Chapter Seven #2
Fred: No complaints here. I’ll be down in five. Just gotta toss a knife in my purse since Wells likes to stab when no one’s looking.
Wells: You should be more worried when I am looking.
Me: Athens. Answer the question.
Karter: I added her. You’re welcome.
Me: Makes no sense for either of you to drive. I’ll wait.
Athens: That’s cute, but we’re good. Us girls need some… alone time.
Fred: Oh fuck. I’m in danger.
Athens: You’ll live. Probably.
Wells: Bold of you to assume that, considering she slept with your…
Me: Don’t finish that sentence, Wells. Athens, I’m dropping you the location. See you both there.
Athens: Bye, Devils ??
She’s going to be the death of me.
The club is already a war zone of lust and sweat by the time we walk through the doors.
Bass punches through the walls like a heartbeat gone rabid. Bodies grind under strobe lights that flicker like warning sirens, casting everyone in snapshots of sin. Skin on skin, mouths on necks, desperation bleeding through the fog.
We walk in masked, Devils in the flesh. Not for business tonight. But to remind them. Who we are. What we own.
The masks sit just above our mouths, sculpted shadows that conceal identity but amplify the power beneath. Our signature style. Black. Steel. Minimal. Menacing.
A new song hits, “CRZY” by Kehlani, and the floor explodes. A track for the reckless, for the ones who've already lost it or want to.
Fitting. Because if anything happens to Athens, I will lose my mind. And when I lose it, people bleed .
Bash is too quiet lately. Which means he’s planning. Which means I’ll kill him soon. But not tonight.
Tonight is ours.
Classes are behind us. Grades are solid. Our enemies are silent, for now.
I weave through the crowd, hearing fragments of desire cut through the music.
“Did you see the two fucking goddesses who just walked in?” “I’d pay to tear those clothes off.”
I follow their gaze, and time halts.
Athens.
Fucking hell.
I saw the outfit before. Glanced. Thought I understood it. I didn’t.
Not until now. Not until she’s descending into our world like a weapon carved out of sex and sin.
Those red pumps are a promise, fuck-me heels that make her legs stretch for miles. The black skirt clings to her waist like it was poured onto her, slits slicing up both thighs, showing skin that should be illegal.
And that top… that thin white halter that barely hides the tips of her nipples?
I’m going to rip it off. With my teeth.
She’s art. But not the kind you hang. The kind you worship . On your knees. In blood.
Fred flanks her like a flame of her own. Red dress, loose around the neck, clinging to her body like it knows she’ll break hearts tonight. Gold heels wrap her calves like shackles made for sin. She’s smirking, eating up the attention.
Good. She earned it. She protects what’s mine… or she burns for it.
The crowd parts for them like a living sea, drawn to divinity. Hands reach out, weak men playing the role of servants, offering stability as the girls descend the stairs like royalty carved in vice.
They thank them. Civilized. Then ghost toward the bar like they already own the place.
I don’t move. I don’t intercept. Not yet.
Let them decide how this night ends. Let them drink. Let them tease. Let them feel in control.
Because when the lights dim lower… When the masks come off…
They’ll remember. Who owns them. And what happens when a Devil gets jealous.
Luckily the club is full of Devils who aren’t in disguise, so I know they’ll always be safe. Picking up my phone, I fire off a round of texts to make sure it stays that way no matter what.
Me: Athens and Fred just walked in. I want eyes on them all night, no exceptions. This isn’t about killing your vibe. It’s about killing anyone who thinks they can touch what’s mine.
Devils: Understood.
Me: Good. Let’s enjoy ourselves. But keep your blades sharp. I don’t want a scene… Unless I’m the one making it.
I stalk toward the booth tucked in the shadowed edge of the club, the one that gives me the best view of everything and everyone.
The second I sit, I signal the waitress with a flick of my wrist. Scotch, no bullshit. Straight up. No ice, no mercy.
She brings the first glass, and I down it like I’ve been bleeding for weeks and this is the only thing that makes the pain stop. It scalds going down, burning like gasoline on the throat, but I welcome it.
“Keep them coming,” I growl, and she nods without making eye contact. Smart girl.
“Yo,” Onyx slides into the booth like a shadow, dressed in black and masked like the rest of us. “What’s good?”
“Nothing. Just needed a fucking minute to breathe,” I mutter, eyes locked on the crowd.
“You hear anything new about your old man?” he asks, scanning the dance floor like a predator.
“Not yet. Had Niko and Felix tail him last week. They’ll be here soon with the update.”
“Bet.” He leans back. Then, like a strike to the temple, he asks, “Why haven’t you fucked her yet?”
My gaze cuts to him over the rim of my next drink. “Curious, huh?”
He shrugs, cool as ever. “Don’t have what you, Wells, and Karter do with her. Not yet. I’m waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“The right time. If it happens, it happens. But I’m not about to force it. That’s not how she works.” He pauses, claps my shoulder. “I want her, yeah. But I want her to want me.”
Then he jacks my next drink without asking and vanishes into the chaos.
Typical Onyx. The only one of us who still pretends he has a conscience.
Several drinks later…
The buzz is thick, warm, coiled around my limbs like a vice I don’t mind. I rise, stretch, and head for the restroom.
Once inside, I ditch the mask and handle my business. The scent of piss, sweat, and spilled booze coats the air.
That’s when I hear them, two assholes stumbling in behind me.
“Bro, the dark-skinned girl in red? She wanted me. Did you see the way she looked at me?”
His voice is slurred, drenched in cheap whiskey and overconfidence.
“Fuck off,” his buddy snorts. “They were practically begging me to rail them. I’m telling you, I’m gonna get her somewhere quiet, slide my hand up that slit and stuff my fingers in her sweet little cunt until she bleeds.”
Bleeds.
Everything goes quiet inside me. Still. Cold. My dick’s away. My hands are clean. But now, I want them bloody.
I stalk to the sink, letting the faucet run just long enough for the tension in my shoulders to snap. “You dumb motherfuckers picked the wrong fucking club.”
They freeze behind me. One of them, the blond with a roid-bloated chest, narrows his eyes in the mirror.
“The fuck did you just say, boy?”
I turn, slowly, like I’ve got time to kill. And I do.
“I said you picked the wrong club. You should be more careful where you run your mouths. You never know when you’re talking about a Devil’s girl.”
Their faces pale.
“You’re one of them?” the other one stammers.
I pull the mask from my back pocket and slide it on with a wicked grin. “In the flesh.”
“We didn’t know, man. We didn’t know she was your girl.”
“She’s not just mine,” I interrupt, stepping forward. “But that’s not the fucking point.”
They backpedal until their spines hit the wall. Sweat trickles down their temples.
“You sound like the kind of men who have to drug women to get laid. Am I wrong?”
Silence. Then one of them mumbles, “Not all the time… they’re willing most of the time.”
“And the rest?” I growl.
He won’t meet my eyes.
“We spike their drinks. Just enough to make them pliable. Not to hurt them. Just enough to… enjoy them.”
“You enjoy fucking unconscious women?” I whisper, stepping close. “That’s your idea of a good time?”
They both nod, shaking now.
“That’s rape. You know that, right?”
One blurts, “The stuff we use, it’s too strong lately. Makes them black out.”
I still. My jaw tightens. There it is.
“Where the fuck are you getting it?”
“Guy named Kevin. Kevin Baxter. Said it’s imported, some designer shit from overseas. Makes ‘em loopy. Sometimes limp.”
I grin slowly. “Kevin Baxter. Cute.”
Then I grab the blond by the neck and slam his head into the mirror, just once. Blood flowers out across the glass like a spiderweb. His buddy screams.
“Let this be a lesson,” I snarl, voice low and venom-laced. “If I ever catch wind of you hurting another woman, drugged, drunk, or otherwise, I’ll carve your fucking names into my basement floor and decorate the walls with your teeth.”
I drop him like trash.
They both scramble out, pissing themselves as they go.
I adjust my mask, step over the blood, and calmly make my way back to the party.
Kevin Baxter just made my list.
And by the time I’m done with him, there won’t be enough left for a burial.
“That motherfucker,” I growl, voice low and lethal. “Was anyone else with him?”
Sandy Blond shakes his head too fast. “Nah, he came alone. We didn’t ask questions. Figured if we pushed, he’d ghost.”
Of course he would. Cowards like Kevin Baxter never stick around long enough to be held accountable.
“How do you know him?”
“We don’t,” the other one, Blondie, pipes in. “Asked around for someone who could score us the kind of hit we needed. Word got back that he was the guy.”
“And what kind of hit is that?” My tone drops to a near-whisper, edged in glass.
“The kind that makes them forget. Go limp. Do what they’re told.” His voice falters, like he knows he fucked up just saying it.
“And you didn’t think, just maybe, that was a fucking problem?”
They say nothing.
I lean forward slowly, smile tight enough to split skin. “Names. Now.”
“I’m Jeff Hornsby,” Sandy Blond mutters.
“Rick Daniels,” the other chokes out.
“And why the fuck haven’t I seen you two crawling around this place before tonight?”
Rick gulps. “We don’t usually hit this club. There’s another spot across town. We came here ‘cause… y’know… new faces. New, uh, opportunities.”
“Opportunities.” I echo the word like it tastes like poison. “You mean new women to drug, fuck, and forget.”
Their silence is deafening.
“You’ll walk out of here tonight,” I say. “But don’t mistake that for mercy. The Devils of Cliffside don’t give second chances.”
Their faces go pale. Sallow. Ghost-washed.
“If I even hear a whisper of you slipping again, your dicks will be gift-wrapped and delivered to your parents by morning.”
They’re shaking now. Good.
“Oh, and one more thing.” I smile like a blade. “Before I leave tonight, you’ll hand me a list. Names. Every girl you’ve ever slipped something to. If you can’t remember them, start praying for forgiveness, ‘cause I won’t.”
I clap Jeff on the shoulder, hard enough to make him stumble, and laugh when they both flinch.
“Enjoy the rest of your night. While it lasts.”
I leave the bathroom with bloodlust still licking the edges of my mind. Pulling out my phone, I fire off a text:
Me: Dash, dig into Jeff Hornsby and Rick Daniels. I want blood type, shoe size, fucking tax bracket.
Wells: They’re yours. One wrong breath, end them. I’m going to have a little chat with Kevin Baxter.
Cutting through the club, I slip past clusters of drunk bodies, mask still resting just under my chin. Nods follow me, some out of respect, most out of fear. Either works.
I make my way to the darker corner of the club where the lights don’t quite reach. Find a booth. Slide in.
Sindy, tight dress, long legs, killer smile, drops a rum and coke in front of me with chips and salsa like I asked for something that doesn’t bleed.
“Thanks, Sin,” I mutter.
“You got it, Devil,” she calls over her shoulder, already gone.
Leaning back, I sip slow and let the taste burn. I don’t need to move. Not yet.
I just watch. Eyes cold. Heart colder.
Kevin’s out there somewhere.
And I’m going to find out what kind of monsters he’s been selling to.
Then I’ll show him what real monsters do.
I don’t know how long I sit there, just that the glass is empty, the ice has melted, and the buzz in my veins is a poor substitute for the war brewing in my chest.
Then Felix and Niko slide into the booth on either side of me, their faces shadowed, unreadable. But I know that look. Something big. Something rotten.
Niko speaks first. “Evening. And apologies for the delay. We wanted to be sure before bringing this to you.”
My jaw tightens. “Spit it out.”
He does. “Your father… he married Miss Walker. Quietly. Legally.”
The words are a fucking blade to the gut.
I sit up straight, the alcohol vaporizing in my bloodstream like it never existed. “You’re telling me he married her?”
Felix nods. “Sealed. Certified. And buried under layers of legal red tape.”
I drag a hand down my face. “How the fuck does she not know?”
“She doesn’t remember,” Cairo says, appearing behind them. “Because he drugged her. On the night it happened.”
Silence detonates inside my skull. My vision tints red. I feel every breath scrape like razors down my throat.
“He drugged her?” My voice is low. Deadly. “Tell me you’re fucking joking.”
“He did worse,” Cairo says. “There’s more.”
“Then fucking tell me!”
“He orchestrated the whole thing as part of a debt trade-off,” Niko says. “We followed him. He met with two men, power players. We couldn't get close, but the facial structure matches. One looked like Archie Houghton. The other, Desmond Meadows.”
Devils. Old ones. Fathers of my own brothers.
My blood goes cold.
I snap toward Niko. “You get pictures?”
He’s already pulling out his phone. A few swipes later, he turns it to me. The screen lights up with grainy shots of the three men in a private room, shoulders hunched in conspiracy.
Snatching the phone, I zoom in. "Yeah… that’s them. Those two have been off the grid for months. No doubt hiding in plain sight.”
Felix leans in. “They talked money. Losses. Something about your father owing not just them but others . He called Athens his ‘golden ticket.’ A way to pay off his debts and buy back favor.”
“He sold her,” I whisper.
Cairo nods once. “Like property. Or worse. Like insurance.”
A silence falls heavy between us. A silence that tastes like blood.
I clench the phone in my fist. “And Dash?”
“He tapped the house,” Niko answers. “Said he’s piecing together more from the audio. Something about offshore accounts and old family bloodlines, but he wanted to be sure before dropping the full report.”
“He’s here tonight?”
“Somewhere. Probably still monitoring.”
“Good.” I stand, rage simmering just beneath my skin. “I’ll find him.”
I glance at them both. “You did good. Better than good. Go. Drink. Fuck. Burn off what you’ve learned.”
They nod, retreating, leaving me alone with the ghosts in my veins.
I stare down at the grainy photo again, at the face of my father, smiling like he hasn’t just condemned us all.
“What the fuck are you up to, Father?” I murmur, slipping the phone into my pocket.
Because whatever it is… It ends with blood.