Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Devon
It's late evening by the time my rideshare drops me off at home.
For a long moment, I just stand in the driveway with an idiotic grin on my face and stare at the pinkening sky. A few stars peek out here and there, which is fine. I don't even care if they see me right now. I feel so good.
When I finally step up to the door and jiggle the handle, it doesn't budge. But my smile stays in place, because I’m still riding the high of freedom, adrenaline buzzing under my chilled skin.
Accepted.
The judge accepted my plea deal.
No prison. Probation, drug court and community service, but no fucking cell for the next fifteen years. I walked out of that courtroom feeling lighter than I have in a long fucking time.
“Christian,” I shout, switching my grocery bag to the other hand before banging on the door. “Logan? Open up, it's Dev.”
Silence greets me from the other side, and I lean against the door to pull my phone out of my dress pants.
With a chuckle, I look down at the black button-up I'm wearing.
Bought it off a discount rack this morning before court, along with more new clothes in the bag.
It felt surreal being a functional member of society for once, but… in a good way.
It also reminded me that I need to start working out again. I miss the muscles I used to have.
Pulling up my messages, the grin on my face grows when I see Christian’s two texts from earlier.
You good?
I'm running a few errands today if you wanna come. And then come with.
I glance at the driveway and finally notice that his Bronco's gone.
Coming sounds amazing, hot shot. Where are you? Door's locked and it's cold.
No immediate answer. When I hit the call button, it goes straight to voicemail too, so I bring up Owen's message asking if I want to hit up a Halloween party tonight.
Hey, sorry, I just got out of court. Anyone gonna be at the apartment soon to let me in?
It takes only a few seconds for him to respond.
Uh… no, everyone's here drinking. You had court?
My brows furrow slightly, smile faltering on the word everyone.
Yeah, for the drug shit. Went good tho. Is Christian there?
He is. Hang on, I'll send you a ride.
My chest constricts as I shove my free hand into my pocket and rock back on my heels. It's fine, it's cool. He probably didn't mean to lock me out on purpose. Maybe he forgot I don't have a key or something. No big deal.
The sky’s gone a deeper purple now, stars shining through like they’re curious to see what happens next. A second later, my phone buzzes again with another message from Owen.
I don't think he knew you had court.
The ache in my chest deepens, and I thumb out a response, tonguing my lip piercing.
Did he say something?
Three dots appear, then disappear. Then reappear again.
The Uber should be there soon, just find us when you get here.
I drop down onto the porch, grocery bag rustling against my leg as I blow out a breath. Instantly, my good mood vanishes.
Guess Christian did, in fact, lock me out on purpose. Owen doesn't need to spell it out for me; I’ve known Christian long enough to read between the lines.
It takes about ten minutes for the ride to show up, and I spend it the entire time shivering my ass off on the porch with my head in my hands. When the car nears the nightclub, a dark feeling prickles the back of my neck. Flickering neon hits my eyes in the distance before the driver even stops.
“Here you go,” she says, already halfway turned around in her seat. “Party’s poppin’ tonight.”
“Yeah,” I mutter as I get out. “Looks like it.”
The car pulls away before I can second-guess myself, tires crunching over gravel as it disappears down the road.
I’m left standing on the sidewalk with my dumb grocery bag, staring at the pulsing lights of a club that sits way too fucking close to Arnie’s bar for comfort.
Music thumps through the ground, vibrating up my legs, making my skin itch.
Eyeing Arnie’s sideways, I can already see a few guys smoking outside. One of them glances my way.
“Fuck.” Taking out my phone, I send Owen a quick text to let him know I can't get in.
They suspended my license for the next six months. Can you send Christian out?
A few more sets of eyes notice my presence. I shift on the curb and set the grocery bag between my feet nervously. Two bikers peel off from the group down the block, smoke curling from their cigarettes, and I recognize them immediately: Arnie’s cronies who beat the shit out of me.
All of my nerves begin firing at once. I instinctively take a step back, nearly tripping over the curb as I try to call Owen on the phone. He doesn’t pick up.
The two assholes stroll toward me leisurely like they’ve got nowhere else to be. My pulse jumps, adrenaline dumping straight into my bloodstream. Every muscle tenses, my freeze response trapping me in place.
“Look who crawled back,” one of them calls, a nasty grin on his face.
All I can think about is how fucking tired I am of getting my ass kicked.
“Not here for you,” I shout back, reaching down to grab my bag again.
They only laugh as they draw closer, less than ten feet away. I mentally prepare myself for the pain of a punch and do my best to block out memories of my grandfather and his belt, or of summer camp and that fucking counselor.
This is sick.
You are sick.
You know you deserve this, so be quiet and take it.
Take it, take it, TAKE IT—
“Devon!”
A hand grips my arm, jolting me back into my body. I yank myself away on instinct and look down into a pair of brown eyes gazing at me from beneath a fuzzy hood and suit.
A fucking teddy bear suit.
“What the hell are you wearing?” I ask Owen, glancing sideways to see Arnie’s guys retreating.
“I'm an Ewok,” he responds matter-of-factly. “Come on. Bouncer's my friend, he owes me a favor.”
With a harsh swallow, I cast one last glance over my shoulder before following him inside the club.
Heavy bass envelops us instantly. Fake cobwebs cling to the corners, and plastic skeletons dangle from chains above.
Strobe lights flash, casting everything in violent pulses that make it hard to tell what’s decoration and what’s not.
Fog machines blow cold vapor around my ankles.
I flinch when something brushes my arm, only to realize it’s a rubber limb attached to the wall.
Owen, in his ridiculous teddy bear suit, keeps a firm grip on my wrist as he steers us through the crowd. We pass a group of witches taking shots out of plastic skulls, then Ghostface grinding against a slutty angel. Everything crashes together until my senses feel overloaded.
“Found him!” Owen shouts when we stop near the bar.
Logan stands against the counter, dressed in metallic gold from head to toe. Even his face is painted.
“You supposed to be C3PO?” I snort.
Logan’s eyes widen when they drop over my clothes. “Damn, you look nice. Where's your costume?”
I wink, even though my insides still feel like jelly. “Had court this morning, but I can be your Darth Vader.”
“How'd it go?” Salem asks flatly, bright red strands curled and loose. She's got a sexy black crop top on and a Boba Fett helmet under her arm. I think it's safe to say that she's still holding a grudge from last summer.
Since, you know, I fucked her husband and then almost killed him in a motorcycle crash.
“Fine. Christian around?”
They're all silent for a long moment, staring at each other. A bad feeling skitters across my skin.
“Look,” Salem sighs, setting her helmet down with a thunk. “Before anything happens, you need to understand that you don't have the best track record, Dev.”
I blink at her slowly. “Yeah, I'm well aware.”
“He's…” Logan trails off before peeking sideways. “He's over there, by the DJ.”
Following his line of sight, I turn my attention to a row of mismatched coffins where Christian is currently dancing. He's dressed as Indiana Jones, complete with a hat and the brown leather jacket that I left behind this morning. A coiled whip swings on his belt.
He's also not alone.
A woman presses against him, hardly wearing anything that could be considered a costume. Her hands slide up his chest, and he throws his head back to laugh, hips moving easily against hers to match the beat.
Something dark and ugly twists inside my chest.
“Oh,” I breathe.
Christian spins her once, then pulls her back in by the waist before whispering into her ear. Whatever he said has the woman grinning with enough suggestion on her face that I can practically smell the sex from here.
The realization of what I'm seeing hits me hard, humiliation flooding my veins.
He didn't lock me out on accident, or because he was worried. He did it because he was pissed off. And he's here to forget about me.
“Well,” I mutter, forcing a crooked smile on my face. “Guess that answers that.”
Owen reaches out to grab my wrist. “Dev—”
“I’m good,” I rush out. “Really. I just wanted to—”
To what? Tell him the judge didn’t send me to prison? That I bought new clothes and a fucking dirt bike keychain with his name on it? What a fucking joke.
Gently pulling my wrist free, I take a step back. “I’m gonna head out.”
Salem turns fully toward me now, her expression unreadable. “You don’t have to leave.”
“I probably should.” My eyes are still locked on Christian as the girl stretches onto her toes, lips puckered.
And that’s when Christian looks up, our eyes locking across the buzzing dance floor.
His smile vanishes.
Hope blooms inside my gut, but instead of pulling away from the woman to approach me, he keeps his gaze on mine as he dips his head…
And kisses her right on the mouth.
A tidal wave of hurt crashes over me.
“Wow,” Owen says, turning his attention toward me. “That's, uh…”
“I'm out,” I spit, turning on my heel to head for the door, Arnie's men be damned.
Getting kicked in the face would feel ten times better than the bullshit I just witnessed. They'd probably drag me back to his bar anyway, and I'd end up in the same situation as before.
Maybe I should let them. What is even the point of doing all this noble shit for, anyway? Not like it matters when I have nothing and no one to cheer me on. Maybe some numbness is exactly what I need.
Maybe it'll kill me this time.
“Dev, wait.” Another hand grabs my shoulder before I can get more than a few steps away, and I crane my neck to see Logan standing behind me.
“Let me go.”
“No, just hang on.” He licks his glossy lips nervously before his palm slides into mine. The feeling of our fingers threading together keeps me in place. “Why don't you dance with me?”
I stare at him for a long moment. “What?”
“Well… everyone else is partnered up. Salem and Owen are chatting, Christian’s occupied. So dance with me.”
His lips quirk into that crooked grin of his, and a blast of déjà vu renders me speechless.
I'd said those exact words to him once, at a street market in Indianapolis last summer, when we found ourselves in an eerily similar situation.
I kissed him in front of everyone that night, effectively outing him to all his friends and changing the course of the entire tour. Salem beat the shit out of me for it.
“But you're my brother,” I say, echoing his response to my offer last year with a cocky smirk.
“Adopted.” He grins, pulling our bodies flush. “And I think some innocent dancing with me is the least you can do after everything that's happened.”
“Innocent, huh?” My arms wrap around his waist, plastic bag dangling in my hands as I hold him tightly.
“Yes. No dick jokes or funny business.”
I snort despite myself, even as my attention quickly darts to Christian and back. Gold flakes sparkle on Logan’s cheeks, giving his honey eyes a warm glow. We sway like that for a while, gazing at one another.
“So you and Christian?” he asks eventually, tilting his head.
My throat tightens. “I thought… well, obviously not.”
I don't even know what I thought. A few blowjobs and one fuck aren't exactly a declaration of love. Not that I expect him—or anyone—to love me, but… some mutual feelings would have been nice.
Logan shakes his head. “I don't think that's true.”
“What part?”
“You and him being not. I can feel him watching us.”
“So? Your wife and boyfriend are looking, too.” Reaching up, I wipe my thumb along one of his lashes to dislodge a gold flake. “Are you wearing mascara?”
“Kiss me,” he blurts, catching me way the fuck off guard.
Our movements cease, and it’s all I can do to gape at him.
Logan shrugs. “You want his attention? That'll do it. If he lets it happen, then you're right. But I don't think he will.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“Nope.” His hands come up to cup the back of my neck. “Do you trust me?”
I have to stop and think about that, realizing with a shock that I do. “Well, yeah.”
“Then kiss me.”
For one suspended heartbeat, I don’t move.
Across the room, I can feel the weight of Christian’s gaze like a live wire on my skin. The music changes, drums vibrating up my ribs as Descending by Sleep Token shifts the atmosphere. A slow, gyrating rhythm begins to coil in my stomach as Logan's every curve lines up with mine.
“Okay,” I murmur, more breath than word. Then I lean in and softly press my lips to his.
The kiss is gentle and chaste—no tongue, no heat, just a deliberate mouth press meant to be seen more than felt. Everyone around us seems to collectively sigh.
When I pull back an inch, my pulse hammers in my ears.
“See?” Logan whispers, slowly opening his eyes. “Innocent.”
Christian is no longer dancing.
His partner looks confused, her hands hovering on his shoulders, but he's not paying her any attention. His body is rigid, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping even from here. One hand fists at his side, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t let her go.
He needs to let her go.
So I take Logan’s jaw in my hands and kiss him again, this time plunging my tongue into his mouth.