silk curtains suspended from the ceiling. He's good—very good—but not Oliver. The thought sends a pang through my chest that I quickly suppress. There will be time for grief later. Tonight is about survival.
But something's wrong. This isn't how we planned it. This isn’t the way we had it all set up and what had been checked over and over again. The lights were never meant to go completely dark, and more than just the central spotlight should have come back up for the performance.
I scan the rest of the club, my eyes now adjusted enough to make out vague silhouettes in the darkness. My heartbeat accelerates as instinct screams danger.
Something isverywrong.
I turn to where Hudson stands beside me, the realization striking like a knife to the gut.
"Where are Rev and Kai?" I hiss, gripping his arm so tightly my knuckles whiten. My eyes dart frantically across the darkened club, searching for the familiar silhouettes of the twins. "Hudson, where the fuck are they?"
His head snaps toward me, then he scans the club. The muscle in his jaw tightens as he realizes what I already know—they're gone.
Rev
Themomentthelightscut out, I feel the shift in the air. Years of surviving have honed my instincts to razor sharpness—this isn't part of the plan.
"Kai," I mutter, immediately reaching for my brother in the darkness. His fingers brush against mine, a silent confirmation that we're thinking the same thing.
"Gentlemen," Camden's voice materializes beside us, unnervingly calm amid the rising chaos. "Security protocol Blackout is now in effect. I need you to come with me immediately."
"Where's Ry?" I demand, already scanning the darkness for her silhouette.
"Hudson has her," Camden assures me, his hand firm on my shoulder. "He's taking her to the designated meeting point. We need to move now."
Something feels off, but with the club descending into panic and the spotlight suddenly illuminating the performer, I can'tafford to hesitate. If there's an attack coming, we need to regroup.
