Chapter 23
Ry
The drive back to the Playground is a blur of neon signs and empty streets. My city looks different tonight—not just because of Dead Devil's Night, but because for the first time in years, I'm seeing it with absolute clarity.
The SUV hums beneath us, Rev driving while I sit in the back with Hudson's head in my lap.
His breathing is labored but steady, his eyes occasionally fluttering open to meet mine before pain forces them closed again.
Kai rides shotgun, constantly checking his phone as reports filter in from our people across the city.
"Status update on Oliver?" I ask, gently stroking Hudson's hair.
"Definitely dead this time," Kai confirms, not looking up from his phone. "Our clean-up crew confirms he's a very messy stain on the pavement. They're handling it."
"Good." The word comes out colder than I intended, but I can't bring myself to care. Oliver—Silas—whatever he called himself, deserved worse than the quick death I gave him.
"And Camden's body?" I continue, needing to tie up all loose ends.
"Disposed of," Rev answers, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. "No trace left."
I nod, satisfied. "Any other problems?"
"Not tonight," Kai says with a grim smile. "Word's spreading fast about what happened. Nobody's stupid enough to make a move now."
As we approach the Playground, I can see the club is still in full swing despite the earlier chaos. Lights pulse in the darkness, and the bass from the music vibrates through the car windows as we pull up to the VIP entrance.
"Are you sure about this?" Rev asks, turning to look at me. "We could just go back home, deal with it tomorrow."
I shake my head, determination hardening in my chest. "No more shadows. No more hiding. It's time they knew exactly who they're dealing with."
Hudson stirs in my lap, his eyes opening with effort. "I'm coming in too," he says, his voice rough with pain.
"You can barely stand," I argue, though I know it's futile.
He meets my gaze, unwavering despite his pallor. "I'll stand next to you or die trying."
I should protest more, but the truth is, I want them all with me for this. My men. My family. My strength.
The moment we enter the club, Stella's face is a masterpiece of horror. Her eyes widen to almost comical proportions as she takes in my blood-splattered appearance, her gaze darting between me and the three battered men flanking me like avenging angels.
"What the actual fuck?" she hisses, rushing toward us as we enter through the back entrance.
"I've been trying to reach you for hours!
The whole place went dark, people were panicking, and then—" She stops short, finally registering the full extent of our injuries. "Is that... is all that blood yours?"
"Not mine," I reply, the ghost of a smile playing on my lips. "Not theirs either. At least, not most of it."
Her eyes land on Hudson, who's standing through sheer force of will, his face ashen. No pain medication, no rest—just a fresh field dressing and that insufferable stubbornness that makes me want to simultaneously slap him and kiss him.
"Jesus Christ, he needs a doctor," Stella whispers.
"Tell him that," I say dryly. "I've tried."
"I'm fine," Hudson grits out, the words becoming his mantra for the night. His hand presses against his side.
Stella looks like she wants to argue, but something in my expression must warn her off. Instead, she turns back to me, switching to business mode with the adaptability that makes her invaluable.
"The club is still packed," she reports. "Most people thought the earlier glitch was part of the show, especially when that spotlight came on for Malik's performance. The important people are all still here—mayor, police commissioner, district attorney, all the key players."
"Who's running the lights and sound right now?"
She blinks, thrown by the abrupt change of subject. "Marco. He stepped in after the blackout when Dylan didn't come back."
"Dylan was on Oliver's payroll," Kai supplies, his split lip curling into a snarl. "He'll be dealt with."
Stella's eyes widen slightly, but she recovers quickly. "Good fucking riddance," she mutters. "Never liked him anyway. Always leering at the dancers."
"He won't be a problem anymore," I assure her. "I need to make a statement."
Stella nods, already understanding what I need. "I'll have them kill the music and put a spotlight on the mezzanine. Five minutes enough prep time?"
“Perfect,” I confirm. I turn to my men, my gaze lingering on Hudson. "Last chance to wait this out downstairs."
He straightens despite the pain it clearly causes him, his jaw set in stubborn determination. "Not a chance in hell."
The twins flank him without being asked, ready to catch him if his strength fails. The sight of their automatic coordination, their unspoken understanding, makes something warm unfurl in my chest despite the night's horrors.
"Let's go," I say, leading the way to the mezzanine that overlooks the main floor.
I feel a strange calm settling over me. For two years, we've ruled from the shadows, letting rumor and fear do our work for us. The mystery was part of our power—the unseen hand that controlled the city's underworld. But tonight has changed everything. Tonight, the shadows were used against us.
It's time for a new approach.
We reach the mezzanine, and I position myself at the railing that overlooks the main floor.
From here, I can see the entire club—the dance floor packed with bodies moving to the music, the VIP booths where the city's elite pretend they're not rubbing shoulders with criminals, the performance spaces where dancers twist and turn in hypnotic patterns.
I nod to Stella, who's watching from below. She speaks into her headset, and seconds later, the music cuts out abruptly. Confused murmurs ripple through the crowd as the lights dim, leaving only a single spotlight that finds me on the mezzanine.
The reaction is immediate and dramatic. Gasps echo through the suddenly silent club as people take in my appearance—the blood still staining my skin despite my hasty cleanup, the cold fury in my eyes, the three battered men arrayed behind me like harbingers of death.
I let the silence stretch, let them look their fill. Let them see what happens when someone crosses us.
"Good evening," I say, my voice carrying through the sudden silence. "I apologize for the interruption, but I have an announcement to make."
Below me, I can see officials from the mayor's office, police captains, district attorneys—all the power players who came to curry favor with the mysterious owners of the newest hot spot in the city. Their faces register shock, confusion, fear as they realize who stands before them.
Perfect.
"For two years I let the city whisper about the ghost in its veins—the phantom who ruled from the dark. You thought that meant I was hiding. You were wrong. The dark was never my cage—it was my weapon."
The crowd stills completely, hundreds of eyes fixed on me as I continue.
"You wanted a name. A face. A devil you could see? Here I am."
I let my gaze sweep over them, lingering on the officials who've profited from our rule while pretending not to know who really runs this city.
"If you touch me, or mine, you'll learn why the graves are already full of fools who tried. You'll join the other dead devils who thought they could take what's ours and walk away breathing."
Behind me, I feel rather than see Hudson sway slightly. Without missing a beat, Rev and Kai shift closer, supporting him while maintaining the illusion of strength. My heart swells with fierce pride and love.
"We didn't build this place for ourselves alone. We rebuilt it so people could walk home without looking over their shoulder, so kids could run these streets without hearing footsteps they feared. I took the night so the city could sleep. I bled so others wouldn't have to."
The silence is absolute now, the air charged with tension and something else—respect, perhaps. Or fear. Or both. I don't care which, as long as they listen. As long as they understand.
"So remember this moment before you cross us—the shadow has a face, and she's smiling."
I bare my teeth in what only the most generous observer would call a smile, letting them see the predator I've always been.
"Welcome to my playground. Play nice or you will become a dead devil too."
For a heartbeat after I finish, the silence holds—a perfect, crystalline moment suspended in time. Then, from somewhere in the back of the crowd, a single person begins to clap. The sound is joined by another, then another, until applause thunders through the club, punctuated by whoops and cheers.
I hadn't expected applause. Screams, maybe. A stampede for the exits. Not this strange, almost reverent recognition.
I turn slightly, catching Hudson's eye. Despite his pain, there's pride shining in his gaze, a fierce approval that warms me from the inside out. Rev and Kai wear matching expressions—part admiration, part possessive heat that promises retribution of a different sort once we're alone.
Stella takes the cue without being told, getting the music started again as the spotlight fades. The spell breaks as the crowd returns to their drinking and dancing, though the energy has shifted. There's an edge to the revelry now, a heightened awareness that they're dancing in the devil's domain.
I’m left bathed in the ambient glow of the club lights.
I should feel triumphant. I should want to descend to the main floor and lose myself in the rhythm, feel the bass vibrating through my bones until I forget everything but the music.
That's what I would normally do on Dead Devil's Night—dance until dawn, celebrating our power, our victory, our survival.
But not tonight.
Tonight, all I can think about is getting home. Getting clean. Crawling into bed with my men and sleeping for a week. My body aches with exhaustion, every muscle screaming for rest. The dried blood on my skin feels tacky and uncomfortable, a constant reminder of everything we've been through.
"Let's go home," I say, turning to face my battered family.
Hudson sways slightly, his jaw clenched against the pain. "I'm fine," he insists before any of us can comment.
"Sure you are," I say dryly. "And I'm the Queen of England."
"No, you’re not," Kai interjects, his eyes glittering dangerously in the low light as he slides a steadying arm around Hudson's waist. "But you are the queen of the dead city. And we're your loyal subjects."
"I can walk," Hudson protests, though his complexion has gone from ashen to nearly translucent.
"Shut up," I tell him, with no real heat behind the words. "I love you, you stubborn asshole, but you've proven your point. You're the toughest bastard in the room. Now let us take care of you before you actually die and ruin my night completely."
A ghost of a smile touches his lips before pain wipes it away. "Wouldn't want to inconvenience you."
"Damn right," I mutter. “Old man.”