Page 7 of Dead Devil's Playground
The words dig under my skin, too close to truth. I grin, wicked. “Well, you’re not wrong.” I let the silence hang before I ask, “So do you drive or ride?”
He blinks. “Ride. Why?”
“Got your bike here?” I ask, my tone light.
He unzips his shorts pocket, pulls out a key, dangling it with a cocky smirk. “Why, doll, you wanna go for a ride?”
I laugh again, dark and amused, as I saunter closer to him, feeling the tension crackle between us. “Where would I find it if I did?” I drop my tone, making it more suggestive.
He gestures absently toward the carpark end of the alleyway. I smoothly slide the key from his fingers, brushing against him as I do. His lips part, stunned.
“Tell him I gave you no choice when he comes looking,” I purr, voice deliberate, daring.
Fear flashes in his eyes. “Wait—shit—don’t do this to me—”
But I’m already walking away, smoke trailing from my lips, his panic echoing behind me. I should feel bad. I don’t. His words carved too deep.
No one dictates my life.
Not anymore.
Chapter 4
Ry
Ittakesmeallof thirty seconds to pick out which bike belongs to the dancer. Sleek. Black. Mean as sin. The chrome winks at me like it’s in on the joke, like it knows it’s about to be stolen. I swing my leg over, the leather seat hot under me, the weight solid between my thighs. When the engine growls to life, it purrs deep and throaty, a vibration that hums through my bones. Oh, yes. Hello beautiful. God, I could almost come just from the rumble.
The city swallows me whole the second I hit the street. Wind claws at my hair, the chaos of the city bleeding into me, fueling me. Car horns, drunken laughter, sirens in the distance, the air tastes like gasoline and garbage. I can’t help but grin. Chaos is comfort—it keeps the voices in my head occupied, drowns out the itch in my fingers that wants to carve answers out of someone’s skin.
Fifth Street isn’t far, but the closer I get, the heavier it presses on my lungs. By the time I roll to the curb, the smell of burneddreams hits me first—char, ash, wet soot. The once vibrant restaurant and offices above it are now nothing more than a burnt husk. The front façade has collapsed inward, and the roof is partially caved in. What’s left of the building looms like a ribcage picked clean, jagged bones clawing at the sky.
I pocket the keys and step off, boots splashing through puddles streaked with ash. Every crunch of glass underfoot is a reminder: someone did this. Someone thought they could take what’s mine.
I walk slowly toward the alleyway beside the building, each step heavy with a mixture of anger and sorrow. This was more than just a business—it was the first place that I rebuilt and developed after I took over the city. It was my building. My blood and sweat turned to blackened rubble.
As I round the back of the building, shadows clutching at me like greedy hands. And then—oh, there it is. Kai was right. Black paint, sloppy and deliberate, screaming a promise on the wall. A threat. My fists curl so hard my knuckles ache.
I stand there looking at it for a few moments, letting the rage settle in my bones. That’s when I hear it—the shuffle of boots, the scrape of steel on concrete. I tilt my head, listening. Five of them. Heavy feet, different rhythms. Trying to creep, like cockroaches. They think they’re hunting me. They’ve already wrapped the rope around their own necks and don’t even know it.
“Look at this, boys,” one sneers, trying so hard to sound cocky it almost makes me yawn. “A little mouse, scurrying into a trap.”
I whip around, eyes wide, mouth open in a gasp. I stumble back, clutching my chest. “Oh noooo,” I wail, trembling like a bad actress in a B-grade horror flick. Their steps falter, confusion tripping them.
Two in front, two flanking, one skulking in the rear like he’s a puppet master. Classic. Predictable. I widen my eyes, step back,shrinking like a rabbit. “Five against one? That’s hardly fair. What are you gonna do with me?” My voice trembles, all breathy fear—but my pulse is thrumming with delight.
He laughs, the sound thick as tar. “Pretty little thing like you? You’ll make perfect bait. When your boys see you strung up, they won’t keep ignoring our boss.”
I whimper. Bend lower. Fingers curl around the blades in my boots. “Please,” I croon, voice breaking into a high, shivering note. “Don’t hurt me, Mister Bad Guys…”
The one who steps forward first doesn’t even realize he’s already dead. He leans in, trying to taste my fear. “You should never have come here. Things are about to get real ugly.”
And that’s when I laugh. A sharp, manic crack that echoes like gunfire. “Ugly?” I snarl, rising in a blur of motion. “Yeah, I can do ugly.”
The blades sing as I bury them in his throat. Blood sprays, painting the alley red. His body hits the ground before the others catch up to what just happened. The sound he makes is wet, a dying rattle.
“Oh,” I gasp theatrically, tilting my head at the corpse, “did I do that?” I giggle, high and sharp, before baring my teeth at the rest. “Three guesses who’s next!”
Chaos detonates. The others howl, blades flashing, lunging. Perfect. It makes my blood sing.
