Chapter 40 #2
That stirred them, but not in the way I’d expected. Darby’s pale brows knit together. Marvel wrung his hands and shifted from foot to foot. The twins exchanged matching frowns. Even Hemlock, whose usual demeanor was cool and unreadable, let his tail swish nervously behind his legs.
Zephyr still stared at me, but he looked… puzzled. Disoriented, almost.
How could he be surprised?
“You deserve better than this. All of you,” I continued, trying to fill the silence I didn’t understand. “You were dragged into something that fed off your bodies, your energy, your lives, and called it entertainment. No more.”
I looked around the club at the lights, the stage, the shadows in the rafters, and then back to the assembly. My gaze passed over the performers. “Now you’re free to choose where you go, who you are, and what comes next.”
Still nothing. No relief, no cheers. Just a rustle of uncomfortable bodies and unreadable stares. Could it be that the weight of autonomy was more than they were prepared to bear?
“I can’t give you back what was taken from you here,” I said. “But I can make damn sure nothing else is.” Turning to the second-floor landing, I indicated Maslow before telling Colette, “Get him out of here.”
“Gladly,” she replied, grabbing Maslow by the back of his shirt collar.
He yelped as she marched him down the stairs.
There was no protest this time. He knew he’d lost. She dragged him to the front entrance, shoved him out into the sunlit street, and locked the door behind him with a decisive click.
Still, no one moved. No one spoke.
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. Applause, maybe. A sigh of relief. Hell, even a sarcastic comment would’ve been welcome. I’d spent the past forty-eight hours preparing for this, celebrating my triumph in advance. But no one was happy. Instead, they looked almost… mournful.
Then Zephyr stepped forward.
He didn’t fling himself into my arms. Didn’t grin, or kiss me, or say thank you. He just came close and looked up at me with those wide, unguarded eyes.
“We don’t have anywhere else to go,” he said quietly.
The words hit harder than I was prepared for.
“You do,” I protested before remembering who else was listening.
Behind him, Darby crossed his arms over his chest, and his jaw clenched tight. One of the twins—Colt, I thought—dropped onto the edge of the stage and buried his face in his hands. Marvel blinked fast and looked down, picking at the seam of his sweatpants.
But Zephyr didn’t waver. He forged ahead.
“I know you mean well; I know you care.” He lifted his eyes to mine.
“But this…” He swept a hand around the club: the lights, the stage, the catwalks overhead, the velvet curtains clinging to the rafters.
“This wasn’t just Mazzy’s. It was ours too.
You can’t just take it away without asking if we’re ready. ”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. A long pause stretched between us before I said, “You’re not ready.”
Zephyr shook his head, and that gesture said more than a monologue. He wasn’t speaking just for himself.
I looked past him again. Darby’s glare hadn’t softened, the standing twin chewed on his lip, and Hemlock had gained a sort of bitter indifference.
I’d assumed I was buying the place to sabotage it, to gut it from the inside, then burn it down to the rotten foundation. I didn’t think about what would happen afterward. I certainly didn’t think I’d be standing here, holding the keys to the only home these six young demons had.
I adjusted my stance, suddenly antsy. It was starting to feel like the walls were looking at me.
Leaning closer to Zephyr, I lowered my voice. “Beauty, I don’t know the first thing about running a strip club.”
“I do.” Darby broke his tense pose to step forward. His kitten heels clicked smartly against the stage.
Zephyr perked up, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “He really does. He makes set lists and choreographs performances. He even does our makeup.” His voice warmed with pride like he was listing off a superhero’s powers.
I watched as Darby descended the stage with his chin held high.
“That’s a pretty impressive résumé,” I told him.
The petite demon’s glossed lips twitched into a smirk. “Not to mention years of experience.”
He stopped in front of me, the troublemaker whom I credited with starting this entire thing. The pretty boy I’d come looking for when I found my Beauty. An uninvited wingman, to whom I owed thanks.
“Pay?” I asked him, one brow lifting.
“Negotiable,” he said smoothly. As if he didn’t know exactly how much he was worth.
I tilted my head. “And what do you need me to do?”
Darby glanced back at his compatriots. They’d all recovered from their previously somber moods and now rallied behind their little leader.
“Keep the lights on,” Darby replied. “We’ll take care of the rest.”
I huffed a laugh. “Let the Dollhouse belong to its devils.”
Then came the rumble of approval. Not quite applause and adoration, but close enough. At least Zephyr clapped his hands.
“You say that like you aren’t one of us,” he teased, then pushed up to kiss my jaw.
I’d told him I didn’t care much for demons. I didn’t care much for anyone, really. But this little band of misfits watching me like I might just be the thing that kept their world spinning?
They looked at me like I belonged here.
And maybe—with equal parts reluctance and relief—I wanted to.