Page 5 of Dead Devil's Playground
"Just try not to fall asleep at the wheel. I know it's hard at your age."
He glances at me in the rearview mirror, his lips twitching, but there is something harder in his eyes now. "Careful, sweetheart."
I huff, turning to look out the window as we pull away from the curb. The city rushes past, a mixture of dilapidated buildings and thriving establishments that we've painstakingly built up over the years.
As we pass a drug store I turn to Hudson, breaking the silence. “At some point today, can we make a stop? I need to change my hair again.”
Hudson glances at me, his eyebrow raising slightly, but he doesn’t question it.
As we navigate through the streets, my mind drifts to the message left at the burned building on Fifth Street. The threatwas clear, and while I refuse to be intimidated, I can't ignore the nagging worry gnawing at the back of my mind.
“Any updates on Fifth Street?” My voice cuts through the quiet. I don’t sugarcoat the question.
Hudson’s jaw ticks, eyes fixed on the road. “Nothing concrete. A few leads. Nothing I’d bet your life on.”
I nod, tapping my fingers against my thigh impatiently. "We can't afford to let this slide. Whoever did this needs to be made an example of."
He glances at me briefly before returning his focus to the road. "Agreed. But we need to be smart about it. Rushing in without all the information could make things worse."
I bristle at his cautionary tone. "Sometimes force is exactly what's needed to keep people in line."
Hudson sighs, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "And sometimes it leads to unnecessary casualties."
I bite back a retort because he’s not wrong, and I hate that he’s not wrong. “Fine. But when we get a name, I want blood. No hesitation.”
His gaze flickers back to me, hard, promising. “You’ll have it.”
The rest of the drive passes in relative silence, both of us lost in our thoughts. When we finally arrive at the new club, I take a moment to appreciate the transformation. The exterior, though still a work in progress, has a certain allure with its sleek lines and vibrant colors. It’s hard not to feel a swell of pride mixed with anticipation for the grand opening.
Hudson ignores the no-parking sign, pulling right up to the curb like he owns the city. Which, to be fair, we basically do. Near the entryway of the club, a banner announces the grand opening, and workers are putting the finishing touches on the new signage. One spots me and nearly trips over himself to get closer. “Perfect timing,” he blurts, excitement shining throughgrime. “We’re about to light it up. You can let the bosses know we did a good job, right?"
I chuckle softly, always amused by everyone's assumption that the twins are the ones in charge. I nod in agreement, and the worker gives the go-ahead to one of the others. The sign blazes to life, the brightness striking even in broad daylight—though not as striking as it will be on Dead Devil's Night. I hum in appreciation.
My lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile.
The worker stares, wide-eyed, desperate. “Did we do good?”
“You did perfect,” I tell him.
Lit up across the front of the building in a beautiful teal color are the words ‘Devil’s Playground’.
Chapter 3
Ry
Aswepushthroughthe front entryway, the hum of activity behind the closed door swells. Workers scatter like ants, setting up bars and tables, putting the finishing touches on the walls and stages. The energy is electric, frantic, and I can almost taste it on my tongue—sharp, metallic, like blood.
The club is alive. The walls are adorned in teal and blue, fabrics spilling from the ceiling like rivers of silk, twinkling lights woven through like stars caught in a spider’s web. The walls are dressed in textures that beg to be touched, every detail calculated to seduce and distract. The effect is both mesmerizing and enchanting, a far cry from the warehouse it once was.
The mezzanine level pulls my attention. It resembles a scene from Arabian Nights; private lounges curtained in semi-sheer veils, shadows flickering behind them like sin on display. Even closed, the lights throw shadows of whoever’s inside onto the fabric—bodies twisting, moving, putting on a show for anyonewho dares to watch. Erotic as hell. Subversive. A place built for both spectacle and scandal.
Hudson’s men already stalk the level, mapping the space like predators scenting new territory, preparing for their role as security.
On the main level round tables with seating are scattered throughout, providing space for patrons to relax and socialize. The dance floors are situated on each side of the main stage, strategically placed to ensure that every corner of the club can experience the energy of the dance scene. The main stage itself is flanked by two minor stages, all adorned with hanging curtains. Cages are suspended above the stages that can be lowered or retracted to suit the performance.
On the main stage, movement catches my eye. A performer—long hair tied back, muscles catching the dim light–drops from the ceiling on a sheet of fabric, catching it with one lean, muscled arm. He moves like smoke, like sin, the strength in every flex making my pulse trip. He spins with a predator’s grace, his body bending, twisting, teasing the crowd that isn’t here yet. He’s dressed in nothing more than shorts and a muscle tank, showcasing his toned body.
I know that on the night of the opening, both male and female performers will be in more intricate costumes, which they will gradually shed throughout their performances. It will be an elegant strip show, but a strip show nonetheless.
