The Devil Was Never Yours
Daemon Pallid has spent years making certain no one gets close enough to see what lives beneath the scars.
Femi Vale changes that.
As the distance between them disappears, Daemon begins giving his little ghost the pieces of himself he has never trusted anyone else to hold—the truth about his past, the violence that made him, and the Devil that has lived inside him for longer than he cares to remember.
And finally, Daemon stops pretending Femi isn’t his.
But somewhere beyond Helix, Carr Booth is still watching.
From a distance, Carr reaches into Femi’s life simply to prove that he can, dragging painful pieces of her past back into the present and testing how far his influence can travel. Then he finds Lily Thomas again.
Jealous, bitter, and still convinced she can take what belongs to Femi, Lily accepts Carr’s money in exchange for photographs—and something far more personal. Something that belongs only to Femi.
Lily has been spared before. This time, she learns that mercy is not the same thing as permission. And some things can never be stolen.
Because Carr isn’t collecting souvenirs. He’s preparing. Every photograph. Every secret. Every weakness. Every carefully placed piece brings him closer to the woman he has already decided belongs beside him. His queen.
And this time, Carr has no intention of leaving her a way out.
Carr Booth smiles.
“Bring me, my Queen.”
Daemon claimed his little ghost. Now another man intends to take her.
And Carr is about to discover why the most dangerous thing he could ever steal from the Devil— is his quiet.
The Devil was Never Yours
Table of Contents
The shipping container door slammed shut.
Darkness swallowed them.
Then Harlon switched on a work light.
The harsh white glare revealed the stained mattress beneath Lily, the empty liquor bottles scattered across the floor, and an open suitcase shoved against the wall.
Money filled the suitcase. Not clothing. Not food. Bundles of cash. Malone looked at it.
“Five thousand?”
Lily pressed herself against the steel wall.
“That isn’t mine.”
The Devil stirred.
Lie.
Harlon crouched beside the case and lifted one bundle.
“Still wrapped.”
He examined the band.
“Ten thousand.”
Malone’s gaze sharpened.
“Angelo paid you twice?”
Lily shook her head too quickly.
“Marco had some money.”
“Marco was nearly homeless before his brother returned.”
“He saved it.”
“No,” Malone said. “He didn’t.”
The Devil agreed.
Femi stood in the center of the container with rainwater dripping from the hem of her coat. She looked at Lily. Not the money. Not the phone. Lily.
The Devil watched Femi instead.
For a year, they had shared everything. Food. Blankets. Work. Cold nights beneath Wolfwater Bridge when the wind off the river became sharp enough to cut through layers of cardboard and stolen coats. Femi remembered washing Lily’s hair in the public restroom sink. Stealing cold medicine when Lily developed a fever. Sleeping beside her with one arm across Lily’s body because Marco had disappeared and strange men kept circling the camp. She remembered Lily crying against her shoulder. Promising they would escape together.
Now Lily looked at her as though those memories had belonged to someone else.
The Devil whispered:
She loved you.
Not the way Femi loved Daemon. Not the way Malone loved her. But she had loved Lily. Protected her. Fed her. Kept her alive. And Lily had known it.
“Femi,” Lily whispered. “I can explain.”
Femi’s hands moved.
Did you drug me?
The Devil became utterly still.
Lily stared at her fingers. She had never learned more than a handful of signs. Never enough to understand the woman she called her closest friend. The Devil’s disgust deepened.
Years.
Years beside Femi. And Lily had never bothered to learn how she spoke.
“What did she say?”
Daemon stood beside Femi.
His pale hair had grown wet in the rain, and several strands clung to the scar along his cheek. He did not translate. Lily looked at Malone.
“What did she ask?”
“No,” Malone said.
Lily blinked.
“No what?”
“No one speaks for her until you tell the truth.”
The Devil liked Malone’s answer.
“I don’t know what she asked.”
“That sounds like a problem you had years to correct.”
Femi repeated the sign. Slower. Lily watched her hands. Then looked away.
The Devil growled.
Look at her.
Daemon leaned close to Femi.
“May I?”
She nodded.
The Devil settled immediately.
She chose.
His gray eyes returned to Lily.
“She asked if you drugged her at the Azure Room.”
Lily became still.
“No.”
The Devil whispered:
Wrong.
Femi’s face did not change.
“I didn’t.”
Daemon’s attention shifted toward the suitcase.
Lily followed his gaze.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“You said no,” Malone reminded her.
Lily’s breathing quickened.
“I didn’t drug her. I put something in her drink, but it wasn’t supposed to hurt her.”
Daemon’s crooked smile appeared. No humor lived inside it. The Devil almost laughed.
She hears herself.
“You should hear yourself.”
“It was supposed to make her relax.”
“For Angelo?” Malone asked.
“He liked her.”
The Devil surged.
She said no.
Femi’s fingers moved.
I said no.
Lily recognized that sign. Her face tightened.
“You always said no.”
The words escaped with more anger than fear. Femi stared at her.
The Devil did too.
Yes.
“You said no to everything,” Lily continued. “No to Angelo. No to men who had money. No to anyone who could have helped us.”
Femi signed.
They did not want to help.
“You didn’t know that.”
I knew what they wanted.
The Devil whispered:
She knew.
“We were starving!”
Femi pointed toward the suitcase.
You were paid.
Lily looked at the money.
Daemon translated.
“She says you were paid.”
“I did what I had to do.”
Femi’s hands rose again.
So did I.
The Devil went quiet. There. The difference. Both had been hungry. Both had been cold. Both had slept beneath the same bridge. But Femi had survived without turning Lily into currency.
Lily laughed bitterly.
“Yes, you worked.”
The contempt in her voice changed the air inside the container.
The Devil’s head lifted.
“You cleaned toilets. Hauled garbage. Let people work you until your hands split open, then came back to the camp acting like you were better than everyone.”
Femi recoiled as though Lily had struck her.
Daemon moved.
No.
Femi caught his wrist.
The contact stopped him instantly.
The Devil did not stop.
She hurt her.
Daemon did.
Femi’s fingers tightened around his wrist.
The Devil pressed harder.
She hurt her.
“She said stop.”
The Devil went still. Femi had not actually signed the word. She did not need to. Her hand was enough. The Devil had learned her too well.
Fine.
It sounded furious about it. Lily saw the exchange. Jealousy entered her expression. It was old. Older than Angelo. Older than the money. Perhaps as old as the first night Femi returned to camp carrying food and gave Lily the larger portion.
The Devil saw it.
There.
“You never complained,” Lily said. “Do you know how much I hated that?”
Femi’s fingers released Daemon.
Her hands became still.
“You would come back bleeding and smile like it was fine. Someone needed food; you found it. Someone needed a blanket, you gave them yours.”
Lily’s eyes filled with tears.
“You made everyone love you.”
The Devil’s fury changed.
Femi shook her head.
“Yes, you did.”
The container held only rain and Lily’s rising voice.
“Jerri loved you. The old women loved you. Even Marco noticed you first.”
The Devil disliked Marco being included. But it understood. Lily wiped angrily at her face.
“Everywhere you went, people wanted to protect you. You didn’t even have to ask.”
The Devil whispered:
Because she protected them.
Malone’s expression hardened.
“She was a homeless child.”
“So was I!”
“And she protected you.”
“I never asked her to.”
Femi looked down. Daemon’s jaw clenched. The Devil understood the wound Lily had chosen. Not the drugging. Not the money. The dismissal of every small kindness Femi had bled to give.
Femi’s hands moved.
You ate the food.
Lily stared at her.
You took the money.
Another sign.
You slept beneath my blanket.
“Stop.”
The Devil watched Femi’s hands.
You came to me when Marco hurt you.
“Stop it.”
You said I was your family.
“I said stop!”
Lily lunged.
The Devil moved before thought existed. She never reached Femi. Daemon caught her by the throat and drove her against the container wall. Metal thundered behind her. Lily clawed at his wrist. Her shoes kicked above the floor.
The Devil looked through his eyes.
You do not lunge at her.
Its grip tightened through Daemon’s hand.
You do not touch her.
“Daemon.”
Malone’s warning came low. Daemon did not release her.
The Devil did not want to.
No.
Femi touched his back. One palm between his shoulders. Everything stopped. The Devil felt her. Warm even through wet clothing. One small hand. No fear. No force. Just Femi.
Little ghost.
His fingers loosened immediately. Lily collapsed upon the mattress, coughing and dragging air into her lungs. Daemon turned toward Femi. She looked at him. Then raised one hand.
Thank you.
The Devil purred.
Not because it had nearly killed Lily. Because Femi had touched them to stop them— and trusted they would. Daemon stepped aside.
Lily pressed a hand to her throat.
“You see?” she rasped. “They all do whatever you want.”
The Devil almost smiled.
We listen.
Femi shook her head.
“I didn’t have anyone,” Lily said. “Not like you.”
Femi stared at her in disbelief. Malone laughed once. There was no humor in it.
“She slept beneath a bridge.”
“She had people.”
“She had you,” Malone said. “Apparently that was worse than having no one.”
Lily’s face twisted.
“You don’t know what it was like.”
“Then explain it.”
“I was trying to survive.”
“So was she.”
“I couldn’t live the way Femi did.”
“Honestly?”
Harlon zipped the suitcase shut.
“You still aren’t doing particularly well.”
The Devil approved. Lily looked at him with hatred. Harlon lifted the suitcase.
“I was referring to your current residence.”
Lily turned back to Femi.
“Angelo gave us ten thousand dollars to find a place.”
Femi’s eyes sharpened.
“We were going to come back for you.”
The Devil whispered:
Lie.
Her fingers moved.
When?
Daemon translated. Lily opened her mouth. No answer emerged.
“Marco said we needed to get settled first.”
How long?
“A few days.”
Femi waited.
The Devil waited with her.
“Maybe a week.”
Femi continued waiting.
Lily broke beneath the silence.
“We spent it.”
Malone stepped closer.
“How quickly?”
“I don’t know.”
“How quickly?”
“Three days.”
The Devil went quiet.
Three days. Ten thousand dollars. While Femi slept outside. Femi closed her eyes.
“Marco bought drugs,” Lily said quickly. “Most of it went to him.”
“How much went to you?”
“I needed things.”
“Like the green satin?” Harlon asked.
Lily’s gaze dropped toward her wrinkled clothes.
“It doesn’t matter now.”
Femi’s eyes opened. Her hands moved.
Did you come back?
Lily said nothing.
The Devil knew.
No.
Did you look for me?
“I knew where you were.”
The answer hollowed something in Femi’s face. Daemon saw it happen.
The Devil felt it.
She knew.
“You knew she was sleeping outside,” he said.
“Femi always survived.”
The Devil went silent. Completely. Lily heard her own words too late. Femi’s hands lowered. For years, she had wondered why Lily and Marco disappeared. She imagined them dead. Arrested. Injured. She had walked the river searching beneath bridges and inside abandoned buildings. She visited shelters where people chased her away because she could not speak. She saved food. Kept half a blanket folded beside her.
Waited.
They had known exactly where she was.
Femi always survived.
The Devil hated those words. People had been using Femi’s survival to excuse what they did to her for years. She survived being stabbed. Being shot.Survived institutions. Survived foster homes. Survived Julian. Survived the street. Survived Lily.
As though survival meant nothing had been taken. As though surviving made the wound acceptable.
The Devil whispered:
She should not have needed to.
The explanation was worse than cruelty. It was convenience. Lily had abandoned her because Femi’s suffering had never required Lily to feel responsible. Femi survived. Therefore Lily could do anything.
“I missed you,” Lily whispered.
Femi looked at her.
“I did. I thought about you all the time.”
Femi’s hands rose.
That is why you sent men after me?
“Angelo threatened Marco.”
You brought me to the park.
“He said they wouldn’t hurt you.”
Four men chased me.
The Devil remembered.
Four.
“I didn’t know that would happen.”
You told me to go with them.
“I was scared!”
Femi pointed toward herself.
So was I.
The Devil’s anger broke for one second. Not vanished. Broke. Because Femi had been scared. And still Lily had chosen herself. Lily began crying again. Real tears this time. They moved down her cheeks while she reached toward Femi.
“Please. You were my best friend.”
Femi stepped away from her hand.
The Devil approved instantly.
No.
Lily’s fingers closed around empty air.
“Tell them to let me go.”
Femi looked at Malone. Then Daemon. The two men waited. The Devil wanted to answer. It had many answers. None of them involved letting Lily go. But Femi had looked at them.
So the Devil did what it had learned.
It waited.
Choose, little ghost.
Neither man decided for her.
Lily noticed.
A desperate laugh escaped her.
“You’re going to let her choose?”
“Yes,” Malone said.
The Devil answered too.
Yes.
“She can’t.”
The temperature inside the container seemed to fall.
The Devil rose.
Lily looked at Femi and realized her mistake.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You did,” Daemon said.
The Devil entered his voice.
She can.
“She doesn’t understand what Angelo will do.”
“Angelo is in police custody.”
“He has people.”
“So does she.”
Lily stared at the men surrounding Femi. At Harlon holding the money. At Malone waiting with a father’s terrible patience. At the Devil, who watched Femi as though the world would end at the smallest movement of her hand. For the first time, Lily understood what Angelo had failed to understand. Femi had not been collected. She had not been purchased.She had been chosen. And everyone inside the container was waiting for her choice.
The Devil felt something almost like pride. It had once believed loving Femi meant making every decision that kept her safe. Now it stood in a shipping container with Lily within reach— and waited for Femi’s hands.
Femi’s fingers moved slowly.
Where is Marco?
Lily swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
Femi waited.
“He left me here.”
Her voice broke.
“He took the car and said he was going to find Angelo.”
“Angelo was arrested two days ago,” Malone said.
“I know.”
“Then where did Marco go?”
Lily looked toward the burner phone on the floor.
Daemon picked it up.
The screen required no code.
A message waited at the top.
MARKO: SOUTH BUS TERMINAL. 6:20. DON’T CALL AGAIN.
The Devil focused.
Marco.
Harlon checked his watch.
“Five forty-three.”
Malone took out his phone.
“I’ll send someone.”
Femi signed sharply.
Alive.
The Devil objected immediately.
Why?
Malone paused. His gaze lifted to hers.
“You want Marco alive?”
She nodded.
The Devil grumbled.
“For now?”
Femi nodded again.
The Devil reconsidered.
For now.
Malone placed the call.
Lily began to shake.
“What about me?”
No one answered.
“What are you going to do to me?”
The Devil wanted to answer that too. Daemon kept his mouth closed. Femi approached her. Lily flattened herself against the wall. Femi stopped close enough to touch her. She did not. Instead, she studied the woman she had once loved like a sister.
Then her hands moved. Lily looked desperately toward Daemon.
“What did she say?”
Daemon watched Femi complete the sentence. The Devil understood before the man did. His crooked smile appeared.
Oh.
“She says Angelo was wrong.”
Lily’s brow furrowed.
“About what?”
“He believed you sold Femi because you needed money.”
Daemon stepped closer. Femi remained between them. Silent. Steady. The Devil waited behind her.
“But you didn’t sell her because you were hungry.”
Lily stopped breathing.
“You sold her because people saw something beautiful in her.”
The Devil whispered:
They still do.
Daemon’s gray eyes became merciless.
“And every time they did, you remembered there was nothing beautiful in you.”
Lily’s face crumpled. Femi watched her. A tear moved down Femi’s cheek.
The Devil’s pleasure disappeared immediately.
Little ghost.
She wiped it away. Then she turned her back on Lily. The Devil moved with her.
“What does that mean?” Lily cried.
Femi walked toward the container doors.
“Femi.”
She did not stop.
“Please don’t leave me here.”
Femi’s shoulders stiffened. The Devil felt it. The same plea had once lived inside her. Unspoken. Unheard. Night after night beneath Wolfwater Bridge while she waited for Lily to return. Femi looked over her shoulder.
Her hands formed the final words.
You left me first.
The Devil became very quiet. No satisfaction. No triumphant whisper. Nothing could improve those words. Daemon opened the container. Rain and gray morning light entered. Femi stepped outside. Malone followed.
Then Harlon carried Angelo’s money into the rain. Daemon remained with Lily for one moment longer. She stared up at him from the filthy mattress.
“What happens now?”
The Devil wanted blood. It wanted payment. It wanted Lily to understand every cold night Femi had waited beneath that bridge. But that choice did not belong to it. Not anymore.
The Devil smiled.
“Now you learn whether my little ghost is more merciful than you deserve.”
Daemon stepped out. The doors remained open. Lily sat alone inside the container, listening as Malone received confirmation over the phone.
Marco had been found.
Alive.
The Devil stirred.
For now.
Sully’s had once been an automotive garage. The business closed twelve years ago, but the building remained beside Helix, its rusted sign hanging crooked above three dented service doors.
No one remembered who Sully had been. Wolfwater still used his garage. Marco sat beneath a hanging work light in the center repair bay. His wrists were secured to the arms of a steel chair. More restraints circled his ankles. Dried blood covered one side of his face from the moment Harlon’s men collected him at the South Bus Terminal.
His bus had been boarding. His bags had already been loaded.
Marco carried eleven hundred dollars, two changes of clothing, and no ticket for Lily.
The Devil found that interesting.
He left her too.
Malone placed the ticket on the workbench.
“One passenger.”
Marco smiled through his split lip.
“Lily hates buses.”
“She hates being abandoned more.”
“You’d have to ask her.”
“I intend to.”
Malone stood before him with his sleeves rolled to the elbows. Daemon remained near the service doors. Harlon leaned against an old hydraulic lift. Several men from Wolfwater occupied the shadows around the garage, silent enough that Marco kept forgetting they were there. Malone picked up the burner phone.
“Angelo sent you this?”
“Never seen it before.”
“It was found beside Lily.”
“Then it must be hers.”
“Your messages are on it.”
“People steal identities every day.”
Malone looked at Harlon.
“I liked him better when he was unconscious.”
“He talked less,” Harlon agreed.
The Devil agreed too. Marco laughed. The sound carried too loudly through the empty garage.
“You people think you’re frightening.”
“No,” Malone said. “We know.”
He placed a photograph upon the workbench. Marco entering the bus terminal. Another followed. Marco withdrawing cash. Then a third. Marco meeting one of Angelo’s men behind a motel three days before the attempted kidnapping.
“You sold Femi’s schedule,” Malone said.
The Devil came awake. Marco shrugged as far as the restraints allowed.
“Angelo asked questions.”
“You answered them.”
“He’s my brother.”
“You told him where she worked.”
“Not illegal.”
“You told him where she slept.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You described her clothing.”
“I have an eye for fashion.”
The Devil pressed forward.
Break his mouth.
Daemon remained still.
He thinks this is funny.
Malone stared at him.
Marco grinned.
“How did you know she still had the old phone?” Malone asked.
“Maybe I’m psychic.”
“Lily knew.”
“Sounds like you should question Lily.”
“We did.”
The smile weakened. Only slightly.
“What did she say?”
Malone ignored the question.
“You took ten thousand dollars from Angelo years ago.”
“Generous brother.”
“The money was intended for Femi.”
“He gave it to me.”
“To secure housing for her.”
“I secured housing.”
“For yourself and Lily.”
“The lease didn’t specify occupancy.”
The Devil stopped asking Daemon to break his mouth. Now it wanted his neck. Harlon pushed away from the lift. Malone raised one hand. Harlon stopped. Malone leaned down until his face was level with Marco’s.
“You left a nineteen-year-old woman sleeping beneath a bridge.”
“She liked the camp.”
No.
“She waited for you.”
Marco’s grin returned.
“Did she tell you that?”
“She searched for you.”
“Femi always was sentimental.”
Daemon’s head lifted. The movement was small. The Devil was no longer still.
She searched for him.
While Marco spent her money. While Lily bought things she needed. While Femi saved food. Kept half a blanket. Walked the river. Checked shelters. Waited.
And Marco called her sentimental.
He knew where she was.
Daemon’s fingers curled. Marco noticed. His smile stretched wider.
“What is he supposed to be?”
Malone straightened.
“Your final poor decision.”
The Devil liked Malone very much in that moment.
The side door opened. Daemon turned toward it before anyone else. Femi entered first. The Devil’s anger changed the instant it saw her.
Little ghost.
Her raincoat had been removed. She wore fitted jeans, dark boots, and a black shirt beneath her jacket. Her braid fell down the center of her back. The Glock rested against her spine. The Devil noticed immediately. Despite everything, a pleased purr moved through Daemon.
She brought it.
Of course she had. Lily entered behind her with her hands bound in front of her. One of Harlon’s men guided Lily toward a second chair. Marco saw Femi. His expression changed instantly.
“What’s that dumb mute whore doing here?”
The garage went silent. The Devil did not whisper. It roared. Daemon crossed the distance between them. His open hand struck Marco across the face. The chair left the floor. Marco crashed onto his side, still secured to it. His head struck the concrete, and the joke vanished from his face.
Daemon stood over him. Pale hair fell across his scar.
The Devil looked through his eyes.
Again.
“Speak of her like that again, and I will snap your neck.”
There was no anger in his voice. Anger could pass. This was a promise. The Devil agreed with every word.
Slowly.
Marco tasted the blood inside his mouth.
“You broke my jaw.”
“No,” Daemon said. “You are still speaking.”
Unfortunately.
Malone and Harlon lifted the chair upright.
Marco’s eyes found Femi again. He did not repeat the insult. Good. He could learn. Lily tried to surge out of her chair. Femi moved faster. The Glock appeared in her hand. The Devil’s fury paused.
Then—
Oh.
She pressed its muzzle against Lily’s temple. Lily froze halfway to her feet. The room stilled around them.
“Femi,” Lily whispered.
Femi’s eyes held no warmth. Lily looked desperately toward Marco. He could not help her. No one could.
“This is your fault,” Lily said.
Femi did not blink.
“I should have let you die.”
Daemon’s face emptied. The Devil became cold. Malone slowly turned toward Lily.
Even Marco stared at her. Lily heard herself too late. Fear made her laugh.
“You aren’t going to shoot anyway.”
The Devil almost smiled.
She really should stop saying things like that.
Femi moved the pistol away from Lily’s head. Relief entered Lily’s face. Then Femi aimed at her shoulder.
The Devil purred.
There.
The shot thundered through the garage.
Lily cried out as the bullet tore through flesh and struck the metal wall behind her. She fell hard beside the chair, her bound hands clutched against the wound.
“Lily!”
Marco fought his restraints. The steel chair scraped violently across the concrete.
“Lily!”
Femi lowered the Glock. Smoke curled near the barrel. Daemon looked at the neat hole through Lily’s coat. Then at Femi’s calm face.
The Devil purred so loudly inside him that it felt like a second pulse.
She did not miss.
Harlon glanced toward Malone.
“She really dislikes shoulders.”
Malone stared at Femi.
“I have noticed.”
The Devil was delighted.
We have noticed too.
Lily sobbed upon the floor.
“You shot me.”
Femi looked down at her. No apology came. The Devil approved. Marco continued struggling.
“You crazy bitch! She needs a doctor!”
The Devil’s pleasure disappeared. Daemon walked toward him.
Marco stopped.
Say it again.
Daemon almost wished he would.
“Now,” Daemon said, “explain how this is all Femi’s fault.”
Marco’s chest rose and fell.
He looked at Lily. Then at the pistol in Femi’s hand. His humor had disappeared.
“She ruined everything.”
The Devil stared at him through Daemon.
She fed you.
Malone pulled a stool closer and sat.
“How?”
“Angelo saw her.”
“You arranged that.”
“Lily did.”
A broken sound came from the floor.
“Marco—”
“You wanted the money,” he snapped.
“You spent it!”
“So did you.”
Malone leaned forward.
“Start at the beginning.”
Marco looked at Femi. Daemon stepped between them.
The Devil wanted his eyes too.
You do not get to look at her while you blame her.
“Look at me.”
Marco’s gaze rose.
“Angelo saw Femi with us,” he said. “After that, nothing was enough. Every time he called, he asked about her.”
“Because you kept answering.”
“He paid.”
“There it is,” Malone said.
The Devil whispered:
Always a price.
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“You don’t know what it was like. Angelo had everything. Clubs. Cars. Houses. I asked him for help for years and got nothing.”
“Then he saw Femi.”
“Yes.”
“And suddenly the money appeared.”
Marco laughed bitterly.
“Ten thousand dollars to get her off the street. More if I brought her to dinner. More if Lily sent photographs.”
Femi became still.
The Devil felt it immediately.
Photographs?
Daemon noticed.
“What photographs?” he asked.
Marco looked toward Lily.
“She took them.”
Femi’s gaze moved to the woman bleeding on the concrete. Lily shook her head frantically.
“Nothing bad. You were sleeping.”
The Devil pressed against Daemon’s bones.
Every trace of pleasure vanished.
Sleeping.
“Where?” Daemon asked.
“At the camp. In the motel. Sometimes when she was working.”
Femi’s grip tightened around the Glock. The Devil understood why. There was something particularly vile about it. Femi asleep. The rare hours when exhaustion finally overcame vigilance.
The only moments she could not watch the exits. Could not watch hands. Could not protect herself. And Lily had watched instead. Not to protect her. To sell the sight of her.
She trusted you enough to sleep beside you.
Lily began speaking faster.
“Angelo wanted proof you were eating. That you had clothes. He asked me to show him.”
“Did he ask for photographs of her sleeping?” Malone asked.
Lily said nothing.
“Did he?”
“He paid more for those.”
The Devil went very quiet. Marco closed his eyes.
“Stupid.”
Lily stared at him.
“You took half.”
“I didn’t take pictures.”
“You told me when she was asleep!”
The Devil turned its attention back to Marco.
Slowly.
You told her when.
Daemon’s jaw tightened. Not passive. Not merely Lily’s crime. Marco had helped. He had watched Femi grow tired. Watched her curl beneath stolen blankets. Watched exhaustion finally close those green eyes. Then told Lily when it was safe to take the photographs.
He sold her sleep.
Malone’s voice cut through them.
“How long?”
Neither answered. He stood.
“How long did you sell photographs of her?”
“Six months,” Lily whispered.
Femi’s face became blank.
The Devil felt something inside Daemon fracture.
Six months.
Six months beneath Wolfwater Bridge. Six months of waking with the sensation that someone had been watching. She had blamed fear. Old trauma. The instincts of a child who had never been safe. But someone had watched. Someone she trusted had waited until she slept.
The Devil remembered every night Femi had eventually slept beside Daemon. Every nightmare. Every frightened awakening. Every time she had allowed herself to close her eyes because she trusted him to remain. Sleep was trust.
Marco and Lily had sold hers.
Kill him.
Daemon approached Femi carefully.
She did not look at him.
Kill him.
He stopped within her reach.
Not touching.
Present.
The Devil strained against restraint.
He sold her while she slept.
“I know.”
Kill him.
“Not our choice.”
The Devil hated the answer. Hated Marco more. But Femi stood three feet away with the Glock in her hand. So it waited. Barely.
Malone turned back to Marco.
“You blame Femi because your brother paid attention to her.”
“He became obsessed.”
“That was not her doing.”
“He kept calling. Kept making demands. Lily and I started fighting.”
“Still not Femi’s fault.”
“We ran out of money.”
“You spent it.”
“He wanted her. Everything became about her.”
Marco pulled against the restraints.
“She didn’t even do anything. That was the worst part. She sat there with that blank look on her face, and everyone acted like she was something special.”
The Devil surged.
She is.
Femi’s eyes lifted.
Marco saw the wound his words created and smiled. That smile decided something inside the Devil. Not Marco’s fate. Femi would decide that. But if Femi gave the slightest permission— the Devil would make this man regret every tooth in his mouth.
Daemon seized the back of his chair.
The smile vanished.
“You were warned.”
“I’m answering the question!”
“You are confusing cruelty with an answer.”
Marco looked past him.
“This is what I mean. Men see her and lose their minds.”
Daemon leaned down. The Devil smiled through his eyes.
“I did not lose mine.”
It pressed close enough to enter his voice.
“I found its purpose.”
The Devil whispered beneath it:
Her.
Femi looked at him. The pain in her face shifted. Not gone. Never that easily. But held.
The Devil quieted for her.
Marco saw it. His contempt returned.
“She followed Lily everywhere. Ate our food. Slept beneath our blankets. Never talked. Never laughed. Just stared.”
The Devil’s rage sharpened.
She speaks.
“She fed you,” Malone said.
“We survived before her.”
Lily laughed from the floor.
The sound broke into a sob.
“No, we didn’t.”
Marco turned toward her.
“Shut up.”
“She kept us alive.”
“Lily.”
“She worked when you were high. She stole food when I was sick. She fixed the heater in that warehouse or we would have frozen.”
“Shut your mouth.”
The Devil stared at Marco. There it was. Everything Marco hated. Proof.
“You left for three weeks,” Lily cried. “Femi took care of me.”
Marco’s face hardened.
“And you hated her for it.”
Lily stopped. The truth sat between them. Marco looked toward Malone.
“She made Lily feel useless.”
“No,” Malone said. “Lily’s choices did that.”
The Devil whispered:
And yours.
Femi’s fingers moved.
Why the park?
Daemon translated.
“She wants to know why you chose the park.”
Marco swallowed.
“Angelo wanted her.”
“That is not an answer.”
“He said he would clear our debts.”
“What debts?”
Marco said nothing. Harlon picked up Marco’s bag and emptied it across the workbench. Clothes. Cash. A passport. Several small packets. Malone looked at the drugs.
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand.”
The Devil stilled.
Malone’s voice changed.
“You sold Femi for twenty thousand dollars?”
“I wasn’t selling her.”
The Devil laughed. There was nothing human in it.
Of course not.
Daemon’s hand settled on the back of Marco’s neck. Marco’s voice faltered.
“Angelo said she would belong to him anyway. He said he’d take care of her.”
The Devil’s fingers seemed to tighten with Daemon’s.
She belongs to Femi.
“She did not choose him.”
“She doesn’t know how to choose anything!”
Daemon’s fingers tightened. Marco gasped. The Devil came forward.
You ate because she chose to feed you.
Tighter.
You were warm because she chose to work.
Marco’s breath hitched.
You survived because she chose to care.
Daemon could feel the fragile structures beneath his hand.
One movement.
That was all.
And you sold her because you hated that she could choose anything without choosing you.
Femi touched Daemon’s arm. He released Marco immediately. The Devil resisted for half a heartbeat.
Then yielded.
Her choice.
Femi stepped forward.
Marco watched her approach.
For the first time, he appeared afraid of her rather than the men surrounding him.
Good.
The Devil wanted that fear.
Femi raised her hands.
I chose.
Daemon translated softly.
“I chose.”
Marco frowned.
“What?”
Her fingers moved again.
I chose to work.
“I chose to work.”
Another sentence.
I chose to feed you.
“I chose to feed you.”
The Devil watched Marco’s face.
Listen.
Her green eyes settled upon Lily.
I chose to love you.
Lily began to cry harder.
Then Femi looked at Marco.
And now I choose what happens next.
The Devil became perfectly still. There it was. Not Daemon. Not Malone. Not Marco. Not Lily. Femi. Choosing.
Marco’s face lost color.
“What did she say?”
Daemon smiled.
This time he did not translate.
The Devil approved.
He will learn.
Malone looked at Femi.
“This decision belongs to you, baby girl.”
The Devil’s anger remained hot enough to burn through Daemon’s bones.
It wanted Marco dead.
Wanted him broken.
Wanted payment for every meal Femi gave him, every cold night she endured while he spent her money, every photograph taken while she slept, every insult, every answer sold to Angelo.
But wanting did not create permission.
Femi had taught it that.
So the Devil waited.
Choose, little ghost.
Lily struggled onto one elbow.
“Femi, please. I need a doctor.”
Femi glanced at the wound. Then at Marco. Her hands moved.
Treat her shoulder.
The Devil considered Lily. Then remembered Femi’s bullet.
A low purr returned.
Very well.
Harlon called two men forward.
They lifted Lily.
Relief flashed across her tear-soaked face.
“Thank you.”
Femi’s expression remained cold.
She signed again.
Daemon’s crooked smile slowly appeared.
The Devil understood.
Oh.
Lily saw his smile.
Her relief died.
“What?”
Daemon stepped beside Femi.
“She said to treat the shoulder.”
His gray eyes moved to Marco.
“She did not say to release you.”
The Devil smiled.
No. She did not.
Marco pulled against the chair.
“Wait.”
The Devil’s pleasure returned. Not the wild delight of gunfire. Something darker. Patient.
Now he wants time.
Harlon’s men carried Lily toward the back room.
“Where are you taking her?” Marco shouted.
The door closed behind them. Malone moved his stool directly in front of Marco. Daemon stood on one side. Femi took the other. The Devil settled inside Daemon. Not calm. Never calm. But attentive. Waiting.
Marco looked between them.
The bravado was gone now.
The jokes.
The insults.
Every shield he had used to pretend he remained in control.
Malone rested his forearms on his knees.
“You sold my daughter for twenty thousand dollars.”
Marco swallowed.
“I didn’t know she was your daughter.”
The Devil’s smile sharpened. As though that mattered. As though Femi had needed to belong to Malone before selling her became wrong. Malone smiled. It was not a friendly expression.
“That is the first honest thing you’ve said.”
He leaned closer.
“It will also be the last excuse you make.”
The Devil looked at Marco through Daemon’s eyes.
It remembered the bus ticket. One passenger. The ten thousand dollars. The twenty thousand in debt. The photographs. Six months. The park. The men.
Femi always survived.
And beneath all of it, the thing that made the Devil angriest: Marco had been there. He had known her. He had eaten food her bleeding hands earned. He had slept in warmth she helped provide. He had watched her protect Lily. Watched her work. Watched her survive. He had been given the privilege of knowing Femi before Daemon ever found her.
And he had looked at that gift— and calculated what it was worth to someone else.
The Devil whispered softly.
Little ghost chooses what happens next.
A pause.
Its attention settled entirely upon Marco.
Pray she is kinder than we are.
An hour later, Malone’s phone rang. He checked the screen. Whatever he saw erased the last of the patience from his face.
“I need to take this.”
He stepped outside, pulling the garage door closed behind him. Harlon remained near the back room where Lily’s shoulder was being treated. Two men from Wolfwater stood guard beyond the service bay.
Femi sat upon the edge of the worktable. Her boots did not reach the floor.
She swung her legs slowly while watching Daemon.
The Devil noticed.
It had been angry with Marco for the better part of an hour.
Now its attention shifted.
She is watching us.
Daemon ignored it.
He had removed his shirt after the first punch. Marco’s blood had stained one sleeve, and the fabric pulled too tightly across Daemon’s shoulders whenever he reached for him. Eventually, the irritation had become greater than his modesty. Now the shirt rested beside Femi. Daemon stood beneath the hanging light in black jeans and boots, his long blond hair tied loosely at his neck. Scars crossed his back. Some thin and silver. Others thick enough to interrupt the shape of the muscle beneath them.
Femi studied every one.
The Devil purred.
Still watching.
Daemon questioned Marco about Angelo’s operation.
The clubs.
The money.
The photographs Lily had taken.
The men who had asked about Femi.
Marco returned to silence whenever he thought he could survive it.
Daemon taught him otherwise.
“Where are the photographs?”
“I don’t know.”
Daemon struck him.
Marco’s head snapped aside.
The chair scraped across the floor.
“Where?”
“Angelo kept them.”
“He was in prison.”
“He had people.”
“Names.”
Marco smiled through the blood on his teeth.
“You first.”
The Devil surged.
Gladly.
Daemon punched him again. Femi watched the way his spine curved. The precise shift of his weight. The powerful contraction moving beneath the skin of his back as his fist connected. She had seen violence before.
Too much of it. Violence committed against the helpless. Against people sleeping beneath bridges. Against women who could not fight back. That violence had always filled her with terror.
Daemon’s violence did something else. It was controlled. Directed. Every movement carried purpose. Every blow stopped exactly where he intended it to stop. He was not lost inside the Devil. He commanded it.
The Devil bristled faintly at that assessment.
We cooperate.
And when he struck someone who had tried to sell her, the sight created a trembling low in Femi’s stomach.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
The Devil noticed.
Daemon.
He ignored it. Daemon asked another question. Marco refused to answer. The next punch turned his face toward the worktable. Marco groaned. Femi barely saw him. Her attention remained upon Daemon. The way his shoulder rolled. The way sweat moved down his spine. The way his hair shifted against the scars on his back.
The Devil became increasingly distracted.
She is not watching Marco.
Daemon already knew that.
She is watching us.
Something escaped her throat. A small, rough sound. Barely more than breath. Daemon heard it. The Devil heard it too. Everything inside him stopped.
Again.
Daemon became perfectly still. Then he looked over his shoulder. Femi sat gripping the edge of the table hard enough to whiten her knuckles. Her green eyes had darkened. Her pupils were blown wide. Her lips parted as she struggled to breathe quietly. Then her tongue moved across the lower one. The Devil forgot Marco existed.
So did Daemon.
Little ghost.
Violence left him so quickly that his breath shuddered out of him. The Devil ceased its pacing. Its attention fixed wholly upon Femi. Upon the color warming her olive skin. Upon the quick rise and fall of her chest.Upon the subtle way she rubbed her thighs together as though trying to soothe an ache she still did not understand.
The Devil nearly purred itself senseless.
She likes watching us.
The look of desire upon her face nearly brought Daemon to his knees.
Marco coughed. Neither of them cared. Daemon walked toward Femi. Slowly. Giving her time to look away. Time to retreat. She did neither. The Devil noticed that most of all.
She stays.
Her legs stopped swinging. Daemon came to stand between her knees. He did not touch her. The Devil wanted to. God, it wanted to.
Touch her.
“No.”
She wants us.
“That does not mean touch her.”
The Devil went quiet. It had learned that lesson. Want was not permission. Even when the want in Femi’s eyes made it nearly impossible to think. It wanted her legs around his waist and her hands in his hair. It wanted to discover what sound she had almost made and coax it from her again.
Ask.
Daemon placed both hands on the worktable beside her hips. Bracing himself. Femi tipped her face toward his.
“Easy,” he murmured.
His mouth moved close to her ear.
“I am not pleasing you yet, little ghost.”
The word yet entered her like heat.
Daemon felt her shiver.
The Devil purred.
Again.
His voice descended into something deeper.
Something that belonged less to the man than the creature beneath him.
“Or am I?”
Femi’s breath caught.
Yes.
Her hands released the table. For one suspended moment, Daemon thought she might touch his face. The Devil waited. Instead, her fingers hovered near his bare chest. Uncertain. Hungry. He waited. So did the Devil.
Come closer.
Femi’s gaze traveled over him. She could feel the warmth rolling from his skin without making contact. Smell clean sweat, leather, and the faint metallic trace of Marco’s blood. Daemon watched each emotion pass across her face. Curiosity. Embarrassment. Desire. Fear—not of him, but of the thing awakening inside herself.
The Devil softened.
Do not fear this.
“Nothing is wrong with you,” he whispered. Her eyes lifted sharply. Daemon’s crooked smile appeared.
“You were about to ask.”
A silent laugh moved through her shoulders, breathless and mortified. His smile faded into tenderness.
“You are allowed to like looking at me.”
The Devil added shamelessly:
Please continue.
Femi’s cheeks darkened.
“You are allowed to like what you see.”
Her fingers moved between them.
Too much.
The Devil purred.
Daemon leaned nearer.
“There is no such thing.”
Absolutely not.
Femi shook her head.
There is when Malone can walk back inside.
Daemon glanced toward the garage door.
The Devil considered. It disliked the logic.
“That is an excellent point.”
Lock it.
Daemon almost laughed. Her silent laughter returned. It softened the brutal room. For a moment, there was no blood. No interrogation. No woman wounded in the back room. Only Femi sitting upon the edge of a table and Daemon standing between her knees, learning what his nearness did to her.Then Femi touched him. Her palm settled against the center of his chest.
The Devil went silent.
Daemon stopped breathing.
She touched us.
Femi traced the hard line beneath his skin with two fingertips. His heart pounded against her hand. Femi looked almost startled.
“Yes,” he breathed. “You do that.”
The Devil was nearly incoherent with pleasure.
Again.
Her eyes returned to his.
A low sound moved through Daemon’s chest. Not warning. Approval. The Devil did not bother pretending otherwise. Femi’s thighs pressed lightly against his hips before she caught herself and drew them apart. Daemon closed his eyes.
The Devil groaned inside him.
No. Put them back.
Control became a physical thing. Something held between his teeth.
He opened his eyes again and stepped back. Not far. Enough.
The Devil objected.
Why are we leaving?
“We need to finish.”
Marco can wait.
Femi nodded.
Her face suggested she did not want him to. Neither did he. The Devil was furious with Marco all over again for existing. Daemon turned toward him. Femi’s hand landed on his back. Everything stopped. Only for a moment. Her palm moved over one ridge of muscle, gentle and exploring. Daemon closed his eyes. The contact burned hotter than any wound he had received.
The Devil shuddered.
Little ghost.
Her fingers followed one scar near his shoulder blade. Not recoiling. Not avoiding the damaged places. Touching them because she wanted to.
She likes us.
Then they withdrew.
The Devil immediately mourned the loss.
Again.
Daemon looked back at her. Femi’s hands rested innocently in her lap. Her eyes were not innocent at all. The Devil purred.
“You are dangerous,” Daemon murmured.
Femi’s eyebrows rose.
Me?
“Yes.”
Very.
He faced Marco again.
“Entirely you.”
Marco stared between them in disgust.
“Are you two finished?”
The Devil remembered him.
Its mood soured instantly.
Oh. Him.
Daemon crossed the service bay and struck him. The chair rocked backward. Femi’s fingers tightened around the table again. Daemon noticed. So did the Devil. This time his crooked smile remained.
She likes that.
Marco spat blood onto the floor.
“What the hell is wrong with both of you?”
Daemon crouched before him.
“You should worry less about us.”
He caught Marco’s chin and forced his face toward the light.
“And considerably more about answering.”
The Devil smiled through him.
Much more.
“I told you everything.”
“No. You told us Angelo had photographs.”
Daemon released him.
“You did not tell us who received copies.”
“I don’t know.”
Daemon drew back his fist. The Devil waited eagerly.
“Wait.”
Marco’s eyes moved past him toward Femi. She sat upon the table, watching Daemon with open attention. Not Marco’s injuries. Not his fear. Daemon. The Devil preened.
Still watching.
Marco finally understood that Femi would not ask the Devil to stop.
“Angelo had a private server,” he said quickly.
“Where?”
“One of his clubs. The Belladonna.”
“Who has access?”
“Angelo. His accountant. A security guy named Morrow.”
“Full name.”
“Calvin Morrow.”
The Devil memorized it.
Calvin Morrow.
“Who else?”
“That’s all I know.”
Daemon studied him.
Marco began sweating.
“I swear.”
“Swearing implies your word has value.”
“It’s the truth.”
Femi’s hands moved.
Ask about the men Lily found.
Daemon looked at her. The desire remained, but something colder now lived beside it. The Devil followed her hands.
Yes.
He translated.
“She wants the names of the men Lily tried to sell her to.”
Marco’s face changed. Femi saw it. Daemon did too. The Devil became viciously attentive.
He knows.
“You remember them,” Daemon said.
“No.”
Daemon struck him. Femi inhaled sharply. The sound traveled over Daemon’s bare skin. His fist trembled at his side. The Devil was suddenly torn between wanting another answer and wanting to hear that breath again.
Names first.
Good decision.
“Names.”
“I never met them.”
Another blow.
“Names.”
“Lily handled it.”
Daemon seized the chair and dragged Marco closer to the worktable.
“Then perhaps she should join us again.”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly. Femi stopped swinging her legs. Daemon smiled.
The Devil smiled with him.
There.
“What are you protecting?”
Marco looked toward the back room.
“Nothing.”
“Lily knows something you do not want her to say.”
“She’s hurt.”
“So are you.”
The Devil approved.
“She needs a hospital.”
“Names.”
Marco looked at Femi. Hatred entered his face. The Devil surged.
Careful.
Marco opened his mouth.
Daemon’s hand closed around his throat before the insult could emerge.
“I warned you.”
The Devil entered his grip.
We warned you.
Marco’s eyes widened. Daemon leaned close.
“You have mistaken her silence for weakness all your life.”
His fingers tightened. The Devil’s anger returned in full. Marco had eaten because Femi worked. Been warm because Femi repaired heaters. Known when she slept because he helped Lily photograph her. Taken Angelo’s money. Helped send men after her.
And still he looked at Femi as though she were the problem.
You knew her.
That was what the Devil could not forgive. Angelo had watched from a distance. Marco had been close enough to know better.
“Do it again, and it will be the final mistake of yours.”
Femi touched Daemon’s shoulder. His hand opened instantly.
The Devil snarled— then felt her palm.
Warm.
Gentle.
Chosen.
It quieted.
Her.
Marco dragged in air. Femi did not withdraw her hand immediately. Her thumb moved once across Daemon’s skin.
The Devil nearly forgot Marco again.
She is touching us.
Daemon lowered his head. For one second, he simply stood beneath her hand.
Then he looked at Marco.
“Names.”
The Devil whispered:
Before she stops touching us.
Marco broke. He gave them one by one. A dockworker. A motel owner. A married contractor from Riverward. A man who managed private rooms above a nightclub. The Devil memorized every one. Harlon wrote each name down as he emerged from the back room. Femi’s hand slipped from Daemon’s shoulder. He missed it instantly.
So did the Devil.
Put it back.
The garage door opened.
Malone stepped inside with his phone still in one hand.
His gaze moved from Marco’s ruined face to Daemon’s bare back. Then to Femi’s flushed cheeks and white-knuckled grip upon the table. Malone stopped. He looked at Harlon.
“Do I want to know?”
“No,” Harlon said.
“That was my instinct.”
Daemon reached for his shirt. Femi placed one hand over it. Daemon froze.
The Devil became utterly delighted.
No shirt.
He looked at her. She looked back. The Devil almost purred aloud.
She wants to keep looking.
Malone closed his eyes.
“Whatever is happening, postpone it until no one is bleeding.”
The Devil disliked Malone again. Femi released the shirt.
Daemon dressed reluctantly.
Traitor.
“Who called?” he asked.
Malone’s humor disappeared.
“Red.”
Every person in the garage became attentive. The Devil sobered too.
“What did she find?”
Malone looked at Femi.
“Calvin Morrow is already moving files out of the Belladonna.”
The name clicked immediately. Daemon buttoned his shirt.
“How long do we have?”
“An hour. Perhaps less.”
Femi jumped down from the table. Her knees nearly failed beneath her. Daemon caught her waist.
The Devil purred at the discovery.
Oh.
Femi glared at him through a deep blush.
His hands remained steady at her waist only long enough to make certain she had her balance.
But the Devil was unbearable.
We did that.
Daemon bent close to her ear.
“Apparently I was pleasing you.”
The Devil added beneath his voice:
Very much.
She struck his chest. Daemon laughed. Across the garage, Malone looked toward the ceiling.
“I miss when the two of you avoided each other.”
Harlon considered that.
“No, you don’t.”
Malone sighed.
“No. I really don’t.”
Femi glanced at Daemon. The Devil caught the look.
It purred one final time.
She is still watching us.
They moved Marco into the old paint room.
It adjoined the main repair bay, separated by a thin metal wall and a sliding door that no longer closed properly. Harlon secured Marco’s chair beneath a ventilation grille, then returned to the garage.
Marco could hear everything.
Lily did not know that.
She sat beneath the hanging work light with her injured arm immobilized against her chest. Fresh bandages covered her shoulder. Sweat dampened her hairline, and pain had stripped away the last trace of beauty she tried to use as armor.
Malone sat across from her. Daemon stood behind Femi. Not touching. Close enough that she could reach him.
The Devil preferred it that way.
Here.
Lily watched the position with growing resentment. The Devil noticed.
It remembered her resentment from the shipping container.
Femi fed people. They loved her. Femi protected people. They loved her. Femi survived. They loved her. And somehow Lily had turned every kindness into evidence against the woman giving it.
“What do you want now?” she asked.
“The truth,” Malone said.
“I told you the truth.”
The Devil almost laughed.
“You told us Marco was at the bus station after we showed you his message.”
“I helped you find him.”
“You pointed toward a fire after you lit the match.”
Lily looked toward Daemon. He did not acknowledge her. His attention belonged to Femi.
The Devil made certain of that.
Little ghost.
Femi raised her hands.
The question formed slowly. Malone watched her fingers. Lily watched his face.
“What did she say?”
Malone’s gaze remained upon Femi until the final sign.Then he translated.
“She wants to know whether you ever loved her.”
The Devil went still. The garage went silent. In the paint room, Marco lifted his head. Lily stared at Femi. Of all the questions she had expected, that was not one. The Devil had not expected it either. Something inside Daemon hurt.
Not because Femi needed Lily’s love now. Because some part of her still needed to know whether the love she remembered had ever existed at all.
“Is that what this is about?”
Femi waited.
“You dragged me here and shot me because you need to know if I loved you?”
Femi did not move.
Lily laughed.
Pain turned the sound brittle.
“You always did make everything about yourself.”
The Devil surged.
No.
Daemon’s expression changed. Malone raised one hand without looking at him.
Not yet.
The Devil disliked those words. But Femi had asked a question. She deserved the answer more than the Devil deserved Lily’s throat. So it waited. Lily leaned back carefully.
“That was the problem with you, Femi. Everyone had to stop what they were doing and figure out what you wanted.”
Femi’s face emptied.
“You would stand there moving your hands, expecting someone else to speak for you.”
Daemon took one step.
Enough.
Femi reached behind herself and caught two of his fingers. He stopped. The Devil did not.
It rose behind his eyes.
She speaks.
Femi’s fingers tightened.
The Devil snarled silently.
Lily saw it and continued anyway.
“You couldn’t even say thank you. Do you know how embarrassing that was? People gave us food, and you just stared at them.”
She speaks.
Femi’s grip tightened around Daemon’s hand.
“You made people uncomfortable,” Lily said. “They thought you were slow. Some of them thought you were rude.”
The Devil pressed forward.
She speaks.
Malone leaned forward.
“She is neither.”
“You didn’t know her then.”
“I know her now.”
“No. You know this version.”
Lily gestured toward Femi’s clean clothes with her good hand.
“The healthy version. The pretty version. Back then, she was filthy. Her hair was always tangled. She barely looked human some days.”
Daemon’s hand began to close around Femi’s. Not at her. Around her. Too tight. Femi stroked her thumb across his knuckle. A small command.
Stay. Daemon obeyed. The Devil resisted. Then Femi’s thumb moved again.
It quieted.
Barely.
Stay.
The Devil knew that word now. It did not always mean remain physically where you were. Sometimes it meant: Do not become what they expect. Do not disappear into violence. Stay here. With me. Here, it answered.
Lily’s eyes moved between their hands.
“You see?” she said bitterly. “She does that. She makes men think they understand her.”
Daemon’s voice entered the room like something sharpened.
“I understand enough.”
“She’s using you.”
The Devil smiled. Daemon’s crooked smile followed.
“If this is her using me, I hope she never stops.”
Please.
Femi looked up at him. The warmth in his gray eyes did not belong in Sully’s garage. Not beside blood. Not during an interrogation. It belonged only to her. Lily saw that too. Her face tightened.
“She used Marco.”
The Devil’s warmth vanished.
Marco used her.
From the paint room came the faint scrape of a chair. Harlon glanced toward the wall. Malone did not.
“How?” he asked.
“He liked her.”
“That is not something she did.”
“She knew.”
Femi shook her head.
“Yes, you did. You knew he watched you. You knew he wanted you.”
Femi signed sharply.
He never said.
Malone translated.
Lily scoffed.
“He didn’t have to. Men were always looking at you.”
The Devil understood jealousy. It had suffered enough of it itself. But jealousy belonged to the jealous. Not to Femi. Her existence was not an invitation. Her face was not a promise. Being wanted did not create responsibility for the wanting. The Devil had learned that lesson. Apparently Lily never had.
Her voice grew uglier.
“You walked around pretending you didn’t notice. That innocent little face. Those big green eyes. You made them feel sorry for you because you couldn’t talk.”
Daemon released Femi’s hand. Not to approach Lily. To keep from crushing Femi’s fingers.
The Devil snarled.
She speaks.
“You have mentioned her silence repeatedly,” Malone said. “I find that interesting.”
“I lived with it.”
“No. She lived with it.”
The Devil liked that answer. Lily looked away.
“You merely found ways to punish her for surviving it.” Femi raised her hands again. This question was shorter.
Malone translated immediately.
“She asked why you drugged her.”
“I told you. She needed to relax.”
Femi shook her head.
“You wouldn’t go with Angelo.”
I did not want him.
The Devil whispered:
That was enough.
“He could have gotten us off the street.”
He wanted me.
“You could have done one thing for us.”
The old accusation returned. It had lived beneath every meal Femi shared. Every blanket. Every dollar placed in Lily’s hand. One thing. As though Femi had given nothing. Her hands moved.
I gave you everything I had.
The Devil went quiet.
Lily’s expression faltered.
Malone translated anyway.
“She says she gave you everything she had.”
“You gave me scraps.”
Femi flinched. The Devil did not.
It became murderous.
Scraps?
Daemon stepped beside her.
Lily continued before courage abandoned her.
“You gave me stolen food and a place beside you beneath a bridge. You think that made you some kind of saint?”
She fed you.
Femi stared at her.
“I needed money,” Lily said. “A room. A life.”
She needed those things too.
Femi signed it.
I needed those things too.
“Then you should have helped me get them.”
Femi’s brow furrowed.
I worked.
“And where did that get us?”
Femi looked around Sully’s. At the men surrounding Lily. At Malone, who called her daughter. At Daemon, who had entered Hell beside her without once demanding payment for his protection. Her eyes returned to Lily.
It brought me home.
The Devil stopped breathing with Daemon.
Home.
Malone’s voice softened as he translated. Lily became silent. The answer struck somewhere her cruelty could not protect. Femi had found a home. Lily had found a shipping container.
The Devil whispered:
Home.
For several seconds, only the hum of the hanging light filled the garage.Then Lily began to cry. The change was immediate. Her shoulders sagged. Her mouth trembled. Tears rolled down her face.
“I didn’t want any of this.”
Malone watched without sympathy.
“Which part?”
“Marco.”
She looked toward Daemon. Not Femi. Daemon.
The Devil disliked that immediately.
Look at her.
“Marco ruined everything.”
In the paint room, Marco stopped moving.
Lily leaned forward despite the pain in her shoulder.
“You don’t understand what he’s like.”
“I have spent two hours with him,” Daemon said. “My opinion is established.”
The Devil’s was considerably worse.
“He wasn’t always that way.”
Lily’s voice broke.
“When we first left the camp, he promised everything would be different. He said we would get an apartment. Find work. Come back for Femi when we were settled.”
Femi watched her.
“We meant it,” Lily insisted. “At first, we really did.”
Malone’s expression remained hard.
“You spent ten thousand dollars in three days.”
“Marco spent it.”
“You wore part of it into the Azure Room.”
Lily looked down at the green satin.
“That was later.”
“How much did Marco spend?”
“Almost everything.”
Her tears fell faster.
“Drugs. Cards. Sports bets. Anything. He would disappear for hours and come back owing more than we had.”
The Devil listened.
Not sympathetically.
Marco had taken money intended to put a roof over Femi’s head and gambled it away while she slept beneath a bridge.
Marco.
The name had become something ugly inside it. Marco’s breathing became audible through the ventilation grille. Harlon casually turned on an old floor fan. Its low hum covered the sound. Lily kept speaking.
“Marco is a drug addict and a gambler. He would swear he was finished, then steal whatever money I had hidden.”
“You stayed,” Malone said.
“I loved him.”
Femi’s eyes closed briefly.
Lily noticed.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
Femi opened her eyes.
“You don’t know what love is. You have never loved anyone.”
The Devil came forward. Fast. Violent. Daemon became very still.
She loves.
Femi’s hands did not rise.
The Devil knew anyway. Femi loved Malone. Marta. Dai. People beneath a bridge who had nothing to give her. She had loved Lily. And—
The Devil quieted.
Us.
She had said it. Signed it. Chosen it.
Lily could not take that truth simply because she was cruel enough to deny it.
Lily turned back to Daemon.
“When Marco is high, he loses his mind.”
She sobbed the words.
“He breaks things. He screams at people who aren’t there. Sometimes he thinks someone is following him.”
“Sometimes someone was,” Harlon said.
Malone glanced at him. Harlon shrugged. The Devil almost approved. Lily reached toward Daemon.
The Devil recoiled before he did.
No.
“Please.”
He looked at her hand until she withdrew it.
“I only did this for him,” she sobbed. “Please. I was trying to keep him alive.”
“You lured Femi into a park for him?”
“Angelo said he would clear Marco’s debts.”
“You drugged Femi for him?”
“Marco said Angelo would help us.”
“You photographed her sleeping?”
Lily’s mouth opened. Closed. Daemon’s gray eyes hardened. The Devil remembered those photographs. Six months. Femi asleep. Trusting the people beside her enough to close her eyes.
You sold her sleep.
“You did those things for yourself.”
“No.”
“You enjoyed having something men wanted.”
Lily recoiled.
“That isn’t true.”
“You sold access to Femi because it made you important.”
“No.”
“And now that Marco cannot save you, you are trying to sell him out.”
Lily stared at him. Behind the wall, Marco pulled against his restraints. The chair creaked. Lily did not hear it.
“He deserves it,” she whispered.
The Devil agreed. Femi’s gaze sharpened. Lily wiped her face.
“He told Angelo where Femi worked. He gave him the schedule. He knew men were going to take her.”
We know.
“You helped arrange the meeting,” Malone said.
“Because Marco made me!”
“How?”
“He said he would leave.”
Silence. Even the Devil seemed confused. The answer silenced Harlon. Malone stared at her.
“Your justification for arranging Femi’s kidnapping is that Marco threatened to end your relationship?”
“You don’t understand.”
“No,” Malone said. “I understand perfectly.”
So did the Devil. Lily had feared being abandoned. So she arranged for Femi to be taken. Femi— who had already been abandoned by them. The Devil almost laughed at the obscenity of it. Lily looked toward Daemon again.
“Marco is cruel.”
The desperation in her voice changed shape. She was no longer confessing. She was auditioning for mercy.
“He hit me. Took my money. Slept with other women. He used to come back high and tell me I was old. Ugly.”
Her gaze moved over Daemon’s face.
“You saw him. He doesn’t care about anyone.”
Femi stood motionless. Lily continued.
“He used Femi too. He watched her sleep. He was the one who told me to take the first picture.”
The Devil’s attention sharpened. A violent sound came from the paint room. Lily turned her head.
“What was that?”
“Old building,” Harlon said. Lily looked uncertain. Then fear drove her onward.
“Marco wanted Femi before Angelo did. That’s why he hated her. She wouldn’t touch him.”
The Devil surfaced.
What?
Femi’s face changed.
“He tried to kiss her once while she slept,” Lily said.
The Devil vanished into a silence more dangerous than rage.
Daemon’s voice descended.
“When?”
“Before we left the camp.”
Femi’s hands rose sharply.
That never happened.
The Devil did not move.
Not yet. Femi had said it never happened. That mattered. Lily looked at Malone.
“What did she say?”
“She says you’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
I wake when people come close.
“She says she would have awakened.”
The Devil knew that too. Femi woke at footsteps. Doors. Movement. Sometimes nothing at all.
Lily laughed bitterly.
“You were sick. Feverish. Marco came back high and lay beside you.”
Something moved behind Femi’s eyes.
The Devil saw it. Daemon saw it. The memory stirred. Femi beneath a blanket. Too hot. Someone’s weight settling near her legs. Lily arguing. Marco laughing. Femi had thought it was a dream. Her hands lowered.
The Devil made a sound. Low. Animal.
Marco.
Not a command. A name. A promise trying very hard not to become one. Lily turned toward him.
“Marco wanted to take advantage of her. I stopped him.”
The Devil surged against Daemon’s bones.
Open the door.
Daemon did not move.
Open it.
Femi was remembering.
That mattered more.
Daemon.
“Wait.”
The Devil hated that word.
He touched her while she slept.
“We don’t know what happened.”
She remembers.
“Pieces.”
The Devil paced beneath his skin. Violent. Furious. Waiting only because Femi stood in front of him.
In the paint room, Marco shouted.
“She’s lying!”
The Devil turned.
There.
Lily’s entire body jerked. The metal door shook beneath the force of Marco’s chair striking it.
“She’s a lying whore!”
The Devil smiled.
Cold.
Open it.
Harlon crossed the garage and pulled the door open. The Devil almost thanked him. Marco sat bound to the chair, his face red with rage.
“You said it was your idea!” he screamed at Lily. “You told me she owed us!”
The Devil’s rage sharpened.
Owed.
There was that word again.
Femi owed them because she ate beside them. Owed them because she slept beneath their blanket. Owed them because Marco wanted her. Owed them because Angelo wanted her. Owed them because she had a body someone would pay to access.
The Devil had learned better.
Nothing owed.
Lily stared at him.
“You were listening?”
“To every word.”
Marco fought the restraints.
“You sold me out!”
“You left me in a shipping container!”
“I was coming back.”
“You bought one ticket!”
“Because I couldn’t afford two!”
“You had eleven hundred dollars!”
“You would have slowed me down.”
The words struck Lily silent. The Devil almost laughed. There it was.
Marco’s love. One bus ticket.
Marco realized what he had admitted. Malone stood between the two rooms. Behind him, Femi watched the people she had once called family tear each other apart. Every accusation revealed another betrayal. Every excuse placed a price upon something she had given freely. Food. Protection. Love.
The Devil watched Femi. Its rage remained. But she mattered more.
Always.
Daemon approached her.
This time, he did not touch.
The Devil wanted to.
Hold her.
Daemon waited.
The Devil paced.
She needs us.
“Then let her choose us.”
Silence.
The Devil understood. So it waited too. Femi looked at Daemon. Then she took his hand.
The Devil went utterly quiet.
She chose.
Daemon closed his fingers around hers. Not tight. Holding what had been freely placed there.
Marco saw it. So did Lily. Both stared at the simple contact as though Femi had committed the greatest betrayal of all. She had survived them. And she had found someone whose hands did not take. The Devil looked at their joined hands.
Ours.
Then corrected itself.
Hers.
A pause.
Choosing ours.
Better.
Malone looked from Marco to Lily.
“Good,” he said. “Now that everyone is finished pretending, we can begin.”
The Devil’s attention returned to Marco. Its fury had not disappeared. It remembered the accusation. The fever. The weight beside Femi’s legs. The argument she had thought was a dream. But Femi’s hand remained inside Daemon’s.
So the Devil waited.
Her first.
Marco would answer. Lily would answer. They would find out what happened. And only then— only after Femi knew the truth— would the Devil decide what to ask of her. Not permission to avenge its pride. Not gratitude. Not payment.
Only one question.
What do you need, little ghost?
The story was simple.
It had only taken years of lies to make it complicated.
Lily met Femi first.
She found her beneath Wolfwater Bridge repairing a broken camp stove with wire stripped from an abandoned car. Femi had been thin, filthy, and wary. She carried everything she owned in one battered backpack.
Lily befriended her. Femi found food. Shared blankets. Femi worked. Lily watched. Then Marco entered the camp. And he had eyes only for Femi.
“I thought she was beautiful,” Marco admitted.
The Devil stirred.
Of course you did.
He and Lily sat facing one another beneath the hanging light. Both were restrained now. Lily’s wounded shoulder had been re-bandaged. Marco’s face had begun to swell from Daemon’s questions.
Femi stood near the worktable. Daemon remained beside her.
Malone sat between Marco and Lily like a judge who had already decided the sentence but wanted the confession recorded properly.
“You were interested in Femi,” he said.
Marco nodded.
“I tried talking to her.”
Lily laughed.
“Talking.”
Marco glared at her.
“You never stopped talking,” Lily said. “You followed her everywhere.”
The Devil’s attention sharpened.
“She wouldn’t answer.”
“She couldn’t answer,” Malone corrected.
She speaks.
“She could write.”
“Did you give her time to?”
Marco looked away.
The Devil had its answer.
No.
Lily smiled.
“He used to make all these promises.”
Her imitation of Marco was cruelly accurate.
“Come sit next to me, Femi. I know people. I can get money whenever I need it. I can get us a room. I can buy you real clothes.”
Marco’s face darkened.
“You were listening?”
“Everyone under that bridge was listening. You spoke loud enough for the river to hear.”
Femi remembered. Marco sitting near the campfire. Patting the place beside him. Holding out cigarettes she did not smoke. Describing hotel rooms, hot meals, and clean clothing as if he possessed all three instead of sleeping beneath a bridge like everyone else. Femi had never believed him. Lily had.
“I wanted off the street,” Lily said.
Her mouth curved.
“It was simple.”
She looked at Marco.
“Get him.”
Marco stared at her.
Lily laughed.
“And Marco was easy.”
Her gaze traveled over his swollen face.
“Too easy.”
The Devil almost laughed. It had reached the same conclusion.
“You told me Femi wasn’t interested.”
“She wasn’t.”
“You said she was working.”
“She was.”
“You know what else you said.”
Lily’s smile deepened.
Daemon saw Femi’s body become still.
The Devil felt it.
Something else.
“What did she say?” he asked.
Marco looked at Femi.
“Every time I came to see her, Lily said Femi was off with a john.”
The Devil stopped.
Malone’s fingers curled upon his knee.
“She told me Femi sold herself for money,” Marco continued. “Sometimes for food.”
Lily laughed again.
The sound struck Femi harder than the words. The Devil turned toward her. Not physically. Entirely.
Little ghost.
“I had to tell him something,” Lily said. “He kept asking where you were.”
Femi’s hands moved.
I was working.
Malone translated.
“She says she was working.”
“I know,” Marco said.
Femi’s eyes sharpened.
“Now I know.”
The Devil’s anger shifted toward him.
Now.
Daemon’s voice went cold.
“That distinction will not save you.”
Lily looked pleased with herself.
“He believed everything. I told him you left with men every night. Told him you came back with money and pretended it came from cleaning offices.”
Femi stared at her.
“You made it easy,” Lily said. “You came back late. Your clothes were dirty. Sometimes there was blood on you.”
From work.
“I know.”
The Devil went still. That was worse. Femi flinched. Lily had always known. The cruelty had never been misunderstanding. It had been design.
The Devil whispered:
She knew.
Malone’s voice lowered.
“Then what?”
Lily looked at Marco.
“Then I talked him into sleeping with me.”
Marco pulled once against his restraints.
“You came onto me.”
“Yes.”
“You said Femi didn’t want me.”
“She didn’t.”
“You said she would never know.”
Lily laughed.
“And you said, ‘Don’t tell Femi about us.’”
The Devil looked at Marco. Something about that interested it. Not jealousy. Not anymore. Hypocrisy. Marco’s face reddened. Lily looked toward Femi.
“He still wanted you.”
The confession carried the old poison of victory.
“He climbed into my blankets, but afterward he told me not to tell you.”
Marco jerked against his chair.
“You’re twisting it.”
“Am I?”
“You said she was with other men.”
“And you chose to believe me.”
The Devil smiled.
There.
Marco had chosen. That mattered. The words cut deeper than Daemon’s fists had.
Marco turned toward Femi.
“The night she found us—”
His voice faltered. Femi knew the night. Her tent had been the safest one in the camp. She repaired it herself, patched every tear, and built a wooden platform beneath it to keep rainwater from soaking the blankets. She returned early from cleaning a restaurant kitchen. The camp was quiet. Lily and Marco were inside her tent. Inside her blankets.
The Devil’s anger sharpened.
Not because of Marco. Not because of sex. Because it knew Femi now. Knew what a safe place meant to her. Knew what it cost her to make one. And they had used hers as though it belonged to them. Marco remembered Femi pulling back the flap.
“She just stood there,” he said.
His bravado had vanished.
“She looked at us.”
Lily scoffed.
“She always looked.”
“No.”
Marco’s gaze remained upon Femi.
“She looked hurt.”
Femi lowered her eyes.
She had not cared that Marco chose Lily. She had cared that Lily used her bed. Her blankets. The one place beneath the bridge Femi had made safe. The Devil understood immediately.
They took her safe place.
“I tried to explain,” Marco said.
“You pulled on your pants,” Lily corrected.
“You were laughing.”
“I thought it was funny.”
Femi’s head lifted. The Devil’s gaze hardened through Daemon. Lily smiled at her.
“You looked so shocked.”
Malone cleared his throat. The sound carried warning. Lily ignored it.
“You didn’t know what to do with a man anyway.”
Femi’s expression became empty. The Devil began to rise.
“You were always running from them. They scared you, didn’t they?”
Daemon’s jaw clenched. Lily leaned toward Femi.
“Maybe you’re secretly gay.”
She laughed at her own cruelty. Then she looked at Daemon.
“Is she still like that, Devil? Scared every time you touch her?”
The Devil smiled. Not because Lily was amusing. Because Lily had chosen an exceptionally foolish direction. Femi felt the change beside her. Daemon did not look at Lily. He looked at Femi. Her cheeks warmed beneath his attention. The Devil purred.
No.
“She does not fear me,” he said.
Lily’s smile weakened.
“She is cautious because men like the ones you sold her to taught her caution.”
His gray eyes returned to Lily. The Devil came with them.
“And whatever happens between Femi and me belongs to her.”
The Devil whispered beneath the words:
Hers.
“You will never use it to shame her.”
Lily looked away. Malone cleared his throat again.
“Continue.”
Harlon’s mouth twitched. Daemon gave him a warning glance. Harlon studied the ceiling. Marco shifted painfully in his chair.
“Angelo came to the camp a few weeks later.”
“Looking for you?” Malone asked.
“Yes.”
“You owed him money.”
“I owed everyone money.”
The Devil found that unsurprising.
Angelo arrived in a black car that did not belong beneath Wolfwater Bridge.
He wore a tailored suit.
Clean shoes.
An expensive watch.
Everyone in the camp watched him approach Marco.
Then Angelo saw Femi.
She sat beside Lily, mending the torn lining of a coat.
Her hair covered most of her face.
Angelo stopped asking Marco about money.
He began asking about her.
“How old is she?”
“Can she hear?”
“Why doesn’t she speak?”
“Where does she sleep?”
The Devil’s anger built with every question.
Marco had answered everything he knew.
Everything.
“Angelo agreed to erase part of my debt if I brought Femi to meet him,” Marco said.
The Devil stared at him.
You sold answers.
Femi shook her head.
“She refused,” Lily added. “Wouldn’t even get into his car.”
The Devil’s fury eased for one heartbeat.
Good.
“What did she do?” Malone asked.
“Went to work.”
The answer fell heavily. The Devil went quiet. While Marco and Lily planned a way to profit from her— Femi went to scrub floors.
“It was my idea to ask Angelo for money for the Azure Room,” Lily confessed. “I told him Femi needed clothes.”
“You chose the silver dress,” Daemon said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lily looked at Femi.
The answer lived inside her smile before she spoke it.
“I wanted to humiliate her.”
Femi stopped breathing.
The Devil did too.
“I wanted everyone to stare. I thought she would take one look at that club and run out crying.”
You wanted her afraid.
“You drugged her when she didn’t,” Malone said.
Lily’s smile vanished.
“I only wanted her to loosen up.”
“You wanted Angelo to believe she was available.”
“He was paying.”
The Devil’s voice became soft.
She said no.
“You nearly killed her.”
“I didn’t know she would react like that.”
Harlon’s voice came from the shadows.
“You did not know what you gave her.”
Lily fell silent.
“You wanted her frightened,” Malone said. “You wanted her exposed. And when she endured both, you drugged her.”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.”
“But it made Angelo want her more,” Marco said.
Lily glared at him.
“He paid after that,” Marco continued. “A lot.”
“How much?” Malone asked.
No one answered. He looked at Lily.
“How much money did Angelo give you for Femi?”
“Ten thousand.”
“Liar,” Marco said.
Lily’s face hardened. Malone turned toward him.
“How much?”
“Almost sixty.”
Silence.
Even the Devil had none. Femi stared at them. Sixty thousand dollars. Enough for years of rent. Food. Warmth. Safety. She had slept hungry while they spent it.
The Devil finally whispered:
Sixty thousand.
Not because the number mattered.
Because Femi had gone hungry beside people carrying money earned from selling pieces of her life.
“Fifty-eight thousand,” Marco said. “Maybe sixty with cash.”
“Over how long?”
“About a year.”
“You told us you spent the first ten thousand in three days.”
“We did.”
“And Angelo sent more.”
“Yes.”
“Again and again.”
“Yes.”
“For Femi.”
Marco said nothing.
The Devil answered for him.
Yes.
Lily became angry. Not ashamed. Angry that the truth no longer served her.
“Yes, we took his money,” she snapped. “He had plenty.”
“And what did you give him?” Daemon asked.
“Information.”
“What kind?”
“Whatever he wanted.”
Femi looked at her. Lily’s control broke.
“Your schedule. Your jobs. The places you stopped during the day.”
The Devil became very still.
“How many men?” Malone asked.
Lily laughed harshly.
“Why does it matter?”
“How many men did you sell access to?”
“I didn’t sell her.”
“You sold her location.”
“I told people where they could find her.”
The Devil surfaced.
That is selling her.
“How many?”
“Lots.”
The word fell into the garage like filth. Femi’s face lost color. Daemon shifted closer. Not touching. Within reach. The Devil wanted to cover her. Hide her. Take every memory from every man who had ever bought one.
Instead it stayed where Femi could choose whether she wanted him nearer. Lily saw it and attacked.
“Men paid to know when she would be alone. What route she took. Which buildings had alleys.”
The Devil became silent.
“I told them when she went to the laundromat. When she cleaned offices at night. When she walked through Riverward.”
Femi remembered footsteps. Cars moving too slowly. Men waiting outside buildings who knew her name when she had never met them. She had blamed the city. Bad luck. Herself. All that time, Lily had been selling directions.
The Devil understood something terrible.
They were not finding her.
A pause.
They were being sent.
“Did they touch her?” Malone asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You never asked?”
“Why would I?”
The Devil looked at Lily. The last fragile remnant of Femi’s grief disappeared. Lily saw the emptiness replace it and mistook that emptiness for weakness.
“You’re nobody,” she spat.
Daemon moved. The Devil moved faster.
“A stupid mute throwaway.”
His hand closed around Lily’s throat. The chair toppled behind her as he lifted her from it. Her boots left the ground.
The Devil flooded Daemon’s eyes.
Say it again.
“You think those people at that biker bar care about you?” Lily choked out, still glaring at Femi. “When they’re done passing you around, you’ll be back on the street.”
The Devil’s grip tightened.
We should remove her tongue.
Femi gave Lily nothing. No tears. No anger. No reaction. That frightened Lily more than Daemon’s hand around her throat. The Devil delighted in her fear. Daemon brought Lily close enough that she saw it smiling through his eyes.
“Since you enjoy stories,” he said, “I have one.”
Lily clawed at his wrist.
Daemon looked toward Marco.
“Her name is Lily Thomas.”
Marco frowned.
“I know her name.”
“No. You know what she allowed you to know.”
Daemon loosened his grip enough for Lily to drag in air.
“She ran away from Vrane City at seventeen.”
Marco looked at Lily.
“You said you were from North Ravenside.”
“She lied.”
“Shut up,” Lily rasped.
Daemon’s smile widened.
“In Vrane City, Lily was caught in bed with one of many of her high school teachers.”
Marco’s expression changed. Lily shook her head frantically.
“He forced me.”
The Devil went still.
“The record says you had relationships with several male teachers.”
“I was a child!”
For one instant, the accusation stripped Lily bare. And the Devil’s pleasure disappeared. Because that mattered too. Daemon’s eyes remained cold.
“Yes. You were.”
His voice changed. Not gentler. Precise.
“And they were grown men who should have known better.”
The Devil agreed. Lily stopped fighting.
“But that is not the story you told after you ran,” Daemon continued. “You told everyone you seduced them. You turned what they did into a weapon because it sounded better than admitting adults used you.”
The Devil watched Lily.
It understood something about monsters. Being wounded did not make every wound you caused acceptable. Pain explained. It did not absolve.
Marco stared at her.
“How many?”
Lily looked away.
“How many, Lily?”
“Don’t.”
“Half the male teachers in her school were named during the investigation,” Daemon said.
Marco’s face twisted.
“You called Femi a whore.”
Lily’s gaze snapped toward him.
“You believed it.”
“Because you swore—”
“And you wanted to believe it!” she screamed. “You wanted Femi, and she wouldn’t look at you. Believing she sold herself made you feel better.”
The Devil turned slowly toward Marco.
There.
The lie he chose. The truth landed. Daemon released Lily. She hit the concrete on her knees, coughing. He stood over her.
“She came to Wolfwater and began stripping under another name,” he continued. “Then she started selling herself.”
Marco stared at Lily as though she were a stranger.
“One pimp gave her cocaine.”
“No,” Lily whispered.
“She took it because it made the nights easier.”
“Stop.”
“One pimp became three. Three became anyone who had drugs or money.”
“Stop!”
“Six years on the street,” Daemon said. “Six years of selling herself for cocaine, motel rooms, or whatever else she could get.”
Lily covered her face.
“That is your woman, Marco.”
The Devil watched Marco’s expression. Utter betrayal. And understood exactly what offended him. Not that Lily had been exploited. Not that she had survived however she could. Not that grown men had failed her when she was seventeen.
He was furious because Lily had lived the life she falsely assigned to Femi. Because he had built his resentment of Femi upon the idea that she gave other men what she refused him.
The Devil smiled.
You never cared whether it was true.
Marco pulled against his restraints.
“You lied to me.”
Lily looked up from the floor.
“So did you.”
“You told me Femi did those things.”
“And you liked hearing it.”
The Devil’s smile deepened.
“You made me think—”
“I made you think nothing. You were jealous because she never wanted you.”
Marco’s chair scraped forward.
“At least she didn’t have half a school!”
The Devil’s expression vanished. Daemon’s eyes went cold. Those men had been adults. Lily had been seventeen. The Devil had no mercy for Lily now. Lily lunged. Harlon caught her before she reached him. Their shouting filled the garage. Accusation answered accusation. Who spent the money. Who bought the drugs. Who suggested the photographs.
Who first used Femi’s name as currency. The Devil listened. And hated them both. Not because they were broken. Femi had been broken. Not because they had been poor. Femi had been poor. Not because they had been desperate. Femi had been desperate. It hated them because every time desperation asked them for a price— they had offered Femi. Femi watched them destroy each other with the truth.
Then she turned away.
The Devil noticed immediately.
Enough.
Daemon saw her leaving and followed.
Malone looked toward them.
“Where are you going?”
Femi signed without stopping. Daemon translated.
“She has heard enough.”
The Devil agreed.
Take her home.
Malone studied Marco and Lily.
“I suspect we all have.”
Outside Sully’s, morning had begun to lighten the sky above Wolfwater. Femi stood beneath the broken sign and breathed cold air into her lungs. Daemon emerged behind her. He kept his distance. The Devil wanted closer.
Wait.
It was learning to tell itself that now.
Femi turned.
Her fingers moved.
Was everything you said true?
“Yes.”
Even the school?
“Yes.”
Femi looked toward the garage. Her face held no satisfaction. Only exhaustion.
She was seventeen.
“Yes.”
She seduced those men.
“Yes.”
Femi’s hands lowered.
Daemon understood what troubled her. So did the Devil.
“I did not tell Marco to shame her for what those men did.”
Femi met his eyes.
“I told him because Lily built every lie about you from the pieces of herself she could not bear.”
Femi looked down. Daemon stepped closer. Only one step.
“She did not deserve what happened to her.”
The Devil remained quiet. There was no disagreement. His voice hardened.
“But neither did you.”
Femi’s fingers trembled.
I would have helped her.
“I know.”
The Devil whispered:
Of course you would.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
The Devil’s anger disappeared.
Little ghost.
I thought I did.
Daemon waited. He did not tell her Lily had not deserved her kindness. Did not tell her she should have known. Did not tell her the years she gave Lily had been wasted. They had been Femi’s to give. The betrayal belonged to Lily. The love had belonged to Femi. Femi closed the distance herself.
Her forehead rested against Daemon’s chest.
The Devil went still.
Hold her.
Daemon’s arms remained at his sides.
The Devil understood why before he spoke.
“May I?”
She nodded.
Yes.
Daemon held her. The Devil settled around her with him. Not crushing. Not claiming. Just there.
Home.
Behind them, Marco and Lily continued tearing apart the life they had built from lies. Femi listened for several seconds. Then she reached behind herself and pulled Sully’s door closed. Their voices vanished. Silence. The Devil liked this silence. It was not the silence Lily had mocked. Not the silence people had mistaken for stupidity. Not the silence men had used to speak over Femi.
This silence was chosen. Femi had spent years carrying them. Their hunger. Their debts. Their lies. Their addictions. Their jealousy. Their excuses. Their voices. She did not have to carry them anymore.
The Devil rested quietly beneath Daemon’s skin as he held her. For once, it wanted nothing from her. No vengeance.No answer. No decision. Only this.
Femi breathing against Daemon’s chest.
The door closed behind her.
Morning ahead.
Come home, little ghost.
Femi remained in Daemon’s arms outside Sully’s garage. Behind the closed door, Marco and Lily continued shouting. The sound had become meaningless. Two selfish people tearing apart a life built from Femi’s suffering. The Devil listened for several seconds.
Then dismissed them.
Enough of them.
Daemon lowered his head. His mouth hovered beside her ear. The Devil stirred.
A very different thought replacing murder.
Give her something else.
“You are killing me.”
His breath moved warmly across her skin. Femi shivered against him.
The Devil purred.
There.
She pulled back enough to see his face.
What?
Daemon watched the question form.
The Devil whispered.
Tell her.
The man listened.
“You shot Angelo twice.”
His voice was low. Femi’s cheeks warmed.
The Devil immediately became fascinated.
Again.
“You killed three of his men.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“And then you shot Lily.”
Daemon leaned closer.
“What you do to me is insane.”
Color rushed into Femi’s face. Crimson spread across her cheeks and down her throat.
The Devil forgot Marco had ever existed.
Look at her.
Daemon was.The Devil was fascinated by her blush. It wanted to discover how far the color traveled. Daemon forced that thought away.
Mostly.
Mmm.
The sound escaped before he decided whether it belonged to him or the Devil.
Low.
Hungry.
Femi froze. The Devil was delighted. Daemon’s scar pulled beneath the slow curve of his mouth.
“The way you watch me.”
Femi looked toward Helix. She was deciding whether she could reach the door before he finished speaking.
The Devil noticed.
She is going to run.
Daemon knew she could. He also knew she wanted to hear the rest.
Then make it worth staying.
His lips brushed the shell of her ear without quite becoming a kiss.
“Did I please you today, my little ghost?”
That sound came again. Rougher this time. Something between a purr and a growl. Femi stopped breathing. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The trembling in her stomach returned so violently that one hand dropped to cover it.
Daemon saw. The Devil saw.
Its pleasure rolled down his spine.
Yes.
Femi stepped away from him. Then another step. Daemon raised one eyebrow.
The Devil laughed.
Run, little ghost.
She turned and hurried toward Helix. Not quite running. Very close.
Daemon chuckled behind her. The sound followed Femi across the narrow space between the buildings. She reached Helix’s back door and pulled it open.
The Devil whispered inside Daemon.
It is time she thought about something other than Lily and Marco.
Daemon agreed.
That was the point. Not the blush. Not the desire. Not even that hungry little sound she had almost made while watching him. Femi had spent enough of the morning carrying other people’s ugliness.
The Devil wanted it gone.
Even temporarily.
Give her something warm.
Daemon followed her inside with a smile.
Femi crossed the kitchen as though escaping a fire. Marta stood beside the ovens with a cup of coffee in one hand. She watched Femi enter. Then she looked at the closed door. Femi opened a cupboard. Closed it. Opened the refrigerator.
Stared inside without taking anything. Closed that too.
Marta took a slow drink.
“What happened?”
Femi shook her head. She reached for a stack of clean plates and began rearranging them.
“They were already arranged.”
Femi rearranged them faster. The Devil was deeply pleased with itself.
We broke her.
“No.”
Pleasantly.
The door opened. Daemon entered. His long pale hair was loose around his shoulders again. His shirt had been buttoned incorrectly, leaving one side lower than the other. He wore a crooked smile.
Marta looked from him to Femi.
Then to his shirt.
“No.”
Daemon stopped.
“No what?”
“I don’t want to know.”
“You asked what happened.”
“I withdraw the question.”
Femi nearly dropped a plate. The Devil purred. Daemon’s smile deepened. Marta pointed toward the clubhouse.
“Go sit down.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That has never stopped you from haunting your table.”
Daemon looked at Femi. Her back faced him. The tips of her ears had turned red. The Devil immediately noticed.
Still thinking about us.
“I find the kitchen pleasant.”
Femi gripped the plate. Marta followed his gaze.
“The kitchen is closed.”
“It appears open.”
“It suffered an unexpected Devil infestation.”
Daemon folded his arms.
“I live here.”
“That makes the infestation difficult to treat.”
Femi’s shoulders shook. A silent laugh. Small. But real. The Devil quieted. There. That was what it wanted. The pressure inside Daemon eased. Not her embarrassment. Not even the desire he had seen written openly across her face. That. The soundless movement of her shoulders.
Something warm replacing Lily’s voice.
Again, little ghost.
Marta noticed the change in his expression. Her own softened. Only briefly. Then she pointed toward his shirt.
“Fix that before Malone sees you.”
Daemon looked down. Two buttons had found the wrong holes. Femi turned. Her gaze dropped to the mistake. Her silent laughter became impossible to hide. Daemon frowned at the shirt.
“I dressed quickly.”
Femi’s hands moved.
I noticed.
The Devil nearly choked on its own delight.
She noticed.
His eyes lifted sharply.
Femi’s face flushed again.
There it is.
Marta placed her coffee on the counter.
“I am leaving.”
“No one asked you to.”
“I know when survival requires initiative.”
The Devil respected that. She walked into the clubhouse. Femi watched her go. Then she found herself alone with Daemon. His smile returned. Slowly.
The Devil stretched beneath his skin.
Hello again, little ghost.
She pointed toward his shirt.
Fix it.
Daemon approached.
Femi took one step backward.
He stopped immediately.
So did the Devil.
Wait.
“Would you like to?”
Her lips parted. Daemon waited.
The Devil waited with considerably less dignity.
Say yes.
Femi looked at his shirt.
Then at the strip of chest revealed between the mismatched buttons.
Her stomach trembled.
She nodded.
The Devil purred.
Yes.
Daemon came close enough for her to reach him. No closer. Femi’s fingers touched the first button. The Devil became silent. She undid it. Then the next. Her knuckles brushed his chest. Daemon’s breath changed.
The Devil shuddered.
She touched us.
Femi noticed.
Her eyes lifted.
“Yes,” he murmured. “You do that too.”
Her hand paused.
What?
“Make breathing difficult.”
The Devil added:
Thinking too.
She looked down quickly. Daemon watched her align the shirt. One button. Then another. Each careful movement touched the fabric rather than his skin. Mostly. The Devil noticed every exception. When she reached the center of his chest, her fingertips strayed.
Just once.
There.
Daemon’s hands curled at his sides. He did not touch her. The Devil wanted to. It also understood why he did not. She had chosen this. Let her finish choosing it. Femi finished the final button.
Then smoothed both palms over his chest. Daemon closed his eyes.
The Devil purred beneath her hands.
Both.
When he looked at her again, the teasing had softened.
“Better?”
Femi nodded.
Better.
She started to retreat.
The Devil objected immediately.
No.
Daemon spoke before she escaped.
“Little ghost.”
Femi stopped.
“I meant what I said.”
Her expression questioned him.
“You pleased me.”
The blush returned. The Devil enjoyed it for only a moment. Because Daemon had something more important to say.
“Not because you hurt them.”
Femi stilled.
The Devil stilled with her.
“Because you chose for yourself.”
His pale hair moved across his scar.
“You looked at people who spent years deciding what your silence meant, and you answered them.”
The Devil whispered:
She speaks.
Femi’s eyes began to shine. Daemon did not reach for her.
“You were magnificent.”
The same word Angelo had used.
Femi’s face closed. The Devil felt it happen.
No.
Daemon saw it too.
He stepped closer, then stopped outside her reach.
“No.”
She looked at him.
“Not because I imagined what proper care could turn you into.”
The Devil’s anger flickered at the memory. Angelo looking at Femi as though suffering had been an unfinished version of her. As though safety had created her value. His gaze held hers.
“You were magnificent when you lived beneath that bridge.”
Femi forgot how to breathe.
The Devil went utterly quiet.
“You were magnificent in rags.”
Daemon’s voice roughened.
“Hungry. Frightened. Working until your hands bled while still finding something to give everyone else.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. The Devil did not like tears. But it understood this one.
“You did not become worthy when we found you.”
Another tear followed.
“You survived long enough for us to see what was already there.”
The Devil whispered:
There you are.
Not something Daemon had made. Not something Malone had rescued into existence. Not something Wolfwater had polished until others could finally see value.
Femi. Always Femi. Femi closed the distance. Her forehead struck his chest.
The Devil surged.
Hold her.
Daemon’s arms remained at his sides.
The Devil corrected itself.
Ask.
“May I?”
She nodded against him.
Now.
He held her.
Tightly this time. Femi gathered the back of his shirt in both hands. The Devil settled around her with him.
Little ghost.
The pain Lily had left inside her did not disappear. Neither did the memory of Marco. But Daemon’s heartbeat filled the space where their voices had been. After several breaths, Femi’s fingers moved against his back.
You still pleased me.
Daemon went completely still. The Devil did not.
It exploded into delighted laughter.
She said it.
Femi slipped out of his arms before he could respond. She hurried toward the pantry.
The Devil laughed inside him.
Catch her.
“No.”
Follow her.
That, Daemon could do.
He followed at a leisurely pace.
“Did I?”
Femi closed the pantry door in his face. Daemon stopped outside it. His crooked smile widened.
The Devil was insufferably pleased.
She is hiding.
“Little ghost?”
No answer.
He leaned one shoulder against the frame.
“Would you care to explain how much?”
Something struck the inside of the door.
Possibly a bag of flour.
The Devil laughed.
Ask again.
Daemon chuckled. Across the clubhouse, Marta heard him. She looked toward the kitchen and shook her head. Whatever had happened next door, the Devil had returned smiling. But beneath the amusement, beneath the hunger, beneath its shameless fascination with every blush Daemon coaxed into Femi’s cheeks, the Devil understood what had actually happened.
The garage door had closed. Lily’s voice had disappeared. Marco’s voice had disappeared. For a few minutes, Femi was not remembering what had been sold. Who had betrayed her. How much money had changed hands. Who had watched her sleep. She was hiding inside a pantry because Daemon had teased her until she blushed.
The Devil leaned contentedly beneath his skin.
Good.
Femi was no longer thinking about Lily.
And the Devil intended to keep giving its little ghost better things to think about.
By ten o’clock, Helix was packed wall to wall.
Music thundered through the clubhouse. Glasses struck tables. Boots pounded against the floor. Every conversation became a shouting match fought over the bass.
The dinner crowd had never truly left.
Motorcycles lined the street outside, their polished frames shining beneath the lamps. Customers occupied every chair, stood two deep around the bar, and crowded the narrow spaces between tables. From his dark corner, Daemon watched everything. The front entrance. The stairs. Malone behind the bar. Harlon speaking to two men near the service window.
But his eyes always returned to Femi.
The Devil’s did too.
There.
They found her no matter where she went. She moved along the far wall with four plates balanced between her hands. She disappeared into the kitchen. Returned carrying drinks. Crossed the center of the clubhouse while bodies shifted aside to let her pass.
Daemon never lost sight of her. Neither did the Devil. It had spent the entire evening pleased with itself. Insufferably pleased. Every time Femi approached his side of the room, she remembered Sully’s.
The worktable. His bare back. The way he had stood between her knees and asked whether he pleased her. Color would warm her face. Then she would suddenly discover a table in the opposite direction that required her immediate attention.
The Devil purred.
Again.
Daemon noticed.
Of course he noticed.
She remembers.
“Yes.”
She is thinking about us.
Daemon took a slow drink.
The Devil practically preened.
We pleased her.
“You are going to become unbearable.”
Become?
Daemon almost smiled.
At ten fifteen, he raised two fingers. The signal was meant for a drink. Everyone working at Helix recognized it. Mary saw him first. She reached for the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Femi appeared beside her and took it from her hand.
The Devil became instantly attentive.
Ours.
Daemon corrected it without thought.
“Hers to bring.”
The Devil considered that.
She chose ours.
Better.
Mary looked at the bottle. Then at Femi. Then toward Daemon’s corner.
“Are you certain?”
Femi frowned. Mary raised both hands.
“I admire courage.”
The Devil was offended.
We are delightful.
Daemon’s mouth twitched. Femi placed ice into a clean glass.
“I simply prefer observing it from a safe distance.”
Femi rolled her eyes. She poured the whiskey and carried it through the crowd. Daemon watched her approach. The Devil became very still.
Little ghost.
Femi had changed for dinner service. She wore fitted black trousers and a blue-and-silver shirt beneath her waistcoat. Her midnight hair had been released from its braid and gathered into a low tail that moved against her hips as she walked.
The scent of strawberries reached him before she did.
The Devil purred.
Strawberries.
Femi stopped beside the table. She placed the drink in front of him. Daemon did not touch it. His attention remained upon her. Femi pointed toward the glass. He smiled.
The Devil smiled with him.
She knows.
She should have walked away then.
She knew it.
Daemon knew she knew it.
The Devil certainly knew it.
Go on, little ghost.
Still, she hesitated. Only for a second. It was enough. The Devil’s delight sharpened.
She stayed.
Daemon leaned closer. Femi became still. His mouth moved beside her ear, hidden from the crowded room by the fall of his pale hair.
“Mmm.”
The low sound moved through her.
The Devil felt the shiver.
There.
“So I pleased you.”
His voice was thick. Deep. Far too intimate for a room containing several hundred people. Femi’s fingers tightened around the empty tray. The Devil noticed everything. Her fingers. Her breath. The pulse moving quickly beneath the skin of her throat.
Again.
“I am delighted to have pleased you so.”
Heat rushed into her face.
The Devil nearly laughed.
Delighted.
Femi stepped back. Daemon’s eyes followed her. He did not hide what lived inside them. Heat. Want. And beneath both, a reverence so open that Femi forgot how to breathe. His gaze traveled slowly over her. Not taking. Admiring. As though every line of her body deserved his full attention.
The Devil had looked at enemies and made them pray. It looked at Femi and worshipped. And it saw no contradiction in that.
Beautiful.
A smile spread across Daemon’s face. Slow. Crooked. Knowing. Femi backed into the chair behind her. She caught it before it overturned.
The Devil was ecstatic.
We did that.
Daemon’s smile deepened.
Her hands moved sharply.
Stop.
Daemon remained exactly where he was. The Devil went attentive. Not alarmed. Listening.
“I am sitting quietly.”
You are not quiet.
The Devil purred. It liked that answer far too much.
“I have said nothing for several seconds.”
Femi narrowed her eyes.
The Devil whispered:
She can still hear us.
Not literally. Something better. She knew exactly what lived in his eyes. Daemon lifted his whiskey and took one measured drink. His gaze never left her. The Devil settled behind it. Warm. Possessive. Utterly fascinated. Femi looked toward the bar.
Mary had stopped wiping the same glass. Harlon appeared deeply interested in the wall. Malone was watching Daemon with the expression of a man reconsidering several life decisions.
The Devil considered Malone.
He knows.
Daemon nearly laughed.
Femi fled. She slipped into the crowd so quickly that two bikers moved aside without understanding why. The Devil laughed first. Daemon’s followed her. Low. Rough.
Unmistakably pleased.
Run, little ghost.
Not because it wanted to chase her. Because it knew where she was going. Because she was safe. Because the thing chasing her tonight was not Marco. Not Lily. Not Angelo. Not a man waiting in an alley because someone had sold him her schedule.
It was a blush. A memory. Want. The Devil liked this kind of running much better. Femi reached the bar and placed her tray down harder than necessary. Mary glanced at her crimson face.
“What did he say?”
Femi shook her head.
“Was it threatening?”
Another shake. Mary considered the way Daemon watched Femi retreat.
“Somehow, that is worse.”
The Devil was delighted by Mary too. Femi reached for a new order. Her hands were unsteady. Across the clubhouse, Daemon leaned back in his chair.
The Devil was pleased beyond measure.
Look at her.
Her blush. The quickening of her breath. The way she tried to command him to stop while remaining within reach until she chose to leave. The way she had taken his whiskey from Mary herself. The way she kept returning to his side of the room despite knowing exactly what waited in his corner.
She keeps coming back.
That mattered more than the blush. More than the desire. More than the trembling fingers. Femi chose the distance between them. Sometimes she closed it. Sometimes she fled it. And Daemon let her do both.
The Devil had once believed possession meant preventing something precious from leaving.
Femi had taught it something far more satisfying.
She could leave.
And still— She comes back. Daemon lifted his glass again. Strawberries lingered in the air after she left. He breathed in the scent. Then smiled into his whiskey.
Across the room, Femi glanced toward him. Only once. A mistake. Daemon caught her immediately.
The Devil purred.
There you are.
Femi’s eyes widened. Color returned to her cheeks. She turned away so quickly Mary looked at her. Daemon’s crooked smile deepened. The Devil settled inside him, smug beyond reason.
Again.
She could flee into the crowd as often as she liked. His eyes would always find her. Not because she belonged beneath them. Not because he had any right to keep her there. Because in a room packed wall to wall with hundreds of people— Daemon still looked for one.
And every now and then, when Femi thought he would not notice— his little ghost looked back.
The Devil was delighted.
Lily had never cared about anyone more than she cared about herself. She saw nothing wrong with that. People liked to pretend otherwise. They talked about loyalty.
Love. Friendship. Family. Sacrifice.
Then they lied, cheated, stole, fucked whoever they wanted, and did whatever was necessary the moment life became inconvenient. Lily merely refused to pretend. She wanted what she wanted. When she wanted it. That was honesty. Everything else was theater. She learned young that men watched her.
Teachers. Neighbors. Fathers of friends. Men passing on sidewalks. They looked.Some tried not to. Some did not bother hiding it. Lily learned what that attention was worth.
A smile got favors.
A touch got more.
And when she began failing classes, she discovered there were other ways to convince certain people that grades were negotiable. Then a female teacher caught her kissing one of the male teachers on school grounds.
Everything exploded.
Questions.
Administrators.
Expulsion.
Her father.
That frightened Lily more than anything. Not because she believed she had done something terrible. Because her father was important. A lawyer in Vrod City. A man obsessed with appearances. He would punish her.
Take her money.
Take her phone.
Lock her inside that enormous house and spend months explaining how she had embarrassed him.
Lily was not staying for that. So at seventeen, she ran. By the time her father started looking, Lily was already in Wolfwater.
She lied about her age. That was easy. Men rarely asked questions when they wanted to believe the answer. A strip club hired her. For a while, Lily thought she had figured life out.
Money every night. Men throwing cash because she smiled. Men buying drinks. Men promising apartments, clothing, jewelry. She imagined the future constantly. A mansion. Cars lined across a circular driveway. Designer clothing. Diamonds. People knowing her name. She would never worry about money again. Then the club owner discovered her real age. The job disappeared. The apartment disappeared soon afterward.
Lily became homeless. That was temporary. She told herself that every night. Temporary. She started trading sex for motel rooms.
Money.
Food.
Whatever kept her from sleeping outside.
Eventually she found a man in Wolfwater who promised to keep her working. He became her pimp. Then came cocaine. Lily did not mind the drugs. The drugs made everything easier. Men became easier. Nights became shorter. Hunger became distant. Shame disappeared completely. Not that Lily believed she had much to be ashamed of.
She was surviving.
At least that was what she called it.
Then she found Wolfwater Bridge.
And beneath it, she found Femi.
Lily had not eaten in two days. She was sick. Sweating. Her hands would not stop shaking. Her entire body demanded a fix she could not afford. She noticed Femi because Femi had food.
A sandwich.
Nothing impressive.
But food.
Femi sat beneath the bridge with a book in her lap and half the sandwich wrapped carefully beside her.
Lily approached.
“Hey.”
Femi looked up. Huge green eyes. Black hair. Too thin. Quiet. Lily smiled.
“Can I sit?”
Femi nodded. Lily sat. She stared at the sandwich. Femi noticed. Of course she did. The strange little mute noticed everything. She picked up the wrapped half and offered it. Lily took it. No hesitation. No suspicion. No demand. Nothing.
“Thanks.”
Femi smiled.
That was how it started.
In the beginning, Lily was nice. Being nice cost nothing. And Femi was useful. Femi worked. Constantly.
Lily had never seen anyone work so much. She disappeared early and returned late. Sometimes after midnight. Sometimes near dawn.
Cleaning.
Dishes.
Warehouses.
Laundry.
Anything.
Some days Femi came back with money. Those were the good days. Other days she returned only with food. Lily hated those days.
“You worked all fucking day and this is all you got?”
Femi would unpack bread. Fruit. Something canned. Maybe meat if they were lucky. Her hands would move.
Food.
“Yes, I can see it’s food.”
Femi stared.
“Where’s the money?”
Femi would shake her head.
Used it.
“For what?”
Food.
Lily would become furious.
“You could have given me the money and I could’ve decided what we needed.”
Femi never argued. That made Lily angrier. Because Femi would simply begin cooking. And later Lily would eat. She always ate. Because no matter how much Lily resented her, Femi kept her alive.
When Lily became sick, Femi appeared with medicine.
When Lily went two days without eating, Femi found food.
When a john beat Lily and refused to pay her, Femi cleaned the cuts on her face.
She washed blood from Lily’s hair.
Placed ice against her swollen eye.
Stayed awake beside her.
Lily remembered looking at Femi that night and thinking how stupid she was. Nobody did things for free. Femi did. That was weakness. At least Lily decided it was.
Then Marco arrived. Marco noticed Femi first. That was unforgivable.
Lily saw it immediately.
The staring.
The smiling.
The way he offered Femi things he never offered anyone else. He promised her the moon. The stars. A place of their own someday. Protection. He talked enough for both of them. Femi sometimes smiled when he did. Lily hated that smile. So Lily did what Lily always did. She took what she wanted. Marco was easy. Men usually were.
Soon he was sleeping beside Lily instead. Femi never fought her for him. That annoyed Lily too. She should have been jealous. Should have cried. Should have demanded him back. Instead, Femi simply continued working.
So Lily made certain Marco knew what kind of woman Femi really was.
“She sleeps with men for food.”
Marco stared.
“She does?”
“All the time.”
It was easy once she started.
“She doesn’t actually like you.”
Another lie.
“She thinks you’re stupid.”
Another.
“She only acts innocent because she wants people feeling sorry for her.”
Marco believed her. Why wouldn’t he? Lily had his body. Femi had silence. Soon Marco started treating Femi differently. Cold. Dismissive. Cruel when Lily encouraged him. And still Femi brought food home.
Still gave them money. Still repaired Marco’s torn clothing. Still made sure they ate.
Lily and Marco spent most days high while Femi worked.
It should have made Lily happy.
Instead, resentment grew.
Because everything in their little camp existed because of Femi. Food. Blankets. Medicine. Clean clothing. Money. Even Marco sometimes looked toward the road when Femi was late. Waiting.
Lily noticed.
She noticed everything concerning competition.
Then Femi got Lily a job at Booth Financial. Lily thought she had finally struck gold. The building was filled with money. People left watches on desks. Cash in drawers. Medication in handbags. Jewelry beside sinks. Credit cards. Lily could hardly believe how careless rich people were. So she took things. Why wouldn’t she?
They could replace them. She could not. If someone caught her, she already knew what she would say. Femi made me do it. Femi stole too.
The mute girl threatened me.
Easy.
Except when Lily was finally brought upstairs, nobody believed her. Carr Booth sat at one end of the table. Voss stood near the monitors. And Lily discovered something she had never expected. Carr did not care about her. Not even a little. He cared about Femi. Everyone fucking cared about Femi.
Carr asked questions.
Voss asked more.
What did Femi eat?
Where did she sleep?
What frightened her?
What did she like?
Who did she trust?
Lily answered.
Why wouldn’t she?
She wanted out of that room. Then she realized information was worth money. After that, she sold everything she could. Pictures. Schedules. Places Femi worked. Things she wore. Pictures of Femi sleeping. Pictures Lily took when Femi did not know anyone was watching. Anything Carr or Voss would buy. For the first time, Femi was finally profitable.
Lily found that funny. The stupid mute had spent months refusing every sensible way Lily suggested they make money.
Now Femi was making Lily money without even knowing it.
Perfect.
Lily constantly told Femi she needed to grow up. Femi refused to steal.
Refused drugs.
Refused men.
Refused every shortcut Lily offered.
Instead, she worked.
Worked.
Worked.
Then gave things away. That part drove Lily insane. Femi would have almost nothing and still share food. Repair someone’s coat. Sit beside an old woman who was sick. Carry groceries for someone who couldn’t. Give away half a meal she had spent hours earning. What was wrong with her? Then men started offering Lily money for access to Femi.
Real money. Thousands sometimes. Lily finally saw opportunity. She started bringing Femi places. Parties. Motel rooms. Private apartments. Bars. She always explained afterward.
“This is how you get ahead.”
Femi refused.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Men offered gifts. Femi returned them. Money. Femi pushed it back.
Jewelry.
Nothing.
Rooms.
Nothing.
Lily would scream.
“You are never getting off the street acting like a fucking child!”
Femi would stare at her. Those green eyes. Always those eyes. Like Lily was the one who did not understand.
“I am trying to help you!”
Nothing.
“Men want you!”
Nothing.
“They will pay!”
Femi walked away. Lily hated her for that. Not because Femi judged her. Femi almost never did. That somehow made it worse. Femi simply would not become Lily. No matter how difficult life became. No matter how hungry. No matter how cold.
No matter how much easier Lily promised everything could be.
Femi refused.
Eventually Lily stopped trusting Femi to cooperate. So sometimes she put something in Femi’s drink. Nothing that would hurt her. That was how Lily remembered it. Just enough to make her slower.
Easier.
Less stubborn.
But Femi still fought. Still ran. Still ruined everything. Every damn time. Lily remembered one night watching Femi stagger down a motel hallway, one hand against the wall, fighting whatever Lily had slipped into her drink.
“Stop being dramatic!”
Femi ignored her. A man came from the room behind them. He had already paid.
“Bring her back.”
Lily grabbed Femi’s arm. Femi spun. Even barely able to stand, those green eyes found Lily. For one second, Lily released her. She did not know why. Femi ran.
The man demanded his money back. Lily blamed Femi. Of course she did.
Who else was she supposed to blame?
Angelo had been supposed to solve everything. Angelo had money. Taste. Power. And he wanted Femi. Lily understood that immediately. Another one. Always Femi. Angelo gave Lily ten thousand dollars.
Lily did not tell Marco. Why would she? It was her money. She arranged the hotel. The clothing. Everything. Except Femi got sick. That was not Lily’s fault. How could she have known? Angelo was furious.
“You dressed her like a streetwalker.”
Lily stared at him.
“She looks hot.”
“I didn’t ask for hot.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“I told you classic.”
He demanded part of his money back. Lily refused. Then Femi discovered Angelo had paid for the hotel. And left. Just walked away. Lily could have screamed. Angelo had arranged the hotel for the winter.
Warm rooms.
Hot water.
Beds.
And Femi abandoned it because of pride. That stupid fucking pride. Lily spent the ten thousand dollars within a week.
Mostly drugs.
Some clothing.
Some food.
She remembered almost none of it.
Then Angelo offered money again. Carr offered money too. Lily became greedy. Why choose? She took both. Marco was easy to convince.
“We need to get out of Ravenside.”
“Why?”
“Because people are looking for us.”
That was true enough. They left. Not far. A motel outside the city. Lily bought clothing. Drugs. Food from expensive restaurants. More drugs. For one glorious week, she lived like the woman she knew she deserved to be.
Then the money disappeared. It always disappeared. Soon the clothing was sold. The motel was gone. And they were homeless again. Femi had disappeared. Lily did not care.
Not really. Carr cared. Voss cared. Angelo cared.
Marco occasionally asked where she was. That irritated Lily most of all. Why did everyone care where Femi was?
Femi had nothing. No money. No voice. No family. No power. Nothing.
Yet somehow men with money and guns kept wanting her.
Lily could never understand it.
She eventually found Femi again. And Femi forgave her. That was almost insulting. After Angelo. After the lies. After everything. Femi forgave her. Lily decided that proved what she had always believed.
Femi was weak. Then came Helix. And Daemon Pallid. The Devil. Lily wanted him immediately. Not just because he was beautiful.
Though he was.
Tall.
Scarred.
Dangerous.
A man people moved away from. A man who could enter a room and make conversations die without saying a word. Power followed him. Lily wanted power. She had once wanted Carr because Carr had money.
Influence.
An estate.
Cars.
Men who carried guns because he told them to. But Carr wanted Femi. So Carr became useless.
Daemon was different. Daemon could kill. Lily had seen what men did when his name was mentioned. Imagine having that pointed wherever she wanted. Imagine Daemon loving her. Protecting her. Killing for her. If she had the Devil, she would never have to fear Carr.
Never Voss.
Never Angelo.
Never anybody.
All she needed was Femi gone.
That should have been easy.
Marco had chosen Lily. Why wouldn’t Daemon? Lily had breasts. Legs. Silk dresses. She knew how to touch men. How to make them feel wanted. Femi wore sweaters. Jeans. Long sleeves. She hid herself. Barely looked at men. Could not even speak to them. There was no competition. Except Daemon kept looking past Lily.
Always.
Femi entered a room and Daemon found her. Femi moved behind the bar and his eyes followed. Femi signed one little command and the Devil listened.
Lily hated it. She hated Helix too. Malone. Marta. The bikers. They all treated Femi like she belonged there. Like she mattered. Lily had known Femi first. Femi had fed her. Taken care of her. Worked for her. And now these people acted as though Lily was the outsider.
Fine.
She would fix that. Carr still wanted his queen. Lily knew exactly how useful that could be. She gave Carr information. Schedules. Pictures. Details about Helix. When Femi worked. Where she slept. When Daemon left. Who watched the back door. Carr could take her. Whatever he did afterward was not Lily’s problem.
Carr wanted Femi? Let him have her. Once Femi disappeared, Daemon would hurt.
Lily could comfort him. She understood men. Grief made them stupid. Loneliness made them easier. She would be there. Beautiful. Warm. Available. Eventually Daemon would see what had been in front of him all along.
Then Helix would see too. Malone would regret throwing her out. Marta would stop looking down her nose at her. Those bikers would want her back. They would have to. She would be the Devil’s woman. And once Daemon loved her, Lily would whisper two names into his ear.
Carr Booth.
Voss.
The Devil would kill them. Why wouldn’t he? Men did things for women they loved. And Daemon would love Lily. She was certain of it. Femi had nothing Lily did not know how to take. Marco had proven that. Lily had wanted him. Lily took him. Now she wanted Daemon.
She would take him too. All she needed was for Femi to disappear. Lily smiled. Carr could have the mute. Lily would take the Devil. And this time, when Femi lost everything, Lily would make certain she never came back to reclaim it.
Because Lily had finally understood what bothered her most about Femi.
It was not the silence.
Not the attention.
Not even Daemon.
Femi had spent her entire life with almost nothing. And somehow, wherever she went, people gave her things Lily had spent her whole life trying to steal.
Trust.
Loyalty.
Protection.
Love.
Lily hated her for it.
And because Lily had never understood the difference between being given something and taking it—
she still believed all of it could become hers.
Summer came to Wolfwater with vengeance.
By noon, the pavement shimmered beneath the sun. Heat clung to the brick walls of Helix and turned the garage into an oven that smelled of motor oil, hot metal, and gasoline.
Daemon had been working on his motorcycle since morning. He removed his leather jacket first. His shirt followed an hour later. Now sweat covered him. It gathered beneath his pale hair and traveled down the strong column of his neck. It rolled over the scars across his shoulders, traced the black lines of his tattoos, and disappeared along the muscles of his back.
Lily watched every drop.
Daemon did not notice.
The Devil did.
She is staring.
Daemon loosened another bolt.
Again.
He ignored it.
Lily sat several feet away with one leg crossed over the other. The heat had given her an excuse to remove the expensive silk robe she wore over her red slip dress. The dress barely reached the middle of her thighs. Its narrow straps displayed her shoulders. The thin fabric clung to every curve.
Lily had chosen it because men looked when she wore red.
Daemon had not looked once. The Devil had. Not because it liked what it saw. Because the Devil noticed things Daemon had learned to dismiss. The angle of her body. The deliberate crossing of her legs. The way she kept placing herself where Daemon would eventually have to look.
She wants something.
Daemon remained bent over the motorcycle, one hand deep inside the exposed engine while the other reached blindly for a wrench.
Lily found the correct tool and stepped forward.
“This one?”
Daemon held out his hand without turning.
She placed the wrench in his palm slowly, allowing her fingers to brush his.
The Devil stirred.
Deliberate.
Daemon took the wrench.
Nothing else happened.
She touched us.
Daemon tightened the bolt.
I noticed.
Lily returned to the workbench. Perhaps he had not noticed. She leaned against the edge and crossed her ankles. The position lifted the hem of her dress.
Daemon continued working. Lily’s eyes traveled over him. Marco had been handsome before the drugs hollowed his face and made his hands tremble. He had known how to smile and promise things he would never give. But Marco had never looked like this. Daemon’s back moved as he loosened a bolt. Muscle shifted beneath scarred skin. A tattoo disappeared beneath the fall of his hair. Another curled around his side, vanishing below the waistband of his black jeans.
Lust tightened inside Lily. She wanted him. Not his attention. Not his approval. She wanted him in her bed, beneath her hands, looking at her the way he looked at Femi. She wanted to take the place Femi had somehow stolen without even trying. Femi had Marco’s attention first. Lily had taken it. Now Femi had the Devil. Taking him would be the perfect punishment. That would hurt the little mute bitch.
The thought made Lily smile. Daemon did not see it. The Devil did.
Something inside him became very still.
There.
Daemon reached for another socket.
That smile.
His hand paused for less than a second.
I do not like that smile.
Daemon resumed working.
Femi had been looking at Lily differently since the shipping container. Not with hatred. That would have been easier. Femi looked at her as though she finally understood there was nothing left between them worth saving.
Lily hated that look. Marco had left her because of Femi. Angelo had wanted Femi. The men at Helix protected Femi. Malone called her daughter. Marta watched her as if she were something precious. And the Devil— The Devil looked at Femi as though the rest of the world had become unnecessary.
Lily lifted the hem of her dress another inch. Daemon’s hands never stopped. She made a soft sound in the back of her throat. A breathy little moan that had made men turn toward her across crowded rooms.
Daemon reached for another wrench. The Devil laughed.
A low, ugly sound inside his skull.
Is she injured?
Daemon nearly smiled.
No.
Pity.
Lily threw back her head and shook her hair over one shoulder. Nothing. Irritation entered her desire. She knew men. She knew what they liked. They liked skin. Softness. A woman willing to bend herself into whatever shape their hunger required.
Femi could not possibly understand that. What did a mute woman who fled every time a man looked at her know about keeping someone like the Devil satisfied?
The wrench stopped turning.
The Devil surfaced beneath Daemon’s skin.
Careful.
Daemon stared at the engine. He had no idea what Lily was thinking. But the Devil had been watching her long enough to understand the direction of her attention. Every performance began with Lily looking at Daemon. Every failure ended with Lily looking toward the door Femi used.
She measures herself against our little ghost.
Daemon tightened the wrench.
Let her.
A pause.
Then the Devil whispered,
She loses.
Daemon needed a woman who could stand beside him. A woman men noticed when she entered a room. Someone beautiful enough to suit the legend. Dangerous enough to understand him.
Lily could wear red silk beside the Devil. She could sit behind him on his motorcycle with her arms around his waist. She could walk into Helix on his arm and watch every man realize she belonged to the most feared creature in Wolfwater. More importantly, she could get him into her bed. Once he touched her, once he learned what she could give him, Femi would become an inconvenience he had outgrown. That was the kind of woman Daemon needed. Not a frightened little ghost carrying bread from the kitchen.
His phone buzzed on the workbench. Lily smiled and shifted herself directly into his line of sight. Daemon wiped one hand against a rag and reached for the phone. His eyes moved over the message. Not her. The message. His thumb touched the screen twice. Then he set the phone down and returned to the motorcycle.
Lily stared at the side of his face.
Persistent.
Daemon said nothing.
Annoying.
Still nothing.
She wants you to look.
“I know.”
Lily straightened. Daemon realized too late he had spoken aloud. He reached for a screwdriver. The Devil chuckled.
A few moments later, the garage door opened. Femi entered carrying a tall glass beaded with condensation. Ice moved inside it. A slice of lemon floated near the surface. The Devil changed instantly.
Little ghost.
Daemon heard her approach. He looked up immediately. Lily’s mouth tightened.
Femi crossed the garage wearing an old blue summer dress and flat sandals. Her midnight hair had been gathered into a loose braid. She wore no makeup. No jewelry. Nothing Lily would have chosen if she knew a half-naked man waited inside.
Still, Daemon’s attention settled upon her and stayed. The Devil went quiet. Not absent. Content. Femi held out the glass. Daemon wiped both hands carefully before accepting it. Their fingers touched.
There.
Daemon’s expression softened.
Again.
It was a small change. Lily nearly missed it. Perhaps everyone else would have. But she had spent the afternoon watching his face, waiting for the slightest sign of interest. Now she saw it given freely to Femi. Daemon drank half the glass without stopping.
Femi’s hands moved.
Too hot.
“I know.”
You should come inside.
“I am almost finished.”
Femi glanced at the open engine. Her eyebrow rose. Daemon frowned.
“I am closer to finished than I was this morning.”
Her lips curved.
The Devil warmed.
She is laughing at you.
Daemon took another drink.
Femi signed again.
You said that three hours ago.
“The motorcycle is being difficult.”
Femi pointed toward him.
Daemon looked offended.
“I am not being difficult.”
She tilted her head.
He stared at her.
She knows you.
“Quiet.”
Femi blinked.
Daemon shook his head.
“Not you.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. She knew exactly who he meant. Then his scar pulled beneath a reluctant smile. Lily watched the silent conversation with growing resentment. She hated when they did this. Their hands moved. Their eyes answered. Sometimes Daemon smiled before Femi finished signing, as though he understood the thought before she expressed it.
Lily had never learned sign language. She had lived beside Femi for years and never bothered. At the time, it seemed unnecessary. If Femi wanted something badly enough, she could point or write it down. Now every movement of Femi’s hands closed a door in Lily’s face.
The Devil noticed that too.
She does not understand her.
Daemon glanced toward Lily for the first time without truly looking at her.
Good.
Femi stepped closer to Daemon. She touched the end of his hair where it had fallen into a streak of oil. Daemon looked down at it. His mouth flattened. Femi laughed silently. He caught her wrist before she could withdraw. Not hard. His thumb rested over her pulse.
Femi’s laughter disappeared. The air changed between them. Lily felt it.
So did the Devil.
Mine.
Daemon looked at Femi’s hand inside his.
Ours.
Femi looked at his bare chest. Color moved slowly into her cheeks.
The Devil practically purred.
She likes looking.
Daemon’s eyes darkened.
Do not frighten her.
The warning came from Daemon this time.
The Devil quieted.
Daemon released Femi before she became afraid.
“You made food?”
Femi nodded.
“What?”
Her hands moved.
Cold chicken. Salad. Bread.
Daemon glanced toward the motorcycle.
Femi folded her arms.
He sighed.
“Ten minutes.”
She raised five fingers.
“Eight.”
Five again.
“Seven.”
Femi remained unmoved.
The Devil whispered,
Five.
Daemon ignored it.
Five.
He took the remaining lemonade.
She brought us lemonade.
Daemon surrendered.
“Five.”
The Devil settled smugly.
Good.
Femi smiled. The victory pleased him. Lily saw that too. Not submission. Not weakness. Daemon chose to yield because Femi had asked. Lily wanted that look turned on her. She wanted him to give in because she had asked him to come to her bed. Femi took the empty glass from him.
Before leaving, she reached up and wiped a streak of grease from his cheek with her thumb.
Daemon became still beneath the touch. The Devil went silent. Completely silent.
His eyes closed for one brief second. He leaned into her hand. The movement was so slight Lily might have imagined it. But Femi’s expression changed. She saw it. Daemon opened his eyes. Whatever passed between them required no hands at all. Femi withdrew and walked toward the door. Daemon watched her leave.
His gaze remained upon the empty doorway after she disappeared.
The Devil finally whispered,
Follow her.
Daemon looked at the motorcycle.
Food.
“I said five minutes.”
Four.
Daemon reached for the wrench.
Three.
He ignored it.
Behind him, Lily looked down at her red dress. It did not feel cheap. It felt wasted. She had dressed for him, displayed herself for him, and he had spent the afternoon looking at a woman in a plain blue dress.
“You like her,” she said.
Daemon returned to the motorcycle.
“That is none of your concern.”
“She doesn’t seem like your type.”
His hand stopped.
The Devil lifted its head.
There she is again.
Lily smiled when Daemon looked at her.
At last.
“She’s sweet,” Lily continued. “Quiet. Innocent.”
His stare became colder.
The Devil watched.
Why does she say it like an insult?
“You aren’t.”
Lily laughed as though he had complimented her.
“No. I’m not.”
She uncrossed her legs slowly.
“Maybe you need someone who understands what you are.”
The Devil laughed again. This time there was nothing amused in it.
She thinks she understands us.
Daemon selected another tool.
Let me answer.
No.
One sentence.
No.
I can be polite.
Daemon almost snorted.
That was a lie.
“Leave the garage.”
Her smile faltered.
“I was only talking.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to be rude.”
“Then stop requiring it.”
Lily stood. Anger burned beneath her skin, but she preserved her smile. Daemon had looked. That was what mattered. He noticed her now. Men like him enjoyed resistance. They wanted to believe they could not be seduced until the right woman proved otherwise.
Lily knew how to prove it. She would keep appearing in front of him until he stopped pretending he did not want her. She would wear the right clothes, touch him at the right moment, and make Femi watch him choose. Lily walked past him, allowing her hip to brush the edge of the workbench.
Daemon did not turn. The Devil did not need him to.
It had already learned enough.
Daemon.
He kept working.
She is going to be a problem.
“She is already a problem.”
No.
The Devil’s voice lost its amusement.
For the little ghost.
Daemon’s hand stopped. For the first time that afternoon, Lily had his complete attention. Not his eyes. Not his desire. His awareness. She had already reached the rear entrance. Daemon watched her reflection move faintly across the polished chrome of his motorcycle.
The Devil whispered,
Watch her.
Daemon said nothing.
She looks at Femi when she fails.
His jaw tightened.
Every time.
That, Daemon had noticed. Near the rear entrance, Marta sat beneath the narrow strip of shade cast by the building. A cigarette burned between her fingers. Lily paused. Marta looked at the red slip dress. Then at the open garage. Her gaze returned to Lily.
Lily smiled.
“Hot today.”
Marta took a slow drag.
“So I’ve heard.”
Lily entered Helix. Marta watched until the door closed behind her. Then she looked through the garage at Daemon. He had already returned to work. Marta crushed the cigarette beneath her boot. She had seen every movement. Lily leaning. Lily lifting her dress. Lily positioning herself near the workbench.
She had also seen Daemon ignore her. That should have ended the matter. The hunger on Lily’s face told Marta it would not.
Inside Daemon, the Devil agreed.
She thinks because you spared her, she is welcome.
Daemon wiped the wrench clean.
His eyes settled briefly upon the door Lily had disappeared through.
“No.”
The Devil became very still. Daemon set the wrench down.
“No, she is not.”
A slow satisfaction moved through him.
Good.
Then, softer—
colder—
Make sure she remembers the difference.
Two days later, Lily learned Daemon was upstairs.
Malone had sent him to shower before the dinner crowd arrived. He had spent the afternoon replacing a damaged section of Helix’s back fence and entered the clubhouse covered in dust.
Femi was in the kitchen. Marta stood behind the bar. Lily waited until Malone went into his office. Then she disappeared upstairs. Marta watched her go. She set down the glass she had been drying. At the top of the stairs, Lily paused outside Daemon’s room. She had changed twice.
The first dress looked too desperate. The second covered too much. Now she wore a white bikini top beneath an open red blouse and a black skirt so short she could barely sit in it. She adjusted the blouse.
Then opened Daemon’s door without knocking. He stood near the bed with his back to her. His hair was damp from the shower. Black jeans rested low on his hips. He had one arm inside a clean shirt.
Daemon turned.
The Devil entered his eyes.
Her.
Not surprise. Recognition. The same woman from the garage. The same calculated movements. The same eyes that watched Daemon and then searched for Femi whenever he failed to respond.
She followed us upstairs.
“Get out.”
Lily closed the door behind her.
The Devil became still.
She closed the door.
“I need to talk to you.”
“No.”
Open it.
She laughed softly.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I know you entered my room without permission.”
Daemon pulled the shirt over his shoulders but did not button it. Lily allowed her gaze to travel across his exposed chest.
The Devil watched her watching him.
She is doing it again.
Daemon reached for the first button.
Looking like hunger should flatter us.
It did not.
“I know you like looking at me.”
“No.”
“You looked at me in the garage.”
“I was deciding whether to throw you out.”
The Devil gave a quiet laugh.
I voted yes.
Her smile tightened.
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“I am not pretending.”
Lily walked farther into the room. Daemon moved toward the door. She reached it first and sat in the chair beside it, placing herself between him and the exit.
The Devil stirred. Not desire.
Danger.
Move her.
Daemon remained where he was.
Daemon.
Not yet.
Then Lily opened the red blouse.
“I know what men want.”
Daemon’s expression became empty.
The Devil’s did not.
No.
Lily mistook the absence of emotion for restraint.
“You don’t have to keep waiting for Femi.”
Everything inside Daemon stopped.
The Devil rose.
Slowly.
What did she say?
His gray eyes sharpened.
“She can’t give you what you need.”
Careful.
“You do not know what I need.”
“She’s afraid of you.”
“No.”
“She runs every time you touch her.”
The Devil pressed hard against the inside of Daemon’s skull.
Do not speak about our little ghost.
“She chooses when I touch her.”
Lily slipped the blouse from one shoulder.
“She doesn’t know how to handle a man like you.”
She handles us just fine.
“Put your clothing back on.”
Lily laughed. She reached behind herself for the tie of her bikini top.
The Devil surged forward.
Enough.
Daemon’s voice descended.
“Do not remove another piece of clothing in my room.”
The warning struck the air hard enough to stop her hands. For the first time, uncertainty entered Lily’s face.
The Devil liked that better.
There. She heard you.
Then came a soft knock. Lily’s confidence returned. Femi. Perfect. She loosened one string and leaned back in the chair. If Femi entered now, she would see Lily half-undressed inside Daemon’s room. Daemon’s open shirt. The closed door. She would misunderstand. Femi always ran when something frightened her. Let her run.
Lily smiled toward the door.
“Come in.”
The Devil understood. Daemon did too. The smile vanished from his face.
She wants the little ghost to see.
His hands curled.
She planned this.
The door opened. Marta entered.
The Devil almost laughed.
Better.
She took in the room with one sweep of her eyes. Daemon beside the bed. His shirt open. Lily in the chair. Her blouse hanging from one arm. Her fingers curled around the loosened string of her bikini top. Marta closed the door behind herself. Lily’s smile faltered.
“I thought you were Femi.”
“I know.”
The Devil whispered,
So did we.
Daemon buttoned his shirt.
“Marta.”
“I saw her come upstairs.”
“Remove her.”
Lily stood.
“He doesn’t own this room.”
Marta looked at Daemon.
“He does.”
“He doesn’t own Helix.”
“I do not recall you owning it either.”
Lily pulled the blouse over her shoulder.
“We were talking.”
“No,” Daemon said. “You were leaving.”
Lily’s face hardened.
“Why are you acting like this? I know you want me.”
The Devil laughed. It was soft. Almost curious.
She really believes that.
Daemon looked at her without interest.
“Then you know nothing.”
The words struck harder than cruelty would have. Lily’s gaze moved between him and Marta.
“I belong here as much as anyone.”
Marta became still.
“Why?”
“Because I was spared.”
The room fell silent. The Devil stopped laughing. Lily lifted her chin.
“Daemon could have killed me. Malone could have thrown me out. They didn’t.”
The Devil whispered one word.
Femi.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
“And you mistook that for an invitation,” Marta said.
“No one told me I couldn’t come back.”
Marta approached.
Lily resisted the urge to retreat.
“You believe being alive gives you rights inside this house?”
“I have nowhere else.”
“That is not Femi’s fault.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You never have to. Everything you do says it for you.”
Lily looked toward Daemon.
“He isn’t with her.”
The Devil moved. A slow, vicious thing beneath Daemon’s ribs.
Not hers to decide.
Daemon’s expression darkened.
“She hasn’t claimed him,” Lily continued. “She barely knows what to do when he looks at her.”
She does not have to claim us.
Daemon stared at Lily.
The Devil’s voice became quieter.
We already chose.
Marta stopped directly in front of Lily.
“You think this is about claiming him?”
“It is about getting what I want.”
The words came out before Lily could soften them. She did not care. She wanted Daemon. She wanted his bed, his hands, his attention, and the satisfaction of making Femi watch him choose someone else.
The Devil could not hear her thoughts. It did not need to. It had watched her long enough. Every look. Every calculated touch. Every glance toward Femi afterward.
She does not want you.
Daemon remained silent.
She wants to take something from the little ghost.
That was different.
Very different.
“You wore something short. You displayed your body. You entered his room and began undressing after he ordered you to leave.” Marta’s voice remained calm. “That is not seduction. It is trespassing with poor judgment.”
Lily flushed.
“He looked at me.”
“So have I. Neither of us is impressed.”
Daemon’s mouth almost moved.
The Devil was less restrained.
I like her.
Lily saw Daemon’s near-smile and became furious.
“You all act as though she’s special.”
“No,” Marta said. “We act as though she is ours.”
The Devil whispered immediately,
Mine.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
Ours.
“She isn’t your blood.”
“Blood is an accident. Loyalty is a decision.”
Lily looked toward Daemon again.
“He needs a real woman beside him.”
The Devil smiled. It was not a pleasant expression.
Marta noticed.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“Someone strong. Someone who isn’t afraid of him. Someone who knows how to please a man.”
Little ghost pleases us by walking into a room.
Daemon said nothing.
She brings lemonade.
His mouth twitched.
And bread.
Enough.
Strawberries.
Daemon fought the smile.
“You mean someone like you,” Marta said.
“Yes.”
Marta considered her.
“You believe the woman beside the Devil should wear expensive silk and make other men jealous.”
Lily folded her arms.
“She should be able to stand in his world.”
“She should be able to hear the word no.”
The Devil hummed its agreement.
Lily ignored that.
“Femi walked into Angelo’s world with a gun.”
Lily’s mouth tightened.
“She shot him twice.”
Daemon’s smile deepened.
The Devil practically purred.
Our little ghost.
“She killed three men who tried to take her,” Marta continued. “Then she shot you when you stood between her and freedom.”
Lily’s face drained of color. The Devil remembered. Blood. Fear. Femi surviving.
Strong enough.
“Do not confuse gentleness with weakness simply because you possess neither.”
Lily stared at her. Marta pointed toward the door.
“Go.”
“I don’t take orders from you.”
Marta took another step.
“You will today.”
Lily looked at Daemon for help.
The Devil found that genuinely amusing.
Does she expect rescue?
Daemon moved to the chair and lifted the blouse she had allowed to fall onto it. For one foolish second, Lily thought he meant to hand it to her. He opened the door and threw it into the hall.
“Out.”
There.
Humiliation burned through Lily. She retied her bikini top with shaking hands.
“This is because of Femi.”
“No,” Daemon said. “This is because I told you to leave and you stayed.”
“She doesn’t want you.”
The words left her before caution could stop them. Daemon’s face went still. The Devil went still with him. Not anger. Something deeper. A place Lily could not see. A place Daemon tried not to touch.
Do not listen.
But Lily sensed the wound and pressed harder.
“If she did, you wouldn’t be sleeping alone.”
Silence.
The Devil moved first.
She does not know.
Daemon said nothing.
She does not know how the little ghost looks at us.
Marta caught Lily by the arm.
She does not know how she says your name.
Daemon’s fingers curled.
Day-mon.
His eyes lowered.
She does not know she touches our scar when we are lost.
Marta began dragging Lily toward the hall.
She does not know she comes back.
Daemon lifted his gaze. The wound remained. But the Devil wrapped itself around it. Possessive. Certain.
Do not let this woman put words in the little ghost’s mouth.
Daemon spoke before Marta dragged Lily through the doorway.
“Femi does not owe me access to her body because I want her.”
Lily looked back.
“She does not owe me courage before she possesses it. She does not owe me healing on my schedule.”
The Devil quieted.
This belonged to Daemon.
“And I would rather sleep alone for the rest of my life than touch a woman who hears the word no and treats it like a challenge.”
Lily stopped fighting Marta. She did not feel ashamed. She felt cheated. Daemon was acting as though Femi’s fear made her untouchable, while Lily was the one standing in front of him, offering exactly what he wanted. He was choosing to sleep alone when she was willing to fill his bed.
Daemon stepped closer.
The Devil returned.
Tell her.
“You were spared because Femi asked for mercy.”
Lily stared at him. Of course. Even this had come from Femi.
The Devil smiled.
Everything you have in this house came through her.
“Do not mistake her mercy for your importance.”
Marta pulled Lily into the hall. This time, she went. At the top of the stairs, they found Femi standing beside the linen closet. She held a stack of clean towels against her chest.
The Devil softened instantly.
Little ghost.
Her gaze moved over Lily’s bikini top. The short skirt. Marta’s hand around her arm. Then toward Daemon’s open door. Lily saw the question enter her eyes. A vicious little satisfaction survived inside her. She opened her mouth.
The Devil snarled.
No.
“Nothing happened,” Daemon said.
Femi looked at him.
The Devil pressed closer.
Tell her.
“I told her to leave. She refused.”
Marta released Lily.
“So I assisted.”
Femi’s attention returned to Lily. Lily waited for jealousy. Fear. Pain. Anything she could use. Femi merely stepped aside and left the path to the stairs open. The Devil watched her. Then Lily.
Then Femi again.
She trusts us.
Something in Daemon’s chest tightened.
Yes.
Do not break that.
Never.
Lily hated her for that too. She wanted Femi to cry. She wanted her to understand that Lily had been inside Daemon’s room, half-undressed, close enough to touch him. She wanted her to feel threatened.
Instead, Femi simply moved aside as though Lily were an inconvenience not worth fighting over. Lily descended with as much dignity as a bikini top and bare feet allowed.
Marta waited until Lily disappeared below. Then she looked at Femi.
“You and I are going to discuss locks.”
Femi’s hands moved.
For his door?
“For every door.”
Daemon leaned against the frame.
“I do not need protection.”
Both women looked at him.
The Devil sighed.
That was foolish.
Femi signed. Marta translated.
“She says you failed to lock your door.”
“It was my room. People knock.”
Marta glanced toward the stairs.
“Apparently, hope is not a security system.”
Femi’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.
The Devil warmed.
There.
Daemon looked at her. The tension in his face eased.
Again.
Femi approached and held out the clean towels. His hand closed over the stack. Their fingers brushed. The Devil went quiet. Lily watched from the shadows below. Femi said nothing. She wore nothing designed to seduce him. Still, Daemon looked at her as though the entire world had narrowed to the quiet space between their hands.
The Devil whispered against the back of his thoughts.
Ask her to stay.
Daemon did not.
Ask.
Not yet.
Femi looked toward his room. Then back at him. Her fingers lingered against his for one heartbeat longer than necessary. The Devil noticed.
Of course it did.
She stayed.
Daemon’s thumb moved once against the side of her finger before releasing her. Femi’s cheeks warmed.
The Devil became unbearably pleased with itself.
She likes us.
Daemon almost rolled his eyes.
She does.
Enough.
Little ghost likes us.
Daemon took the towels.
Femi smiled. The Devil settled.
Below them, Lily did not think about what Femi meant to him. She did not think about loyalty, healing, or the life they were building. She thought about Daemon’s bare chest. His open shirt. The bed behind him. The way he had looked at Femi’s hand. She wanted that attention. She wanted him in her bed, and she wanted Femi to know she had won. The fact that Daemon had rejected her did not lessen the desire. It sharpened it. Lily turned away before any of them saw the hunger on her face.
Daemon did not see her leave. The Devil did. Its attention shifted toward the stairs. Just for a moment.
The warmth disappeared.
She is not finished.
Daemon looked down the dark stairwell. He could no longer see Lily.
“I know.”
Femi glanced at him.
Daemon shook his head.
“Not you.”
Understanding softened her expression. She touched his wrist.
The Devil immediately abandoned Lily.
Little ghost.
Daemon looked down at Femi’s fingers resting against his skin. She squeezed once. Then released him and followed Marta downstairs.
Daemon watched until her midnight braid disappeared around the corner. The Devil remained quiet until she was gone.
Then—
Lock the door.
Daemon stared into his room. He almost laughed. Almost. Behind him, somewhere below, Lily moved through Helix believing she had been spared. Believing rejection was merely another obstacle. Believing persistence would eventually become victory. She had been spared. But she had never been welcomed. That did not matter to Lily. She did not need to be welcomed. She only needed Daemon to want her. And Lily had no intention of stopping until he did.
Upstairs, Daemon closed his bedroom door.
The lock turned.
Click.
The Devil whispered into the silence.
Good.
Lily did not think about what Femi meant to him. She did not think about loyalty, healing, or the life they were building.
She only needed Daemon to want her.
And Lily had no intention of stopping until he did.
Lily spent the next several days trying to make Daemon notice her.
She appeared at breakfast in a silk robe tied loosely enough to reveal what she wore beneath it.
Daemon drank his coffee.
The Devil noticed.
Again.
She leaned across his table while wiping it, allowing the neckline of her dress to fall open.
Daemon moved his cup before the cloth struck it.
She is persistent.
She laughed too loudly at things he did not say. Touched his shoulder when she passed.
The Devil recoiled.
Do not touch us.
Daemon’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. She found reasons to stand beside him at the bar. Once, she dropped a spoon directly in front of his chair and bent slowly to retrieve it. Daemon stood and moved to another table.
The Devil followed with him.
Why does she keep bending over?
Daemon picked up his coffee.
You know why.
I wish I did not.
Lily called it resistance. Marta called it stupidity. Femi said nothing. That was what Lily hated most. Femi did not fight for Daemon. She did not cling to him when Lily entered a room. She did not watch every woman who approached his table or attempt to prove she belonged beside him. She brought him coffee in the morning. Food in the afternoon. His whiskey at night. Sometimes she sat across from him with a book while he cleaned his weapons.
The Devil liked those evenings best. Femi turning pages. Daemon cleaning steel. The occasional scrape of her shoe beneath the table.
Quiet.
Ours.
Sometimes they signed to one another from opposite sides of Helix.
Sometimes Daemon merely watched her work.
Little ghost.
Femi never demanded his attention. She already had it. Lily began studying them. Daemon liked his coffee dark. Femi knew exactly how much sugar to add without asking. The first time Lily tried to prepare it the same way, Daemon took one drink and frowned.
The Devil stirred.
Wrong.
Daemon looked into the cup.
It tasted nearly identical.
Wrong.
He glanced toward the kitchen.
Femi was kneading bread.
Little ghost makes it better.
Daemon drank the coffee anyway.
Traitor.
He disliked people touching his hair. Femi removed leaves and pieces of thread from it without warning. The Devil never objected. Usually, it became suspiciously quiet.
Daemon did not allow anyone near his weapons. Femi once moved his knife to make room for a plate. Daemon looked at her hand.
The Devil did too.
Sharp.
Femi pushed it farther away from herself.
Good.
Daemon moved it the rest of the way. He hated being ordered. Femi could lift five fingers from across the garage and make him abandon his motorcycle for dinner.
Five.
Daemon would invariably try for ten.
Five.
Eight.
Five.
Seven.
Little ghost said five.
Daemon would glare across the garage. Femi would lift the same five fingers.
The Devil would become insufferably pleased.
She wins.
Lily could not understand it. There had to be some trick. Some weakness Femi had found and exploited. Men did not choose women because they remembered their laundry or brought them lemonade.
They chose beauty. Desire. Bodies. They chose whatever satisfied them. Lily had satisfied men since she was seventeen. She knew how they worked.
Daemon was a man. He could be made to work the same way.
She only needed Femi to see the right thing.
Two evenings later, Daemon returned from a ride shortly before dinner.
Lily heard his motorcycle in the yard.
She had been waiting near the rear entrance in a fitted black dress. The material clung to her hips, and the cut exposed most of her back. Daemon entered carrying his helmet. Dust covered his boots. His pale hair had tangled in the wind, and the black shirt beneath his jacket was damp with sweat. Lily stepped into his path.
The Devil sighed.
Her.
“You look tired.”
Daemon continued toward the stairs.
“I could help with that.”
“No.”
She followed him.
Still following.
“Do you ever say anything else?”
“Yes.”
Lily waited.
Daemon reached the landing.
“Leave me alone.”
The Devil approved.
Good.
He entered his room and closed the door. Lily stared at it.
Daemon leaned against the wood for a moment.
Lock it.
“There is no lock.”
Chair.
“No.”
Bed.
“I am taking a shower.”
Knife beneath the handle?
Daemon stripped off his jacket.
“You are becoming ridiculous.”
She entered twice.
Daemon looked at the door.
The Devil waited. He sighed.
“I will speak to Malone.”
Good.
He disappeared into the shower. Lily waited until she heard the water.
Then she went downstairs.
Femi stood behind the bar preparing the early tables. The clubhouse would open fully in less than an hour.
Lily approached with a pleasant smile.
“Daemon asked for you.”
Femi looked up.
“In his room.”
Femi’s hands moved.
Why?
“He didn’t tell me.”
Lily watched suspicion enter Femi’s eyes.
She forced herself not to smile.
“He seemed upset.”
That worked. Femi set down the silverware and wiped her hands against her apron. She started toward the stairs. Lily allowed her to reach the first step. Then she moved. She entered Daemon’s room without knocking for the second time. The shower had stopped. His clean shirt lay across the bed. His leather jacket hung over the chair. Daemon stood inside the adjoining washroom with a towel secured around his waist, combing the water from his hair.
He saw Lily in the mirror.
The comb stopped.
The Devil surfaced immediately.
I told you.
“I told you not to enter my room again.”
Lily closed the door but did not latch it.
The Devil became very still.
Throw her out.
“Femi is coming.”
Daemon turned.
The Devil turned with him.
“What?”
“I told her you wanted her.”
Silence.
The Devil’s amusement vanished.
She used our little ghost.
Daemon set the comb down.
Slowly.
“What did you do?”
“I told her you wanted her.”
She used our name to bring Femi here.
Lily walked toward him.
“You have less than a minute.”
“To do what?”
“Anything you like.”
Daemon placed the comb on the washstand. Lily reached behind herself and lowered the zipper of her dress.
“She’ll see me leaving.”
The Devil pressed forward.
No.
Daemon crossed the room.
“She’ll see your towel.”
The dress loosened around Lily’s shoulders.
“She’ll wonder what happened.”
Daemon caught the fabric before it fell. For one triumphant second, Lily thought he meant to pull her closer. Instead, he hauled the dress back over her shoulders and dragged the zipper up. The metal caught her skin. Lily hissed. Daemon took her arm. He did not bruise her. That restraint frightened her more than pain might have.
The Devil wanted less restraint.
Out.
“You are going downstairs.”
“Not yet.”
Out.
“Now.”
She heard a soft knock. Lily smiled. Daemon looked toward the door. The knock came again. Lily’s smile widened. Femi could not speak, but she sometimes made sounds when she needed someone’s attention. That breathless little noise had been enough.
The Devil recognized her immediately.
Little ghost.
Then—
She brought her here for this.
Daemon released Lily’s arm and opened the door. Femi stood in the hall. Her gaze moved first to him. His bare chest. The towel around his waist. Then to Lily standing behind him in a black dress she was hastily pulling back into place. Lily waited for the misunderstanding. Daemon watched Femi.
The Devil did too.
Tell her.
She expected Femi’s face to crumple. Expected her to retreat. Expected the towels in her arms to fall. Femi looked at Daemon.
Her hands moved.
She entered again?
The Devil almost laughed.
She knows.
“Yes.”
Lily’s satisfaction faltered. Daemon stepped aside, giving Femi an unobstructed view of the room.
“She told me you were coming.”
Femi looked at Lily.
Lily lifted her chin.
“He grabbed me.”
“Yes,” Daemon said. “I stopped her from removing her dress.”
“He wanted to touch me.”
“I wanted to throw you into the hall.”
Still do.
Lily looked at Femi.
“You believe everything he tells you?”
The Devil went quiet. Daemon did too. Femi’s gaze returned to him. He held it. No excuses. No anger at being questioned. He simply waited. The Devil did something unusual.
Nothing.
No demand.
No possessive whisper.
No insistence that she believe.
Because Daemon would not force Femi’s trust. And neither would it. Femi stepped closer. She examined the faint red mark near Lily’s zipper. Then Daemon’s hands. His clothing remained folded on the bed. The washroom floor was still wet. The room smelled of soap rather than perfume. Femi noticed everything.
She always did.
Her fingers moved.
You told me he asked for me.
“Yes.”
He did not.
Lily folded her arms.
“He would have eventually.”
The Devil stirred.
Probably.
Daemon ignored it. Femi stared at Lily. Not confused. Not wounded. Tired. The same expression she might have given a customer who knowingly shattered a glass and expected someone else to clean it.
Lily’s anger flared.
“I was trying to help him.”
Femi glanced toward the towel around Daemon’s waist.
Her eyebrow lifted.
The Devil noticed.
She is looking.
Daemon’s scar pulled with irritation.
“I did not require assistance.”
Femi’s lips curved.
She is laughing at you.
Lily saw it. That small, private amusement. Another thing shared between them while she stood outside it.
“You should be angry,” Lily said.
Femi looked at her.
“She was in my room,” Daemon said. “She should be angry with me if she chooses. Not because you are half-dressed, but because I failed to prevent you from entering.”
The Devil disagreed.
We told her twice.
“You didn’t fail,” Lily snapped. “You left the door open.”
“I closed it.”
“You didn’t lock it.”
“There was no lock.”
There will be.
Lily smiled.
“Then how was I supposed to know I wasn’t welcome?”
Daemon stared at her. The Devil stared too. For once, they answered together.
“I told you.”
The words were quiet. Absolute. Femi shifted the towels beneath one arm.
Her free hand moved.
You knew.
Lily’s face hardened.
You wanted me to find you.
“I thought you deserved to know what kind of man he is.”
The Devil went cold.
She knows.
Daemon’s gaze shifted to Femi.
Little ghost knows exactly what we are.
Femi looked at Daemon again. Water moved from the ends of his hair and traveled across his chest. He appeared more uncomfortable beneath Femi’s attention than he had when Lily attempted to undress.
Femi blushed.
The Devil noticed immediately.
There.
Daemon noticed too. Despite everything, heat entered his eyes.
She likes looking.
Stop.
She does.
Lily watched the silent exchange and understood that her plan had failed before she could finish arranging it. Femi trusted him. Worse, she knew him. She knew which expressions meant anger. Which meant hunger. Which meant the Devil was close. And the Devil knew when she recognized it. Femi’s eyes lingered on Daemon’s face. Not frightened. Never frightened by that part of him anymore.
The Devil softened.
Hello, little ghost.
Femi could look at his half-naked body, Lily’s loosened dress, and the closed bedroom door—and still understand exactly what had happened.
Lily had spent years teaching Femi not to trust herself.
Daemon had spent months giving that trust back.
Get out, Femi signed.
Lily stared at her.
The Devil brightened.
Again.
Femi pointed toward the stairs.
Get out.
The Devil was delighted.
Our little ghost has spoken.
“You don’t order me around.”
Daemon stepped forward.
“She does in my room.”
Silence. Femi looked at him. A deeper blush spread across her cheeks. Daemon realized what he had said. The Devil did too.
And was suddenly very pleased with its choice of words.
Yes.
Daemon resisted the urge to close his eyes.
She does.
Enough.
Our room.
Stop.
Her key would look pretty.
There is no key.
There should be.
Lily saw the expression pass over Daemon’s face and hated them both. She pushed past Femi into the hall.
“You’ll learn,” she said. “Men like him don’t stay satisfied with women like you.”
The Devil moved. Fast. Daemon moved with it. Femi placed one hand against his chest. Everything stopped. Daemon. The Devil. The violence gathering beneath his skin. All of it. Her palm rested over his heart.
The Devil looked down at her hand.
Little ghost.
Daemon breathed once.
Femi did not push.
She did not need to.
She asked us to stay.
Yes.
Then we stay.
Lily saw that too. Femi did not need strength to restrain him. She only needed to touch him. Lily descended the stairs alone. Femi waited until she disappeared. Then she turned toward Daemon.
Her hands moved.
Put on clothes.
The Devil laughed.
Daemon looked down at the towel.
“You were staring.”
Femi’s face turned crimson.
I was not.
“You inspected the entire room.”
Because Lily lies.
“Your attention seemed particularly thorough.”
Very thorough.
Daemon nearly smiled. Femi shoved the clean towels into his chest. Daemon caught them. She turned to leave.
The Devil immediately protested.
No.
“Little ghost.”
Femi stopped. The amusement disappeared from his face. The Devil quieted too.
This mattered.
“I did not touch her except to stop her undressing and remove her from the room.”
Femi looked back.
I know.
“You believe me?”
She nodded.
Something inside Daemon became quiet. Something inside the Devil did too. For once, its voice held no mockery. No hunger. No violence.
Only wonder.
She believes us.
Femi stepped closer and touched his wet hair.
The Devil practically melted beneath her fingers.
Little ghost.
Her fingers moved.
She wants me to doubt you.
“Yes.”
She wants you to choose her.
“I have already chosen.”
The Devil pressed close.
You.
Femi’s hand became still. Daemon’s gray eyes held hers. He did not say the rest. He did not need to.
The Devil did.
Always you.
Femi withdrew before the warmth in her face became unbearable. Daemon watched her reach the doorway.
The Devil protested again.
Keep her.
“Femi.”
She glanced back.
“Tell Malone I need a lock.”
Her shoulders moved with silent laughter.
For your door?
“For Lily.”
The Devil corrected him.
For everyone except her.
Femi shook her head and went downstairs. Daemon watched her disappear. Then looked at the empty doorway.
Key.
“No.”
Give her one.
“There is not even a lock yet.”
Then buy one.
Daemon closed the door.
The Devil whispered smugly,
And give our little ghost the key.
The following morning, Malone found Daemon standing outside his room with a drill in one hand and a new deadbolt in the other. Marta leaned against the opposite wall, drinking coffee.
“You bought one?” Malone asked.
Daemon examined the instructions.
“No.”
Malone looked at Marta.
She lifted her cup.
“Femi did.”
The Devil woke immediately.
Little ghost bought us a lock.
Femi appeared at the top of the stairs carrying a small toolbox. Daemon looked at the deadbolt.
Then at her.
“You purchased the strongest one available.”
She nodded.
“It is designed for exterior doors.”
Another nod.
Marta sipped her coffee.
“The man said it could withstand a battering ram.”
Daemon’s eyes moved toward Femi.
“Were you expecting one?”
Her fingers moved.
Lily is persistent.
The Devil hummed.
Smart little ghost.
Malone laughed.
Femi opened the toolbox and removed a screwdriver. Daemon held out his hand. She gave it to him. Their fingers touched.
Key.
Daemon ignored the Devil.
Marta looked at the deadbolt.
“Where is the key?”
The Devil became attentive. Femi reached into her apron and placed two silver keys in Daemon’s palm.
He examined them.
“One for me.”
Femi nodded.
“And the other?”
She pointed toward the key ring hanging from Malone’s belt.
The Devil objected instantly.
No.
Daemon closed his fingers around both keys.
“No.”
Malone stopped laughing.
“No?”
“The other key belongs to Femi.”
The Devil settled with immense satisfaction.
Good.
Femi looked up sharply. Daemon removed one key and held it toward her. Her hands remained at her sides.
“You bring the towels.”
Femi glanced toward the linen closet.
“You also bring coffee.”
Her eyebrow rose.
“And sometimes you knock when I am sleeping.”
Femi signed.
You complain when I wake you.
“I complain when everyone wakes me.”
Not me?
The Devil answered before Daemon could.
Never you.
Daemon’s expression softened.
“Never you.”
The hallway went quiet. Marta looked into her coffee as though it had become profoundly interesting. Malone studied the ceiling.
The Devil noticed both.
Cowards.
Daemon ignored it. Femi slowly accepted the key. Daemon did not release it immediately. Her fingers rested against his palm. The Devil went utterly still. Silver lay between their hands. A key to his room. His private space. A place no one entered without permission. Lily had forced her way inside because she believed a closed door meant nothing.
Femi stood outside an open one unless invited.
Tell her.
“This does not mean you must enter.”
Femi met his eyes.
“It means you may.”
The Devil whispered beneath the words.
Always.
Daemon released the key. Femi looked down at the small piece of silver resting in her hand.
The Devil watched her close her fingers around it.
Ours.
Daemon frowned slightly.
No.
A pause.
Then the Devil corrected itself.
Trusted.
That was different.
Lily had entered because she believed a closed door did not apply to her. Daemon had given Femi the key because he knew she would never use it without permission. The difference was not access. It was trust. Femi added the key to the narrow ring she carried inside her apron.
The Devil followed the movement.
She carries our key.
Daemon picked up the drill.
Yes.
Close to her.
“Yes.”
Malone looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Marta hid a smile behind her coffee. Daemon installed the deadbolt. When he finished, he closed the door and locked it from the hallway. The mechanism struck into place with a solid metallic sound.
Click.
The Devil liked that sound.
Again.
No.
Marta nodded.
“Try opening it.”
Daemon turned the handle. The door remained closed.
“Good.”
From the bottom of the stairs, Lily watched.
Daemon felt the Devil notice before he did.
There.
His gaze descended. Lily stood below. Her attention was not on the deadbolt. It was on the key hanging from Femi’s apron.
The Devil went very still.
She sees it.
Daemon said nothing. He did not need to. The new lock spoke clearly enough. Lily was not welcome inside his room. Femi had been given the key. The Devil watched Lily’s face. Then it looked toward the small flash of silver against Femi’s apron. Its satisfaction was quiet.
Possessive.
Absolute.
Now she understands.
Lily waited until they were alone.
She always did.
For the first few days, Femi had not noticed the pattern.
By the end of the week, she did.
Lily never mentioned Daemon when Malone was behind the bar.
Never when Cutter wandered through. Never when one of the regulars was close enough to hear. And certainly never when Daemon was anywhere inside Helix. Her concern existed only in empty rooms. That afternoon, Daemon and Malone had gone somewhere together. Malone had called it business. Daemon had kissed two fingers and touched them briefly beneath Femi’s chin before leaving.
Be back soon.
Femi had smiled.
Now she stood on a chair near the front windows, wiping fingerprints from the glass.
Lily sat at one of the tables behind her.
“You know Daemon is a killer, right?”
Femi continued cleaning.
“I don’t mean bar fights or beating up some drunk asshole.” Lily’s voice was gentle. “I mean a real killer.”
The cloth moved in slow circles.
“A butcher.”
Femi’s hand stopped. Only for a second. Lily saw it. She had become very good at seeing those tiny pauses.
“He takes pleasure in it, Femi. I’ve heard stories about him bathing in blood.”
Femi resumed cleaning. Lily smiled. Not because the words were true. Because they had landed.
“I heard he killed entire families once. Women. Children.” Lily gave a little shudder. “God. Can you imagine?”
Femi stepped down from the chair. She picked up the spray bottle and moved to the next window.
Lily followed.
“Those people he worked for—the organization or whatever—they did things to him. Terrible things, apparently.”
Spray.
Wipe.
Spray.
Wipe.
“I almost feel sorry for him.”
Femi’s shoulders tightened.
“Almost.”
Lily leaned against the wall.
“But after everything they did to him, is he even human anymore?”
Femi looked at her. There. Those green eyes. Lily softened immediately. Concern. Always concern.
“Oh, honey, I’m not trying to upset you.”
Femi turned back to the window.
“I just worry about you.”
The cloth squeaked across the glass.
“How can someone like that care about anybody?”
Another pause.
“How can a man who feels no regret feel love?”
Femi’s fingers tightened around the cloth.
Lily watched.
There it was.
The cut.
Small.
Deep.
Invisible.
Perfect.
It became a ritual.
Daemon would leave. Lily would begin.
Sometimes she did not even wait for the motorcycle to disappear down the street.
“You know what kind of people he used to spend his time with?”
Femi washed glasses behind the bar.
“Madams.”
Glass.
Water.
Cloth.
“Prostitutes.”
Glass.
Water.
Cloth.
“Murderers.”
Femi placed the glass on the drying rack.
“Criminals.”
Another glass.
“He collected money for people too.”
Femi glanced toward her. Lily lowered her voice.
“That’s what I heard anyway. He’d go to someone’s house, and if they couldn’t pay…”
She let the sentence die. Femi’s imagination could finish it better than Lily ever could. The next day it was something else.
“Do you ever wonder where he goes?”
Femi was sweeping.
“When Malone says they’re handling business?”
Sweep.
“Because men like Daemon don’t exactly have normal jobs.”
Sweep.
“He could be anywhere.”
Femi pushed dirt into the dustpan.
“With anyone.”
The broom stopped. Lily pretended not to notice.
“I mean, look at him.”
Femi looked up. Lily laughed softly.
“Come on. You have eyes.”
Femi frowned.
“Women probably throw themselves at him.”
The broom moved again.
“And Daemon doesn’t exactly strike me as the celibate type.”
Femi swept harder.
“I’m sorry.”
Lily touched her arm. Femi immediately pulled away. Lily made herself look wounded.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
Femi signed quickly.
It’s fine.
“No, it isn’t. I just…” Lily sighed. “After what happened with Marco, I don’t want you getting hurt again.”
Femi became completely still. Lily nearly smiled. Nearly. Instead, she reached for Femi’s hand. Femi moved it before Lily could touch her. Lily lowered her eyes.
“I know what I did hurt you.”
Femi stared at her.
“I was selfish.”
That much was true.
“I don’t want to see another man do that to you.”
Femi looked away. Lily watched the uncertainty creep into her face. Beautiful. Because Lily remembered Marco. How easy he had been.
A smile.
A touch.
A little attention.
And Marco had followed. Men always followed eventually. Femi had never understood that. Lily did. Marco had been easy.
Daemon would be easy too.
Eventually.
At night, Lily lay in one of Helix’s empty rooms and imagined it.
Daemon’s motorcycle beneath her. Her arms wrapped around his waist. His long blond hair whipping in the wind. Women staring when they arrived somewhere together. Men moving out of their way.
Daemon killing someone because they had looked at her wrong. Lily smiled into the darkness. She could see herself beside him. Not hiding behind him.
Beside him.
A man like Daemon had power. Fear followed him. People whispered his name. Even men twice his size watched him carefully. And Lily wanted that fear turned outward on her behalf.
She wanted people afraid to touch her because Daemon Pallid belonged to her. She wanted to walk into rooms and have everyone know whose woman she was. Femi did not deserve something like that. Femi barely spoke. Barely demanded anything. Barely understood what she had.
Lily did.
And Lily wanted it.
More importantly— she wanted Femi not to have it. Marco leaving Ravenside had changed something inside her. He had left. Just left. After everything. After all those years. After all Lily had done to make certain he remained hers. He had walked away.
And somehow, in Lily’s mind, that became Femi’s fault.
Femi had taken Marco from her.
Therefore, Lily would take something from Femi.
Something better.
Someone better.
Daemon.
The next afternoon, Lily came downstairs carrying her phone. Femi was alone behind the bar, restocking bottles.
“I found something.”
Femi didn’t look up. Lily approached.
“Femi.”
Nothing.
“Seriously. You should see this.”
Femi sighed and finally turned. Lily held out the phone. An old photograph filled the screen. Helix. Years ago. The place looked different then. Rougher. Darker. Younger faces crowded the background. And there was Daemon. Long blond hair. Black shirt. One arm stretched across the back of a chair. A woman sat sideways across his lap.
Cindy.
Beautiful.
Blond.
Long legs.
Short skirt.
Her arm curled around Daemon’s shoulders as she laughed at something outside the frame. Daemon wasn’t smiling. But he wasn’t pushing her away either.
Femi stared.
Lily watched her face.
“That’s Cindy.”
Femi handed the phone back.
“She was gorgeous.”
Femi returned to the bottles.
“I heard they were together for a while.”
Bottle.
Shelf.
Bottle.
Shelf.
“She’s exactly his type.”
Femi’s hand stopped. Lily leaned against the bar.
“Or used to be, anyway.”
Femi picked up another bottle.
“She wasn’t the only one.”
Bottle.
Shelf.
“Daemon had women everywhere.”
Femi’s jaw tightened.
“Beautiful women.”
Another bottle.
“Sexy women.”
Another.
“Women who knew how to handle men like him.”
The bottle struck the shelf harder than necessary. Lily lowered her voice.
“Women who weren’t afraid of him.”
Femi turned. For one second, something sharp flashed through her eyes. Lily immediately softened.
“I’m sorry.”
Femi stared.
“I shouldn’t have shown you.”
Femi signed.
Why did you?
Lily hesitated. Perfectly. As though the answer hurt.
“Because nobody else will.”
Femi’s expression changed.
“They’re protecting you.”
Femi shook her head.
“Malone loves you. Of course he’s not going to tell you everything.”
Femi’s hands moved.
Daemon tells me things.
“Does he?”
Femi froze.
Lily let silence sit between them.
Then—
“Everything?”
Femi said nothing.
“How many people has he killed?”
Nothing.
“Do you know?”
Femi looked away.
“How many women has he slept with?”
Femi’s face flushed.
“Do you know?”
Her hands remained at her sides.
“Do you know what he did for the Silent Order?”
Femi’s eyes snapped back.
Lily shrugged.
“See?”
She smiled sadly.
“You don’t.”
Femi grabbed another bottle.
Lily moved closer.
“I just don’t want you confusing protection with love.”
The bottle stopped halfway to the shelf. Lily’s voice became almost a whisper.
“Daemon protects things.”
Femi slowly looked at her.
“That doesn’t mean he loves them.”
Silence. Then Femi placed the bottle on the shelf. Very carefully.
Lily walked away before she could ruin it.
After that, Femi began watching Daemon differently.
Lily noticed.
Daemon would walk through Helix and Femi’s eyes would follow him. But now there were questions behind them. When he disappeared with Malone— questions.
When his phone rang and he stepped outside— questions.
When some beautiful woman greeted him like an old friend— questions.
When someone whispered Devil as he passed— questions.
Lily fed every one.
“Do you know her?”
“No?”
“Interesting.”
Or—
“He didn’t tell you where he was going?”
A sympathetic smile.
“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Or—
“Three hours is a long time for business.”
Or—
“Maybe he just needs parts of his life separate from you.”
Always gentle. Always worried. Never cruel. Not where anyone could hear. Because Lily had learned something important. Cruelty spoken loudly could be fought. Cruelty whispered privately became thought.
And thoughts were much harder to kill.
By the seventh day, Femi was wiping down a table when Lily sat across from her.
“I’ve been thinking about something.”
Femi didn’t respond.
“You and Daemon are very different.”
Wipe.
“He’s lived.”
Wipe.
“He’s seen things.”
Wipe.
“Done things.”
Femi moved to another table.
Lily followed.
“He’s been with women who knew exactly what they were doing.”
Femi stopped.
There it was.
Lily lowered her voice.
“You’ve barely dated.”
Femi looked at her.
“And after Marco…”
Lily allowed herself a small wince.
“I mean…”
She trailed off. Femi’s face had gone pale. Lily continued softly.
“Maybe Daemon likes taking care of you.”
Femi’s fingers curled around the cloth.
“Maybe he feels responsible for you.”
Nothing.
“Maybe he needs someone to save.”
Femi swallowed.
“But that’s not the same thing as wanting a woman.”
Femi’s eyes dropped.
Lily almost laughed.
Instead, she reached across the table.
“Femi.”
Femi stepped back. Lily withdrew her hand.
“I’m saying this because I care about you.”
Femi looked at her. Really looked. For one terrifying second, Lily wondered if she had gone too far. Then Femi lowered her eyes. And Lily knew. She had gotten inside.
“Men like Daemon need certain things,” Lily whispered.
Femi’s throat moved.
“And eventually…”
Lily sighed.
“He’s going to want them.”
Femi turned away.
Lily watched her walk toward the kitchen.
“Femi?”
She stopped. Lily made her voice achingly gentle.
“I just don’t want you to wake up one morning and realize you were never enough.”
Femi disappeared through the kitchen doors. Lily remained seated. The concern vanished from her face. A smile slowly replaced it. There. That one had hurt. Good. Because Lily knew exactly what she was doing now. She wasn’t trying to convince Femi that Daemon was evil.
That had been the beginning. She had discovered something much more useful. Femi already knew Daemon was dangerous. She already knew there was blood behind him. She already knew people feared him.
And she loved him anyway. So Lily changed the knife. Daemon wasn’t too terrible for Femi. Femi wasn’t enough for Daemon. That wound opened beautifully.
And Lily intended to keep cutting until there was enough space between them for her to step inside.
Daemon noticed on the second day.
The Devil noticed on the first.
Not because Femi did anything obvious. That would have been easier. She still brought his coffee. Still remembered exactly how he liked it. Still put his Jack on the rocks in front of him at Helix without being asked. Still smiled when he walked through the door. Still signed good morning when she found him behind the bar. Still touched him.
Sometimes.
That was the problem.
Sometimes.
Before, Femi touched him without thinking. A hand against his arm when she passed behind his chair. Fingers brushing his shoulder when she leaned over him. Her little habit of standing close enough that her hip rested against his arm when he sat at the kitchen table. The occasional press of her forehead against his chest when she was tired.
Tiny things.
Things Daemon had pretended not to need.
Things the Devil had never pretended about.
Little ghost.
A touch.
Again.
A brush of her fingers.
Closer.
Her forehead against his chest.
Keep her.
Things Daemon had somehow built entire days around.
Now— they were disappearing. One at a time. So quietly he wondered if he was imagining it. The Devil did not.
The first morning, she set his coffee beside him instead of placing it directly into his hands. Daemon looked at the cup. Then at her. Femi had already turned toward the stove.
The Devil stirred.
Wrong.
Daemon said nothing.
She always gives it to us.
She put it down.
Why?
Daemon picked up the cup.
The coffee tasted exactly the same.
The Devil did not care.
Wrong.
The next night, she sat beside Malone instead of beside him at the kitchen table. There was nothing strange about that. Nothing. Malone was talking about a shipment that had arrived late, and Femi was listening while she ate. Daemon told himself that was all it was. Then her knee bumped his beneath the table. Femi immediately moved her leg.
Daemon stopped chewing.
The Devil lifted its head.
What was that?
Daemon ignored it.
Femi kept eating.
So did he.
But the food tasted like nothing after that.
The Devil remained awake for the rest of dinner.
Watching.
On the third day, Daemon came downstairs at Helix and found Femi standing behind the kitchen counter. She was cutting strawberries. Daemon paused in the doorway. That smell reached him. Sweet. Familiar. Hers. Something inside him loosened automatically.
The Devil practically stretched beneath his skin.
Little ghost.
Femi glanced over her shoulder.
Her smile appeared.
Small.
Pretty.
Daemon smiled back.
“Mornin’, little ghost.”
The Devil settled contentedly.
Ours.
Her smile changed. Just slightly. She looked down. Daemon’s smile faded.
The Devil went very still.
What was that?
Femi signed.
Coffee?
“Please.”
She poured him a cup. Daemon walked toward her. Normally she handed it to him. Normally his fingers brushed hers. Sometimes he deliberately let them linger. Sometimes she knew exactly what he was doing and rolled her eyes at him.
The Devil always enjoyed that.
Touch.
Today Femi placed the cup on the counter.
Daemon stared at it.
The Devil stared with him.
Again.
Femi went back to cutting strawberries. He looked at her. Then at the cup.
Something cold settled behind his ribs.
Ask her.
No.
Ask.
Daemon picked up the coffee. He sat at the table. Femi continued cutting fruit. The knife tapped softly against the board. Daemon watched her back. Something was wrong. He knew it. He knew her too well now. The slight stiffness in her shoulders. The way she kept finding something else to do. The way her eyes found him and then slipped away. Daemon drank his coffee.
She is leaving us.
His jaw tightened.
She’s standing ten feet away.
She is leaving.
She isn’t.
She moved her knee.
Daemon stared into his cup.
She stopped touching us.
Stop.
She will not put the coffee in our hand.
“Enough.”
Femi glanced toward him. Daemon looked away. The Devil snarled through him. He wanted to ask. The words were right there. What’s wrong? Did I do something? Are you angry with me? Did I hurt you?
The Devil supplied another.
Who hurt you?
And beneath all of them waited the one question neither of them wanted to ask.
Do you still want me?
The Devil fell silent.
Daemon Pallid had walked into rooms full of armed men without hesitation. He had stood over people who had promised to kill him and laughed. He had broken bones. Taken bullets. Spilled blood. He had once walked knowingly into a trap because the alternative was allowing someone else to take the risk. But he could not ask one small woman if she had changed her mind about him.
Because men with guns could only kill him. Femi could do considerably worse. She could say yes.
The Devil whispered from somewhere much quieter.
She won’t.
Daemon closed his eyes.
You don’t know that.
The Devil had no answer.
By the fourth day, Malone noticed Daemon was quieter.
“You sick?”
“No.”
Malone wiped down the bar.
“You look sick.”
“Fuck off.”
“Ah. Healthy as ever.”
Daemon stared across Helix. Femi was clearing a table. Lily sat near the other end of the room, looking through her phone. Nothing unusual. Femi picked up two empty glasses and turned toward the bar. Her eyes met Daemon’s. Daemon waited. Usually she smiled. Today she looked away. His chest hurt. Actually hurt.
A stupid, dull ache beneath his breastbone.
The Devil did not experience the emotion the same way.
The Devil became furious.
Go get her.
No.
Bring her here.
She’s working.
She will sit with us.
Daemon rubbed his thumb slowly across the side of his glass.
Leave her alone.
No.
His eyes followed Femi as she disappeared into the kitchen.
Our little ghost is sad.
Daemon looked down. That was worse. He could tolerate her being angry. He could tolerate her being irritated. He could tolerate her needing space. But sad? Had he done that?
The Devil recoiled from the possibility.
No.
Daemon went backward through the last several weeks. Every conversation. Every touch. Every joke. Every time he’d looked at her too long. Every time the Devil had slipped too close to the surface.
Had he frightened her?
No.
Had he pushed too hard?
Silence.
Had she finally started thinking about what he was?
The Devil growled.
She knows us.
Maybe someone had told her. That thought sat badly. Femi knew pieces of his past. Not everything. There were things Daemon had never told her because there were things no decent person should have to carry.
Names.
Places.
Orders.
Bodies.
The Silent Order. The Organization. Years when killing had stopped feeling extraordinary and become another task to complete before morning. He had never lied to her. But there were things he had not said. Maybe she had started wondering about those empty spaces. Maybe she had finally understood what they contained.
His gaze returned to the kitchen door.
The Devil growled.
She knew.
Daemon said nothing.
She knew what we were.
Not all of it.
Enough.
Maybe enough wasn’t enough.
The thought made him feel sick.
The Devil became quiet.
Then—
Tell her.
Daemon frowned.
Everything.
His fingers tightened around the glass. Some things don’t belong in her head.
Then let her choose that too.
Daemon stared across Helix.
For once, the Devil had said something he could not easily dismiss.
That evening, Daemon watched Femi.
The instinct to close the distance and make her stay.
Do not let her leave.
He forced his hands open.
Daemon.
“Okay.”
The Devil recoiled.
No.
Femi studied him.
Daemon made himself step aside.
Stop her.
She walked past him.
Daemon.
The scent of her lingered for half a second.
Little ghost.
Then the door opened.
Closed.
Daemon remained where she had left him.
The Devil was furious.
She is leaving us.
“She is going to her room.”
Not with us.
Daemon looked around Helix. This was her home. The bar. The kitchen. The rooms above it. The worn couch where she slept when she was tired. The table where she ate. The narrow hallway where she had once waited for him after a nightmare. Helix had always been hers. He had known that.
He had simply never understood how much it mattered until she stopped leaving it for him.
She belongs here.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
“She belongs wherever she wants to be.”
Here.
“If she wants.”
With us.
“If she wants.”
The Devil snarled.
She does.
“You don’t know that.”
She chose us.
“People change their minds.”
The Devil went silent. Daemon wished immediately that he had not said it. Femi had stopped going to his house. Stopped riding home with him. Stopped being alone with him. She still worked at Helix. Still spoke to him. Still brought him coffee. But she no longer followed him anywhere. No longer lingered after everyone else left. No longer sat beside him in the quiet. No longer let him take her home.
The distance was not accidental.
It had boundaries.
And every boundary led back to Helix.
By the fifth day, sadness had become something Daemon carried quietly.
Nobody noticed. Or if Malone noticed, he had enough sense not to mention it. Daemon still worked. Still drank his coffee. Still sat in his usual place at Helix. Still answered when someone spoke to him. Still handled business. But he watched Femi constantly. Not possessively. Not now. Worriedly.
Trying to understand. Trying to find the moment he had lost something.
She laughed with Malone. That was good.
She smiled at Cutter.
Good.
She teased one of the kitchen staff.
Good.
Then she looked toward Daemon. The smile disappeared. Daemon looked away before she could see what that did to him.
The Devil did not.
The Devil raged.
Why?
Daemon rubbed his jaw.
Why does she smile for them?
Stop.
Why not us?
Stop.
Go to her.
No.
MAKE HER LOOK AT US.
Daemon’s hand tightened around his glass.
No.
The Devil pushed. Not enough to take him. Never that. Just pressure. Heat beneath his skin.
Anger without direction.
Someone hurt her.
Maybe.
Find them.
Maybe there isn’t anyone.
There is always someone.
Daemon glanced around Helix. Nothing. People drinking. Talking. Laughing. Lily sitting near the service window with a glass of wine. Malone arguing with a distributor on the phone.
Femi carrying a tray. Nothing. No threat. No danger. No enemy he could put his hands around. That was the worst part. Daemon understood enemies. He understood violence. He understood threats. He did not understand this.
Femi approached his table. His entire body reacted before his mind did. He straightened.
The Devil surged eagerly forward.
Little ghost.
She collected his empty glass.
“Hey.”
Femi looked at him. For one second he almost asked. What’s wrong?
Instead—
“You eat?”
She nodded.
“You sure?”
Another nod. Daemon studied her face.
“You sleep?”
Femi’s brows pulled together. She nodded again.
He swallowed.
“You…”
Ask.
Femi waited.
ASK.
Daemon couldn’t.
He looked down.
“Never mind.”
Something passed over her face. Pain. So quick he almost missed it.
The Devil did not.
There.
Then she walked away. Daemon closed his eyes.
Idiot.
“Shut the fuck up.”
You made her sad.
“I know.”
Go after her.
Daemon didn’t move.
Tell her.
“I don’t know what to tell her.”
Tell her you are afraid.
Daemon’s eyes opened.
No.
Coward.
His jaw clenched.
“I said shut up.”
The Devil became quiet.
That was somehow worse.
That night, Femi fell asleep in Malone’s office. Daemon knew because he saw the light beneath the office door after closing. She had been sleeping there more often lately. Not anywhere near him. The office couch was narrow and uncomfortable, but it was hers. Helix was hers. Daemon stood at the end of the hallway and stared at the closed door.
The Devil pressed forward.
Knock.
Daemon didn’t move.
Knock.
He could ask if she needed anything. He could tell her she didn’t have to sleep on that couch. He could offer his house. His room. His bed. The thought died before it finished forming. She had already made her choice. She did not want to be alone with him. He would not turn an offer into pressure.
The Devil paced inside him.
Go get her.
No.
She is alone.
She wants to be.
She wants us.
Daemon closed his eyes.
“You don’t know that.”
She said it.
“She can change her mind.”
The Devil went absolutely still. Daemon wished he hadn’t said it. Because now the thought existed outside his head. She could change her mind. People did. People left. People decided they’d made mistakes. Femi was allowed to do the same.
And if she did—
Daemon would let her. He would not beg. He would not frighten her. He would not make his love another cage she’d have to escape. Even if letting her go ripped something essential out of him.
The Devil disagreed violently.
No.
“She gets to choose.”
She chose us.
“And she can unchoose us.”
NO.
Daemon leaned his head against the wall.
“Quiet.”
The command came sharp in the dark. The Devil seethed. Daemon rubbed both hands over his face.
He looked toward the office door.
For one terrible moment, he considered knocking.
Asking.
Femi, did I do something?
Femi, are you afraid of me?
Femi, why won’t you touch me anymore?
Femi—
Do you still love me?
Daemon couldn’t move.
The Devil whispered,
Please.
Daemon’s breath caught.
The word was so quiet he almost believed it had been his own thought.
Ask her.
Not an order now.
Not a snarl.
A plea.
Please.
Daemon stared at the light beneath the door.
His hand lifted.
Stopped.
Then fell.
He stood there for a long time.
Then turned away.
Coward.
There was no anger behind it.
Only grief.
Daemon went back upstairs.
Alone.
The next morning, Femi was already behind the bar. Daemon stopped when he saw her. She stood at the coffee machine in one of his old shirts, the one she kept at Helix for work. His shirt.
The Devil woke immediately.
Ours.
Her legs were bare beneath it. Her hair was loose down her back. For a heartbeat, the sight was so familiar it hurt. Then she turned. Their eyes met. Daemon smiled. Not the crooked grin he used when he wanted to make her blush.
Something smaller.
Careful.
“Morning, little ghost.”
Femi stared at him. Her expression softened.
And there—
There she was. His Femi. For one beautiful second.
The Devil surged with hope.
There.
Daemon walked toward her. She stiffened. Barely. Anyone else would have missed it. Daemon stopped.
The Devil exploded.
WHY?
His smile remained.
It took everything in him to keep it there.
“Coffee made?”
Femi nodded. She reached for a mug. Daemon watched her pour it. She set it on the counter. Again. Not in his hands. Daemon stared at the cup. Something inside his chest cracked a little more.
The Devil snarled.
Wrong.
Femi turned back toward the coffee machine. Daemon picked up his coffee. He wanted to touch her. Just her shoulder. Her waist. Anything. He didn’t. If she didn’t want him touching her, he wouldn’t.
The Devil paced inside him like something trapped behind iron.
Ask her.
Daemon drank.
Ask.
No.
ASK HER.
His hand trembled once around the mug. Daemon put it down. Femi glanced over. He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“I’m gonna fix that loose shelf in the office today.”
Femi frowned. There was nothing wrong with the shelf. Daemon knew that. Femi knew that.
The Devil knew it too.
Coward.
“Been meaning to.”
Her frown deepened. Daemon turned toward the back hallway. He needed air. He needed work. He needed something broken that he could actually repair.
She is broken.
No.
The answer came so sharply the Devil stopped.
She’s hurt. She isn’t broken.
Silence.
Then—
Fix the hurt.
Daemon’s hand touched the office door. Then Femi’s fingers caught the back of his shirt. Daemon froze. Everything inside him stopped. The Devil stopped.His heart stopped. Femi’s fingers held the fabric loosely. She didn’t pull him back. She didn’t step closer. She simply held him. Daemon looked down at her hand. Hope was a vicious fucking thing. It hurt worse than the distance.
The Devil whispered,
She reached for us.
Slowly, he turned his head.
Femi stood behind him. Her eyes were lowered.
Daemon waited.
Please.
He didn’t know whether the word belonged to him or the Devil. Maybe both. Femi released his shirt. The Devil whimpered. Actually whimpered. A wounded, furious sound buried somewhere no one else could hear.
Her hands moved.
Be careful.
Daemon stared at her.
Of all the things she could have said—
Be careful.
The Devil seized upon it.
She cares.
Daemon nodded.
“Always.”
Lie.
Femi knew it too.
Usually she would give him that look. That little narrowed stare that said she knew perfectly well he was full of shit. Today she only nodded. Daemon opened the office door. Stepped inside. Closed it gently behind him. Then stood in the narrow room. Motionless.
The Devil came roaring back.
NO.
Daemon looked at the shelf.
GO BACK.
He picked up the toolbox.
She reached for us.
“I know.”
GO BACK.
“She let go.”
She reached first.
Daemon stopped.
She still wants us.
“You don’t know that.”
She told us to be careful.
“That isn’t the same thing.”
It is something.
Daemon’s grip tightened around the toolbox.
Yes.
It was.
That was what made it hurt. The Devil snarled. Daemon stopped beside the desk. His head lowered. His long blond hair fell forward, hiding his face. For the first time since Femi had begun pulling away, Daemon allowed himself to feel what sat beneath the confusion.
Not anger. Not suspicion. Not wounded pride. Fear. He was fucking terrified. Because he loved her. Because somehow that tiny silent woman had become home. And Helix had always been hers. Daemon had only been allowed inside it. Now even there, she was building walls between them. He had survived enough burning houses to recognize the feeling of standing outside one, wondering if everything inside was already lost.
The Devil clawed against that fear with fury.
She is ours.
Daemon closed his eyes.
“No.”
The Devil stilled.
Daemon’s voice came quieter.
“We are hers.”
Silence. Even the Devil understood the difference. Ours meant possession. Hers meant surrender. Ours meant keep. Hers meant stay if she wanted them. Ours meant cage. Hers meant the door remained open. The Devil hated open doors.
Everything it had ever loved disappeared through them.
She could leave.
Daemon swallowed.
“Yes.”
And we let her?
“If she wants to.”
The Devil recoiled.
Why?
“Because I love her.”
The answer silenced it. Daemon looked through the office window toward the bar. Femi stood behind the counter, surrounded by the place she had chosen as home. Small. Beautiful. Farther away from him than she had been in months.
Daemon swallowed.
“If she doesn’t want us anymore…”
He couldn’t finish.
The Devil could.
But this time its answer was different.
Not rage.
Not possession.
Fear.
Then what are we without our little ghost?
Daemon’s throat tightened. He didn’t know. That frightened him more than anything. For several seconds neither of them spoke. Then the Devil changed. Its attention sharpened. Not toward Femi. Toward the room beyond her. People moved through Helix. Malone behind the bar. Cutter near the entrance. Two bikers at a table. Lily near the service window.
The Devil lingered there.
She watches.
Daemon’s eyes narrowed.
No.
She has been watching.
Don’t.
When little ghost looks away from us, she watches.
Daemon forced his attention back to the shelf.
He would not do that. Wouldn’t invent enemies because he was afraid. Wouldn’t turn Femi’s feelings into something someone else must have caused simply because the alternative hurt.
She watches her.
“Enough.”
Daemon.
“No.”
The Devil growled.
Something changed.
“I know.”
Things change because something changes them.
“Or because Femi changed her mind.”
The words hurt. The Devil went silent. Daemon picked up the screwdriver. The shelf didn’t need fixing. He removed the first screw anyway. Then the second. Then the bracket. Then the entire shelf. Anything to keep his hands occupied. Anything to keep himself from walking back through that door and asking the question he was terrified to hear answered.
Behind him, through the office window, Femi glanced toward the closed door.
The Devil felt it without seeing.
Little ghost.
Daemon kept working.
She reached for us.
“I know.”
A pause.
She told us to be careful.
“I know.”
Another screw hit the desk. The Devil settled somewhere deep inside him. Still frightened. Still angry. But holding tightly to the only scraps of hope Femi had given them.
She still cares.
Daemon closed his eyes.
“Yeah.”
The word came rough.
Almost broken.
“I know.”
Daemon was lost.
That was the only word for it. Nothing between him and Femi made sense anymore. One moment she would catch the back of his shirt before he walked away. The next, she would barely look at him. She still worried. Still watched. Still remembered his coffee. Still noticed when his knuckles were bruised. But whatever easy warmth had once existed between them had become something fragile.
Careful.
Daemon had no idea why.
And while he quietly tore apart perfectly good shelves trying to understand what he had done—
Lily kept talking.
“I found another one.”
Femi didn’t stop walking. Lily hurried after her through the empty barroom, phone already in her hand. Helix wouldn’t open for another two hours. Femi carried a crate of clean glasses toward the kitchen.
“Jessica.”
Nothing.
“She dated Daemon.”
Femi pushed through the kitchen doors.
Lily followed.
“I actually talked to her.”
That got the smallest reaction. Femi’s shoulders tightened. Lily smiled.
“She remembered him very well.”
Femi set the crate on the counter. Lily leaned against it.
“She said Daemon could never get enough.”
Femi began removing glasses.
One.
Two.
Three.
“They were always hot and heavy.”
Four.
Five.
“He’s a real animal in bed, if you know what I mean.”
Femi’s hand stopped around the sixth glass. Lily watched her. God, she was getting good at this.
“Just face it, Femi. A man like that has needs.”
Femi put the glass down.
“Very heavy needs.”
Femi looked at her.
Lily allowed concern to enter her face.
“And you…”
She let the sentence hang. Femi stared at her. Lily gave a little helpless shrug.
“You…”
Again, she stopped. She didn’t have to finish. That was the beauty of it. Femi’s mind would finish for her. Femi picked up the crate. Walked away.
“I’m not trying to be cruel.”
Femi kept walking.
“I’m trying to be realistic.”
Femi didn’t stop until she reached the stove. She began preparing breakfast. Lily remained near the service window.
Eggs.
Bacon.
Potatoes.
Toast.
Femi worked quickly. Quietly. Her sanctuary. Lily leaned her elbows on the service ledge.
“Hell, Femi, how do you even know he’s working?”
The knife stopped.
“Seriously.”
Femi resumed cutting potatoes.
“He disappears all the time.”
Chop.
“Malone says business.”
Chop.
“Daemon says business.”
Chop.
“But what does that actually mean?”
Femi’s jaw tightened.
“He’s probably lying in another woman’s bed right now.”
The knife stopped. Lily’s smile almost escaped. Almost. She controlled it.
“He doesn’t strike me as the celibate type.”
Femi looked toward her.
Lily softened immediately.
“And you…”
Femi put the knife down. Her hands moved.
What do you know about me?
Lily blinked.
That was unexpected.
“What?”
Femi signed again.
Sharper.
What do you know about me?
Lily straightened.
“Femi, I didn’t mean—”
You don’t know anything about me.
“I know enough to worry.”
Femi stared at her. Lily gave her the same wounded expression she had perfected over the last week.
“I am trying to protect you.”
Femi’s expression didn’t change.
“Somebody has to tell you the truth.”
Femi turned back to breakfast.
Lily watched her.
“You can be angry with me.”
Nothing.
“I understand.”
Femi cracked eggs into a bowl.
“But being angry doesn’t change who Daemon is.”
Femi whisked harder.
“Or what he needs.”
The whisk struck the bowl.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Lily smiled.
And because Lily was watching Femi—
she didn’t see the woman sitting in Daemon’s dark corner.
Marta Cappica had arrived twenty minutes earlier.
She had let herself inside through the side door. Malone wasn’t around. Daemon wasn’t around. The clubhouse was quiet. Marta had poured herself coffee and taken Daemon’s usual table because nobody else was there to complain about it.
Then Lily had walked in.
Then Femi.
Then Lily had opened her mouth.
Marta had heard every word.
Every.
Single.
Word.
She had watched Femi’s face when Lily mentioned Jessica. Watched her shoulders tighten. Watched her hand stop. Watched Lily smile whenever Femi turned away. That smile interested Marta most. Because concern did not smile like that. Concern did not watch wounds opening with satisfaction. Concern did not wait until a woman turned her back before allowing pleasure onto its face.
Marta slowly lifted her coffee. Took a sip. Lily kept talking.
“I just think you need to prepare yourself.”
Marta’s eyes narrowed.
Femi continued cooking.
“Because when a man like Daemon gets bored…”
Marta smiled.
Cold.
Cruel.
Patient.
There were many ways to handle a woman like Lily. Marta considered several. Most were illegal. Two involved a shovel. One required Cutter’s truck. She discarded those reluctantly. No. Something better. Because Lily had made a mistake. She had chosen Helix. And Helix had cameras.
Marta leaned back. There were cameras covering the barroom. The entrances. The hallways. The service window. Malone had installed more after Femi’s kidnapping. And if Lily had been doing this as long as Marta suspected—
Marta’s smile widened.
You stupid bitch.
Lily thought nobody was listening. But Helix had been listening the entire time. Marta took another sip of coffee. She would not interrupt. Not yet. Let Lily talk. Let her dig. Marta would happily hand her the shovel.
Because nobody— nobody— messed with her little girl.
The next morning, Marta cornered Malone in his office.
He had barely sat down.
“I need camera footage.”
Malone looked up from his coffee.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Barroom. Before opening. Last two weeks.”
Malone lowered the cup. Marta closed the office door. Locked it.
“I need you to play it for me before I decide murder is okay.”
Malone stared at her.
“What happened?”
“Lily has caused trouble.”
His expression changed immediately.
“What kind of trouble?”
“I want to know how long she’s been at it.”
“At what?”
Marta pulled the chair around and sat beside him.
“Play the footage.”
“Marta—”
“Malone.”
Something in her voice stopped him. He turned toward the monitors. Opened the security archive.
“Which day?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“You’re planning on watching two weeks of security footage?”
“Yes.”
“Marta, that’s hundreds of hours.”
“Before opening.”
Malone frowned. Then understood. He adjusted the search. Filtered the cameras. Filtered the hours. Barroom. Kitchen service window. Morning. Afternoon. Times when Helix was mostly empty.
The first recording began. Femi was cleaning windows. Lily sat behind her. Malone leaned back.
At first, nothing happened. Then Lily started talking. Malone turned up the audio.
“You know Daemon is a killer, right?”
Malone stopped moving. Marta said nothing. The video continued.
“A butcher.”
Malone’s face hardened.
“He takes pleasure in bathing in blood, Femi.”
Neither spoke. The footage rolled. Lily followed Femi.
Talking.
Talking.
Talking.
Daemon’s past. The Silent Order.
Blood.
Bodies.
Families.
Women.
Children.
Then—
“How can someone like that care about anybody?”
Malone’s jaw flexed. Marta stared at the screen. The recording ended. She pointed.
“Next.”
Malone opened another. Femi behind the bar. Lily nearby.
Madams.
Prostitutes.
Murderers.
Criminals.
Women throwing themselves at Daemon. Daemon not being the celibate type. Malone paused the recording. Femi’s face froze on-screen. He stared at it. Marta spoke quietly.
“Play it.”
He did. Another day. Another recording. Lily showed Femi the photograph of Cindy sitting on Daemon’s lap. Malone recognized it instantly.
“Jesus Christ.”
Marta said nothing.
“That’s fifteen years old.”
“I know.”
“Cindy’s married with three kids now.”
“I know.”
Malone looked at Marta.
“How the hell did Lily even get that?”
“Keep watching.”
Another recording. Another day. Another knife. Daemon had women everywhere. Beautiful women. Sexy women. Women who knew how to handle him. Women who weren’t afraid of him. Malone’s hand curled around the mouse. Marta watched Femi’s face. That was all she watched now.
Femi trying not to react. Femi looking away. Femi’s shoulders slowly folding inward. Femi beginning to doubt herself. Then came Marco. Malone went absolutely still.
“After what happened with Marco…”
His chair creaked beneath him. Marta placed one hand on his arm.
“Not yet.”
Malone looked at her.
“Not yet,” she repeated.
His eyes returned to the monitor. They kept watching. One hour. Two. Three. Neither spoke. They watched ten days of Lily finding Femi whenever she was alone. Ten days of calculated poison. Never shouting. Never insults. Nothing obvious. Concern. Always fucking concern.
Maybe Daemon only wanted someone to save. Maybe protection wasn’t love. Maybe he felt responsible for her. Maybe Femi wasn’t experienced enough. Maybe Daemon would eventually need a real woman. Maybe he was with someone else right now.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Every sentence was designed to make Femi finish the cruelty herself.
By the fourth hour, Malone had stopped drinking his coffee. It had gone cold beside him. Marta hadn’t touched hers either. The final recording was from the previous morning.
Jessica. Hot and heavy. Daemon could never get enough. A real animal in bed. Heavy needs. And you—
Malone paused the recording. Silence filled the office. Marta looked at the frozen image. Femi stood behind the stove. Lily leaned through the service window. Lily’s face was turned slightly toward the camera. Smiling. Malone stared at that smile.
“I’m going to kill her.”
Marta leaned back.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“You threatened murder four hours ago.”
“I’ve matured.”
“Marta.”
She pointed at the screen.
“Killing her is easy.”
Malone’s eyes narrowed.
“I want her to stop.”
“She’ll stop when I throw her ass into the street.”
“And then?”
“Then she’s not our problem.”
“Wrong.”
Marta turned toward him.
“She’ll find Femi somewhere else.”
Malone went silent.
“She’ll call her. Follow her. Send pictures. Whisper shit whenever she gets close. And now Lily knows exactly what works.”
Malone looked back at the monitor.
Marta continued.
“You throw her out without exposing what she’s doing, Lily becomes the victim.”
“Not in my fucking clubhouse.”
“To everyone else?”
That stopped him. Marta nodded toward the screen.
“She’ll cry. Say Femi misunderstood. Say she was worried about her. Say we attacked her for telling the truth.”
Malone swore softly.
“And Femi?”
Marta’s expression changed. That was the heart of it.
“Femi will think Lily was right.”
Malone looked at her.
“If Lily disappears the second she starts talking about Daemon, Femi might think we’re protecting Daemon from the truth.”
Malone leaned back slowly.
“Fuck.”
“Exactly.”
Silence.
Then Malone looked toward the monitor again.
“So what do you want?”
Marta smiled. Malone didn’t like that smile. He had known Marta too long.
“What?”
“We don’t throw Lily out.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Not yet.”
“Marta—”
“We let her talk.”
“She has talked enough.”
“Yes.”
Marta leaned forward.
“Now we let Daemon listen.”
Malone became very still.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No fucking way.”
“Why?”
“You’ve seen him.”
“I have.”
“He thinks Femi doesn’t want him anymore.”
“I know.”
“He’s barely holding himself together.”
“I know.”
“And you want to put him in a room and let him hear ten days of this shit?”
“Yes.”
Malone stared at her.
“Marta.”
“He needs the truth.”
“The devil is going to come through his fucking skin.”
“Probably.”
“He’ll kill Lily.”
“No.”
“You sound awfully fucking certain.”
Marta’s eyes went cold.
“Because Femi will be in the room.”
Malone stopped. There it was. Daemon would rage. The devil would rage harder. But Femi—
Daemon would never risk frightening Femi. Not intentionally. Not for Lily. Marta tapped the monitor.
“And we don’t show him four hours.”
Malone frowned.
“We show him enough.”
“How much is enough?”
“The first day.”
Marta counted on her fingers.
“Cindy.”
Another finger.
“Marco.”
Another.
“Jessica.”
Another.
“And yesterday.”
Malone understood. Enough to establish the pattern. Enough for Daemon to understand why Femi had pulled away. Enough for him to hear the exact words Lily had put inside her head.
“And then?” Malone asked.
Marta’s smile disappeared.
“Then Lily gets what she wanted.”
Malone waited.
“She wanted Daemon to confront Femi.”
Marta stood.
“She wanted to watch the devil tear them apart.”
She pushed the chair beneath the desk.
“So we’ll give her a show.”
Malone stared at her. Slowly— very slowly— he smiled.
“Oh.”
“Yes.”
“You’re evil.”
“I’ve been told.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Helix opens late tonight.”
“How late?”
“An hour.”
Malone nodded.
“Cutter?”
“Keep him nearby.”
“Security?”
“Doors stay unlocked once we open. I don’t want Lily feeling trapped.”
Malone understood that too. Lily needed every opportunity to leave. If she stayed— that was her choice.
“And Femi?”
Marta’s expression softened.
“We don’t tell her.”
Malone frowned.
“She has had people deciding things around her long enough.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because if we tell her, she’ll protect Lily.”
Malone stopped. They both knew it was true. Femi would minimize it. Say it didn’t matter. Say Lily hadn’t done anything. Try to keep everyone calm. Marta shook her head.
“No. Femi doesn’t have to defend anybody tonight.”
“And Daemon?”
“I’ll tell him.”
Malone stared at her.
“All of it?”
“Enough.”
“And if he doesn’t come inside?”
Marta looked toward the office door.
“He’ll come.”
Helix opened an hour late that night. Nobody received an explanation. The regulars complained. Malone told them to drink somewhere else. They stopped complaining.
By nine, Helix was alive.
Music.
Liquor.
Motorcycles outside.
Voices rolling through the barroom.
Femi worked tables.
Quiet.
Efficient.
Beautiful.
Lily sat where she could see everything.
Waiting.
She had noticed Marta earlier. She had noticed Malone acting strangely. She had noticed Cutter standing near the bar more often than usual. But none of that mattered. Because Daemon wasn’t there.
Yet.
Lily checked the door again.
Nothing.
She smiled into her drink.
Tonight.
Tonight something would happen. She could feel it. Femi had barely looked toward Daemon’s empty corner all evening.
Good.
Perfect.
The distance was almost complete. Lily imagined Daemon arriving. Femi avoiding him. Daemon finally losing patience. That temper. That darkness. That Devil everyone whispered about. He would demand answers.
Femi would retreat. Daemon would become angry. Maybe shout. Maybe slam something. Maybe show Femi exactly what kind of man she had attached herself to. And Lily would be there afterward.
Concerned.
Gentle.
Understanding.
I tried to warn you.
The thought almost made her laugh. Then headlights swept across the front windows. Lily sat straighter.
A motorcycle entered the parking lot.
Her smile widened.
Daemon.
Daemon killed the engine.
The Devil was already awake.
It had been restless all day.
Femi’s fingers catching the back of his shirt that morning had replayed through Daemon’s mind until the memory had become torture.
She reached for us.
Yes.
Then let go.
I know.
Ask her tonight.
Daemon removed his gloves.
Maybe.
Not maybe.
Then he saw Marta. She stood beneath the security light beside the building, arms crossed.
The Devil immediately became suspicious.
Why is she waiting?
Daemon removed his helmet. His eyes went automatically toward Helix. Toward the windows. Toward Femi.
The Devil searched with him.
Little ghost.
He found her moving behind the bar.
Safe.
Something inside both of them eased.
Marta watched him do it.
“She’s inside.”
Daemon looked at her.
“I know.”
“You got five minutes?”
“No.”
“Make five.”
Daemon frowned.
“Marta.”
“It’s about Femi.”
Everything changed. Instantly.
The Devil surged so violently Daemon felt his pulse kick.
What happened?
“What happened?”
There.
Marta heard it. Not anger. Fear. Daemon stepped toward her.
“What happened to her?”
Who touched her?
“Nothing.”
His eyes hardened.
The Devil did not believe her.
Liar.
“Don’t fuck with me.”
“I’m not.”
“Then talk.”
Marta looked through the window. Lily was watching them. Good. Let her. Marta deliberately moved closer to Daemon.
From inside, it would look serious.
Private.
“What I’m about to tell you,” Marta said quietly, “you listen before you react.”
The Devil snarled.
I already dislike this conversation.
Daemon’s expression went flat.
Dangerously flat.
“Marta.”
“Femi hasn’t been pulling away because of something you did.”
Daemon stopped breathing. The Devil stopped with him. For one second— nothing.
Then—
“What?”
Marta watched the words hit him.
“She isn’t afraid of you.”
The Devil whispered first.
She isn’t afraid.
Daemon’s face changed. Barely. But Marta knew him. She saw the relief before he killed it. Saw how desperately he wanted to believe her.
Inside him, the Devil did not bother hiding anything.
She isn’t leaving because of us.
Relief hit so hard it almost hurt.
Then Daemon understood the rest of Marta’s sentence.
If it wasn’t him—
“Then why?”
Marta looked toward the window. Daemon followed her gaze. Lily lifted her glass. Smiled. The Devil went silent. Daemon’s eyes returned to Marta.
“What did she do?”
Marta almost laughed. Smart man. She hadn’t said Lily’s name. Not once.
The Devil had reached the same conclusion.
Her.
“What did she do?” Daemon repeated.
“For ten days, she’s been waiting until Femi is alone.”
Something changed behind Daemon’s eyes.
The Devil rose.
Slowly.
Ten days.
“She talks.”
Marta continued.
“About you.”
The Devil stirred harder.
Daemon’s voice lowered.
“What about me?”
“Your past.”
Daemon went still.
“Women.”
His jaw tightened.
Why?
“People you’ve killed.”
His hands slowly curled.
“Silent Order.”
The Devil pressed against his bones.
Why is she telling our little ghost these things?
Daemon looked through the window again. Lily was still smiling.
“She showed Femi pictures of women you dated.”
His gaze snapped back.
“Who?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Who?”
“Cindy was one.”
Daemon stared.
“Cindy?”
The Devil sounded genuinely offended.
Cindy?
“Old picture. Her sitting on your lap.”
“That was—”
She sat on us.
I know.
We didn’t even like Cindy.
Daemon dragged a hand down his face.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
“Jessica.”
His hand stopped.
“What?”
“She says she talked to Jessica.”
Daemon looked genuinely confused now.
“Jessica who?”
The Devil searched memories alongside him.
Nothing.
Who the fuck is Jessica?
Marta almost smiled.
“Apparently a woman who remembers you being very demanding in bed.”
Daemon stared at her.
The Devil stared with him.
“What the fuck?”
Who is Jessica?
Despite herself, Marta laughed once.
Coldly.
“That’s approximately what Malone said.”
Daemon’s face went from confusion to horror.
Because now he understood. Femi. The Devil understood with him.
Every cup set on the counter.
Wrong.
Every touch withdrawn.
She stopped touching us.
Every time Femi had looked away.
She thought—
Every refusal to go home with him.
No.
Every night she had stayed at Helix.
No.
“Oh.”
The word barely existed.
The Devil whispered something much smaller.
Little ghost.
Marta’s anger softened for one second.
“Yeah.”
Daemon looked through the window. Femi crossed the barroom carrying a tray. His eyes followed her. The Devil watched too. Not possessively now.
Heartbroken.
“She thinks…”
He couldn’t finish.
She thinks we wanted them.
“She doesn’t know what to think anymore.”
Daemon’s throat moved.
Marta continued.
“Lily has spent ten days telling her you’re a butcher. That you enjoy killing. That you feel nothing. That you couldn’t possibly love her.”
Daemon’s face emptied.
The Devil did not.
We love her.
“She told her about Marco.”
His eyes closed.
“Fuck.”
The Devil recoiled. It remembered enough. Femi frightened. Femi hurt.
Femi learning what people could take from her.
She used that against her.
“She told Femi that maybe you only protect her because you need someone to save.”
Daemon lowered his head.
The Devil sounded almost bewildered.
We protect her because she is precious.
Daemon swallowed.
“And?”
Marta hesitated.
Daemon looked at her.
“And what?”
“She told Femi men like you have needs.”
Silence. Marta didn’t need to explain. Daemon understood. The Devil did too. His face changed. Not rage. Not yet. Pain. Raw and immediate.
“She made her think she’s not enough for me.”
The Devil recoiled.
What?
“Yes.”
No.
Daemon turned away. Walked three steps. Stopped.
His hands went to his hips.
No.
The Devil was furious now.
Marta could see it in the rigid line of his shoulders. The stillness.
The way his head lowered.
No.
Daemon closed his eyes.
She is enough.
I know.
She is more than enough.
“I know.”
Marta heard him. Her expression softened.
The Devil did not stop.
She thinks we don’t want her.
Daemon’s hands curled.
She thinks those women were better.
His breathing changed.
She thinks we are waiting for something she cannot give.
Stop.
Marta watched him carefully.
The Devil ignored him.
Someone hurt our little ghost.
Daemon turned back. His gray eyes were cold.
“How do you know?”
“Cameras.”
He stared at her.
“Malone and I watched ten days.”
“All of it?”
“Four hours.”
Daemon looked toward Helix.
“I want to see it.”
“You will.”
“Now.”
Now.
“No.”
His eyes snapped toward her.
“Marta.”
“Not yet.”
“Why the fuck not?”
Show us.
“Because you’re going inside.”
Daemon laughed once. There was nothing amused about it.
“No.”
The Devil agreed.
We are not going inside.
“Yes.”
“No.”
We are going to watch every second.
“She’s waiting for you.”
His eyes immediately found Femi through the glass. The Devil quieted.
Marta lowered her voice.
“Not Lily.”
Daemon looked at her.
“Femi.”
That stopped him. Stopped the Devil too.
Little ghost.
“She doesn’t know we know.”
Daemon said nothing.
“She doesn’t know I heard Lily yesterday. She doesn’t know Malone and I watched the cameras.”
Daemon’s gaze stayed on Femi.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrowed.
The Devil was offended.
Nothing?
“Nothing?”
“Don’t confront Femi.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Never.
“I know.”
“Don’t confront Lily.”
That received a very different silence.
The Devil smiled.
No.
Marta stepped closer.
“Not yet.”
Daemon’s jaw flexed.
“She hurt her.”
She hurt our little ghost.
“I know.”
“For ten fucking days.”
Ten.
“I know.”
“And you want me to walk in there and—”
“Love her.”
Daemon stopped. The Devil stopped.
Marta held his gaze.
“That’s it.”
Silence.
The Devil raged.
Daemon didn’t move.
“Go inside.”
Marta nodded toward the doors.
“Sit in your corner.”
His eyes shifted toward the dark table.
“Let Femi decide whether she comes to you.”
The Devil recoiled immediately.
What if she doesn’t?
Daemon swallowed.
“And if she doesn’t?”
There it was again. That fear.
Marta softened.
“Then you wait.”
The Devil hated that answer.
How long?
Daemon’s gaze dropped.
“As long as she needs.”
Marta heard him.
“So you already know.”
The Devil snarled.
I do not like waiting.
Daemon almost smiled.
You waited this long.
Badly.
True.
“And Lily?” Daemon asked.
Marta looked through the window. Lily was practically glowing with anticipation. Marta smiled. Cold. Cruel.
“Lily thinks you’re about to give her exactly what she wants.”
Daemon followed her gaze.
“What does she want?”
“She wants you angry.”
The Devil smiled.
That can be arranged.
Marta looked back at him.
“She wants you to confront Femi. She wants you loud. Violent. She wants Femi afraid of you.”
The Devil went silent. Completely. Daemon’s face changed. The rage didn’t disappear. It concentrated. Cold instead of hot. Still instead of wild.
The Devil understood.
She wants us to frighten the little ghost.
Yes.
She wants us to hurt her for her.
Yes.
A pause.
Then something almost amused moved through the darkness inside him.
No.
Daemon’s eyes narrowed.
The Devil whispered again.
No.
Not furious now.
Certain.
She does not get to use us against Femi.
Daemon looked through the glass at Lily.
“And then?”
“She plans to pick up whatever pieces are left.”
Long silence. The Devil laughed. Soft.
Predatory.
There will be no pieces.
Daemon looked at Femi. His entire face changed. The anger remained. The Devil remained.
But beneath it—
love.
Sadness.
Relief.
His little ghost had not stopped loving him. Someone had simply convinced her she shouldn’t.
The Devil whispered,
She still loves us.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
Maybe.
She reached for us.
Yes.
She told us to be careful.
Yes.
She still loves us.
Hope was still a vicious fucking thing. But this time Daemon let himself touch it.
Marta touched his arm.
“Now you understand?”
Daemon nodded once.
“Good.”
She stepped away.
“Go get your girl.”
Daemon looked at her.
The Devil immediately purred.
Yes.
“No.”
The Devil stopped.
What?
Marta frowned.
Daemon’s eyes returned to Femi.
His voice was quiet.
“She ain’t something to get.”
The Devil listened.
Marta smiled.
There he was.
“No,” she agreed.
Daemon picked up his helmet.
“She chooses.”
“Yes.”
The Devil shifted uneasily.
And if she does not choose us?
Daemon looked through the glass at Femi.
Then we wait.
The Devil hated it.
But after a moment—
Fine.
Daemon almost smiled.
Fine?
I said fine.
“And Lily?” Daemon asked.
Marta’s smile became vicious.
“Let her watch.”
The Devil became very still.
Then—
Oh.
Daemon felt it smile.
A slow thing.
Dark.
Delighted.
I like Marta.
Inside Helix, Lily saw Marta step away.
Daemon remained beside his motorcycle for several seconds.
She could barely contain herself. Something had happened. She knew it. Marta had told him something. Maybe Femi had complained. Maybe Malone had noticed. Didn’t matter. Daemon looked angry.
Even from inside, Lily could see it. His shoulders were rigid. His movements controlled. Dangerous. Perfect. Lily lifted her drink. Femi was behind the bar. She hadn’t noticed him yet. Lily watched Daemon cross the parking lot. Slowly.
She imagined what would happen. Daemon demanding answers. Femi shrinking away. The Devil finally showing its face.
Lily smiled.
Outside, the Devil whispered,
She is watching.
Daemon knew.
She wants a show.
He knew that too.
His hand closed around the door handle.
Give her one.
Daemon paused.
Not the one she wants.
The Devil considered that.
Then laughed.
Better.
The front door opened. Music rolled into the night. Daemon Pallid stepped inside. And every eye in Helix turned toward the Devil. The Devil noticed Lily first. Sitting with her drink.
Waiting.
Smiling.
There she is.
Daemon did not look at her.
That made the smile on Lily’s face falter.
The Devil enjoyed that.
Again.
Daemon’s eyes moved across the room. Past Malone. Past Cutter. Past the bikers who had gone quiet when he entered. Until he found Femi. She stood behind the bar. Her hands were wrapped around a glass she had been drying. She had gone completely still. Their eyes met.
The Devil surged toward her.
Little ghost.
Daemon did nothing.
No demand.
No question.
No anger.
He simply looked at her.
Femi looked uncertain.
The Devil wanted to cross the room.
Go.
No.
She is right there.
She chooses.
The Devil growled. Then remembered. Lily wanted anger. Lily wanted fear. Lily wanted Daemon to turn himself into proof.
The Devil’s attention slid toward her without Daemon moving his head.
Ah.
Femi lowered her eyes.
Pain moved through Daemon.
The Devil felt it too.
Sit.
Daemon almost laughed.
A minute ago you wanted me to go to her.
I changed my mind.
Convenient.
Sit down.
Daemon walked toward his corner. Lily’s smile disappeared completely.
The Devil purred.
Good.
He removed his jacket. Draped it over the chair. Sat. His usual corner. His usual table. His usual silence. Nothing shattered. Nobody shouted. No one bled.
Across Helix, Lily stared at him. The Devil stared back from behind Daemon’s eyes for one brief second. Not enough for anyone else to notice.
Enough for Lily.
Her fingers tightened around her glass.
The Devil smiled.
You wanted me.
Daemon’s gaze returned to Femi.
She was watching him again.
Now watch me wait.
Daemon took his corner seat. The same one he always took. Dark enough to disappear in. Far enough from the center of Helix that people forgot he was watching them.
Tonight, nobody forgot. He sat down slowly. One hand rested on the table. Then the other. Open. Visible. Controlled.
The Devil hated it.
Go to her.
No.
She is right there.
She chooses.
A low growl moved through the back of Daemon’s mind.
I do not like this plan.
Daemon almost smiled.
I know.
Across the room, Marta moved behind the bar.
Daemon lifted two fingers.
The signal was familiar. Jack. Ice. Marta saw it. So did Malone. Neither reacted. Marta poured the whiskey herself. Two cubes. Jack over the top. Then she placed the glass carefully on Femi’s tray.
The Devil went still.
Little ghost.
Femi looked down at it. Her eyes lifted. Found Daemon.
He was already watching her. The room seemed to narrow. People moved between them. Music thundered. Someone laughed near the pool table. Glass struck wood. None of it mattered.
Femi.
Only Femi.
The Devil pressed close beneath Daemon’s skin.
She is coming.
Femi picked up the tray. Lily watched from her table. Finally. Her smile began to return. Here it came.
Femi crossed Helix.
Slowly.
Daemon sat back in the darkness and watched her approach. The Devil was awake. Not raging now. Not the way it had been outside. Something worse.
Focused.
Every step.
Every breath.
Every flicker in Femi’s expression.
It watched them all.
Fix it.
Daemon said nothing.
Fix our little ghost.
Femi reached the table. She set the glass neatly in front of him. Perfectly centered. Just as she always did.
The Devil noticed immediately.
She remembered.
Of course she remembered.
She always remembers us.
Daemon’s hands remained flat on the table. He did not reach for her. Did not catch her wrist. Did not ask why. Did not demand anything. Femi straightened. Their eyes met.
The Devil pushed.
Say something.
Daemon swallowed. He knew a hundred things he wanted to say. None of them felt safe. None of them felt small enough.
Why did you believe her?
Did you really think I would do that?
Did you really think I wanted someone else?
Why didn’t you ask me?
Why did you leave me standing there wondering if you hated me?
The Devil supplied another.
Why didn’t you come to us?
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
No.
Every one of those questions carried blame. And Daemon refused to put blame on her. Not tonight. Not after what Marta had told him. Femi had already spent ten days being cut open. He would not make the wounds deeper just because his own hurt.
The Devil growled.
She should have come to us.
She was hurt.
We would have told her.
She didn’t know that.
She knows us.
Someone made her doubt what she knew.
That silenced it. For a moment.
Then—
Tell her.
Daemon looked at Femi. Really looked. At the careful set of her mouth. The uncertainty behind those green eyes. The distance Lily had carved between them. The Devil looked too.
And what had been anger became something quieter.
Little ghost.
His hands lifted. Femi froze.
The Devil reacted instantly.
Slow.
Daemon almost stopped.
The instruction surprised him.
Slow?
Do not frighten her.
Something inside Daemon ached.
He moved his hands carefully.
Clearly.
One phrase.
I love you, my little ghost.
Femi stopped breathing. So did the Devil. Daemon held her gaze. Nothing else. No explanation. No demand. No question.
Just that.
I love you.
Not—
Why are you doing this?
Not—
What did I do?
Not—
Come back.
I love you.
The Devil whispered beneath the silence.
We love you.
Her eyes widened. Daemon let his hands fall.
The Devil immediately objected.
More.
No.
Tell her she is enough.
Not here.
Tell her there is no Cindy.
Later.
Tell her we do not know who the fuck Jessica is.
Daemon nearly closed his eyes.
Not now.
I would like to know who Jessica is.
So would I.
Tell her there has never been another little ghost.
Daemon picked up his drink.
Not here.
Tell her—
Enough.
He took a slow swallow.
The Devil snarled.
More.
No.
Tell her everything.
Not here.
She needs to know.
She knows what matters right now.
The Devil paced.
She needs to know she is enough.
She will.
Now.
Daemon kept his eyes on Femi. Not because Lily frightened her into asking. Not because we’re cornering her in the middle of Helix. The Devil went quiet. Daemon continued inwardly.
She gets the truth when she wants it.
All of it.
Every ugly fucking piece.
But right now she gets this.
His gaze held Femi’s.
I love you.
The Devil settled.
Reluctantly.
Fine.
Daemon almost smiled.
Fine?
Do not irritate me.
Femi continued staring at him. Daemon forced himself not to reach for her. Not to smile too quickly. Not to ask whether she understood. He simply sat there. Available. Waiting. Femi’s fingers tightened around the tray. Something changed in her face.
Small.
Barely visible.
The tension around her mouth softened. Her eyes became bright. Not with tears. Something else.
Relief.
Daemon felt it like air returning to a room.
The Devil felt it too.
There.
Femi’s shoulders lowered.
Barely.
There she is.
Then her mouth curved. Not quite a smile. But close.
The Devil practically purred.
Again.
Daemon’s thumb moved against his glass. Femi turned. She walked away.
The Devil surged.
Where is she going?
Working.
Call her back.
No.
She smiled.
Almost.
That counts.
Daemon watched her go.
Tell her again.
Later.
Now.
Later.
The Devil settled deep inside him. Not satisfied. Never that easily.
But quieter.
She heard us.
Daemon lifted the glass again.
Yeah.
She heard.
Yeah.
A pause.
Then, softer—
She believed us.
Daemon’s eyes followed Femi behind the bar.
He hoped so.
The Devil did not accept uncertainty.
She did.
For once, Daemon let it have the last word.
Lily blinked.
What the hell had just happened?
She had seen Daemon’s hands move.
Femi had stopped. Then— nothing. No shouting. No argument. No anger.
Daemon hadn’t even stood up. Femi was walking away from his table. Lily leaned forward. She searched Femi’s face. Sadness. There should have been sadness. Tears. Fear. Something. There was nothing.
No.
Not nothing.
Femi looked— lighter.
Lily frowned. She watched Femi disappear behind the bar. What had Daemon said? Her eyes snapped back toward him. Daemon sat in the darkness drinking his whiskey as if nothing had happened.
Inside him, the Devil noticed Lily staring.
She looks disappointed.
Daemon took another drink.
Good.
The Devil became amused.
She wanted us angry.
Daemon’s gaze remained on Femi.
She wanted the little ghost afraid.
His fingers tightened around the glass.
The amusement vanished.
She wanted us to hurt her.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
Daemon’s eyes flicked toward Lily. Only once. Lily caught it. Something in that gray stare made her smile falter. The Devil pressed against the surface. Not enough to take control. Not enough to expose itself completely.
Just enough.
Watch.
Lily’s fingers tightened around her drink.
Daemon looked away. The Devil laughed softly.
Lily knew a little sign language. Very little.
Enough to recognize simple things.
Hello.
Goodbye.
Thank you.
Maybe.
No.
But whatever Daemon had signed— she had no idea. Her irritation sharpened. He had been supposed to confront her. Femi had been supposed to pull away. Something was wrong. Lily picked up her drink. Her phone buzzed. She ignored it. Her eyes remained on Daemon. Another buzz. Lily sighed angrily and looked down.
A message filled the screen.
Midnight, come with my photos.
-Carr.
Lily’s expression hardened. Carr. Of course. Her hand tightened around the phone. Always demanding. Always expecting. Always assuming Lily would appear whenever he called. She hated that. Hated answering to him. Hated the way Carr spoke to her as if she were an employee instead of someone important. She hated the little reminders that however much she pretended otherwise—
Carr still had leverage.
Lily’s fingers curled into a fist.
She looked toward Daemon again. He sat almost completely hidden by shadow. Dangerous. Beautiful. Untouchable. His glass rested loosely in one hand.
Lily imagined him standing over Carr. Carr’s arrogance disappearing. Carr finally understanding that Lily was no longer someone he could summon with a text message. The fantasy soothed her immediately. Maybe when this was all over— she would have Daemon kill Carr.
The thought came so naturally that Lily smiled.
Yes.
That would solve several problems. Carr gone. Marco gone. Femi gone. Daemon beside her.
Across the room, the Devil’s attention shifted.
Daemon frowned.
What?
The Devil did not know.
Something.
A smile.
Lily looking at him as though she had already decided what purpose he would serve.
It disliked that expression.
She is doing it again.
Doing what?
Planning.
Daemon glanced toward Lily.
She was still smiling at him.
I do not like that.
Neither did he. Lily glanced toward the bar. Femi was working again. Calm. Too calm. Lily’s smile faded slightly. Something was shifting. She could feel it. Not enough to understand it. Not yet. But something. Femi crossed behind the bar. Her eyes found Daemon again. Only for a second.
The Devil noticed.
Little ghost.
This time— Femi did not look away immediately. Daemon’s heart struck once against his ribs. The Devil went perfectly still. Femi held his gaze. One second. Two. Then her hands moved low against her apron where almost no one else could see. A tiny sign. Simple. Private.
I care about you.
Daemon stopped breathing. The Devil vanished into stunned silence. Femi turned away before he could respond. Daemon stared after her. His whiskey remained halfway to his mouth.
Inside him—
nothing.
Then—
She loves us.
Daemon lowered the glass.
Yeah.
The Devil sounded almost disbelieving.
She said it.
“I know.”
Malone glanced toward him from the other end of the bar.
Daemon ignored him.
She still loves us.
His scar pulled beneath the beginning of a smile.
Yeah.
Tell her again.
Later.
Now.
Daemon took a drink.
The Devil became indignant.
Daemon.
He hid his smile behind the glass. Across the room, Marta polished a glass. She had seen the message light Lily’s face. Had seen the name. Carr. Marta said nothing. Not yet. She only lowered her eyes to the glass in her hands. And smiled.
The Devil noticed that too.
Its delight over Femi quieted just enough for suspicion to return.
Marta knows something.
Daemon looked toward her.
Probably.
Ask.
Later.
The Devil sighed.
You say that too much.
Daemon’s gaze returned to Femi.
She was smiling while she worked now.
Small.
Private.
His.
No.
The Devil corrected him before Daemon could.
Hers.
Daemon went still.
The Devil settled deep inside him.
Then amended it one final time.
And she chose us.
Daemon lifted his Jack.
That—
he would allow.
The next night, Lily dressed for Daemon.
She told herself she wasn’t. That would have sounded desperate. Instead, she spent nearly an hour choosing what to wear. The dress was black. Silk. Expensive. Low enough to draw attention without looking cheap. At least that was what Lily told herself when she examined her reflection.
Her hair fell loose around her shoulders. Her perfume was subtle. Her makeup perfect. Lily smiled at herself.
This was what Daemon needed. Not some frightened little girl who blushed whenever he looked at her too long. A woman. Someone who understood appetite. Someone who wouldn’t recoil from what he was. Someone who could ride behind him without being afraid of where he was taking her. Someone who could watch blood drip from his hands and smile because she understood why it had been spilled.
Femi could cook for him.
Bring him coffee.
Play house.
Lily could give him everything else.
And tonight—
Femi would see it.
“She’s dressed up.”
Malone didn’t look toward Lily. He continued polishing the bar. Marta sat on a stool opposite him.
“I noticed.”
“For who?”
Marta stared at him.
Malone sighed.
“Stupid question.”
“Very.”
Across Helix, Lily sat with one leg crossed over the other.
Waiting.
Daemon hadn’t arrived yet. Femi was working. That was important.Marta had made certain Femi’s schedule remained unchanged. Nothing forced. Nothing staged around her. Femi knew none of what was happening. That mattered too. Marta didn’t want Femi performing for anyone. She wanted Lily to perform. And Lily seemed delighted to oblige.
“Cameras?” Marta asked.
“Running.”
“Audio?”
“Running.”
“Corner?”
“Running.”
“Service window?”
“Running.”
Malone finally looked at her.
“You expecting a confession?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“A pattern.”
“We already have one.”
“We have Lily talking to Femi when she thinks nobody is listening.”
Marta glanced toward Lily.
“Now I want Lily talking to Daemon when she thinks Femi is watching.”
Malone’s mouth twisted.
“And Daemon knows?”
“He knows we’re recording.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Marta smiled.
“No. He doesn’t know what Lily is planning.”
Malone stopped polishing.
“Marta.”
“What?”
“You’re putting that woman near a very pissed-off man.”
“No.”
Marta shook her head.
“I’m putting that woman near a man who knows exactly what she’s done to Femi.”
“That sounds worse.”
“It probably is.”
Malone sighed.
“Wonderful.”
“But Daemon won’t touch her.”
“You certain?”
Marta looked toward Femi.
“Absolutely.”
Malone followed her gaze. Femi was carrying drinks.
“Because of Femi?”
“Because Daemon isn’t the man Lily says he is.” Marta leaned closer. “And that’s the entire fucking point.”
Daemon arrived at nine-thirteen.
The Devil noticed Femi before the door finished closing.
Little ghost.
Daemon’s eyes found her at the same moment. Femi looked up. Their gazes met.
Something inside him loosened.
She looked for us.
Maybe.
She did.
Daemon walked through the doors wearing black jeans, boots, and a black shirt beneath his leather jacket. His long blond hair was loose. Scar visible. Gray eyes moving through the room. They found Femi first. Lily noticed that too. Her irritation lasted only a second. Of course he looked for Femi. Habit. That could be broken.
The Devil noticed Lily next.
Black dress.
Perfume he could smell from halfway across the room.
Watching him.
Waiting.
She dressed for us.
Daemon ignored her.
Poorly.
Daemon almost smiled.
Behave.
No.
He went to his corner. Sat. Two fingers lifted. Marta prepared his Jack. Femi carried it. Lily watched closely.
So did the Devil.
She is coming.
Femi approached. Set the drink down. Daemon’s hands moved. Lily leaned forward. Again. Signing. Femi answered this time. The Devil quieted to listen even though the words were not meant for it separately. Daemon smiled. Small. Crooked. Femi’s face warmed.
The Devil practically purred.
There.
Lily’s fingernails pressed into her palm.
No.
That wasn’t supposed to be happening. She had spent ten days dismantling that. Femi walked away. Daemon watched her until she disappeared into the crowd.
She smiled.
Yeah.
At us.
Daemon reached for his drink.
Yeah.
The Devil settled smugly.
Again.
Marta saw Lily coming.
“So it begins,” she murmured.
Malone looked up.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Lily crossed the room. Directly toward Daemon. Malone started around the bar.
Marta caught his wrist.
“No.”
“She is walking into his corner.”
“I have eyes.”
“Marta.”
“Let her.”
Malone looked toward Femi. Femi had noticed too. She stood near the service window holding an empty tray. Marta saw the uncertainty return to her face. That hurt. But this had to happen. Not because Femi needed Daemon tested.
Daemon wasn’t on trial.
Lily was.
“Watch,” Marta whispered.
Daemon smelled Lily’s perfume before she reached him.
The Devil growled.
Her.
Daemon’s eyes remained on his glass.
“Mind if I sit?”
“Yes.”
Lily laughed. She sat anyway.
The Devil stared at the chair.
She has difficulty with simple words.
Daemon slowly looked at her.
“I said yes.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you sitting?”
“Because I think you’re trying to be difficult.”
“No.”
Daemon took another drink.
“I’m being clear.”
Very fucking clear.
Lily smiled. There was something thrilling about him up close. The scar. The eyes. The absolute absence of nervousness. Marco had always needed reassurance. Daemon seemed to need nothing. That made Lily want him more.
“You’re an interesting man.”
“No.”
The Devil sounded offended.
We are.
Daemon ignored it.
Lily laughed again.
“You don’t think so?”
“Don’t care.”
She leaned forward. Daemon leaned back. Not much. Enough.
The Devil recoiled with him.
Too close.
Lily noticed.
She interpreted it incorrectly.
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
Daemon’s eyebrows drew together.
“Pretend what?”
“That you’re something you’re not.”
The Devil stirred. Daemon’s expression remained blank. Lily lowered her voice.
“I know about you.”
“Congratulations.”
“The Silent Order. The Organization.”
The Devil stopped. Daemon’s eyes changed.
Across the room, Marta stopped breathing.
Lily continued.
“The things you’ve done.”
Daemon placed his glass on the table.
Very carefully.
The Devil whispered,
Careful.
I know.
Lily mistook the movement for interest.
“I don’t judge you.”
“Should.”
That surprised her.
“What?”
“You should.”
Daemon leaned back.
“Some things deserve judgment.”
The Devil was silent. It knew exactly what things Daemon meant. Lily studied him. That wasn’t what she’d expected. She recovered quickly.
“I think men like you do what has to be done.”
“Men like me?”
“Dangerous men.”
Daemon’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. Lily thought it was.
“You need someone who understands that.”
Daemon looked past her. Femi stood near the bar. Their eyes met. Femi immediately looked away.
The Devil snarled.
She is hurting again.
Daemon’s gaze hardened.
She is watching this.
I know.
Move Lily.
Not yet.
She hurts when she sees her near us.
I know.
Then move her.
Daemon’s gaze returned to Lily. Now he understood. This was another performance. Another blade. Except this time Lily wanted Femi watching.
The Devil rose.
She is using us again.
Fine.
Daemon could work with that.
“What exactly do you think I need?”
Lily smiled.
There.
Finally.
An opening.
The Devil smiled too.
For a very different reason.
Go on.
“A woman who isn’t afraid of you.”
Daemon said nothing.
“Someone who understands your desires.”
Still nothing.
“Someone who isn’t intimidated by your past.”
Lily shifted closer.
Daemon’s expression hardened.
She didn’t notice.
“I’ve heard stories about you.”
“I know.”
That stopped her.
“What?”
“I know you’ve heard stories.”
Lily hesitated.
Daemon took another drink.
“Keep going.”
The Devil became delighted.
Yes.
From the bar, Marta smiled.
Malone looked at her.
“He knows what he’s doing.”
“Yes.”
“I hate when he knows what he’s doing.”
“So do most people.”
Lily leaned closer.
“You’ve spent your entire life surrounded by people who understand violence.”
Daemon’s eyes remained on her.
“You can’t suddenly become someone else because Femi wants you to.”
There it was.
Femi.
The Devil rose.
Careful.
Daemon agreed.
Very fucking careful.
“Femi never asked me to.”
Lily blinked.
“No?”
“No.”
“But she doesn’t understand that part of you.”
The Devil laughed.
Low.
Dark.
She has held us through nightmares.
“You sure?”
“She can’t.”
“Why?”
Lily hesitated.
“Because she’s…”
Daemon waited.
Lily smiled softly.
“Innocent.”
Daemon’s expression changed.
The Devil’s voice became cold.
Do not mistake gentle for ignorant.
Lily continued before she noticed.
“She doesn’t understand what men like you need.”
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“Men like me.”
Lily smiled.
“Men with appetites.”
The Devil went silent.
Daemon’s eyes went cold.
“You’ve been talking about my appetites a lot.”
Lily froze. Only for a heartbeat. Then she laughed.
“I’ve heard things.”
“From Jessica?”
Her smile disappeared.
The Devil immediately perked up.
Ah. Jessica.
Across the room, Marta nearly laughed aloud.
Malone whispered, “Oh, shit.”
Lily stared at Daemon.
“How did you—”
“Jessica.”
Daemon leaned forward.
“Which Jessica?”
The Devil joined him.
Yes. I would still like to know.
Lily recovered.
“You know which one.”
“No.”
“Daemon—”
“I’ve known a few.”
Lily smiled triumphantly. Exactly.
The Devil sighed.
Bad wording.
Daemon continued.
“But I’m curious which one you’ve supposedly been discussing my sex life with.”
Lily’s smile faltered.
“She didn’t give me permission to tell you.”
“Convenient.”
“I’m respecting her privacy.”
“How thoughtful.”
How noble.
Lily’s eyes narrowed. Daemon sat back.
“Tell me something she said.”
“I already did.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You told Femi.”
Silence. Complete. The Devil became perfectly still. Lily stopped breathing. Daemon watched her. Across the room, Femi’s head lifted. Lily’s face changed. Just slightly.
“How do you know what I told Femi?”
Daemon took his glass.
Drank.
Set it down.
“Interesting question.”
Very.
Lily stared at him. The confidence began leaking out of her. Daemon could see it happening.
The Devil enjoyed every second.
Again.
Good.
But he remembered Marta’s instructions. Don’t confront her yet. Let her expose herself.
So he smiled.
“Forget it.”
The Devil objected.
I will not.
Lily didn’t either.
“What did Femi tell you?”
“Nothing.”
That answer came immediately. Because it was true. Femi had protected Lily without even knowing she was doing it.
The Devil’s amusement disappeared.
Our little ghost carried this alone.
Daemon’s jaw tightened. Yes. Lily relaxed. Just slightly. Then she smiled.
“I told her because I was worried.”
“About?”
“Her.”
“Why?”
“Because she doesn’t understand you.”
Daemon’s fingers tightened around his glass.
“Funny.”
“What?”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“You know her well?”
Lily’s expression tightened.
“Well enough.”
The Devil growled.
No.
“What does she like?”
“What?”
“Femi.”
Daemon leaned back.
“What’s her favorite food?”
Lily stared.
“That’s irrelevant.”
“Favorite book?”
Nothing.
“What makes her laugh?”
“Daemon—”
“What does she do when she’s scared?”
Lily’s jaw tightened.
The Devil answered inside him.
She goes quiet.
“What does she do when she’s pissed?”
Nothing.
Her eyes narrow.
“What does she do when she’s tired?”
“That’s not the point.”
She puts her forehead against us.
“What does she smell like?”
Lily blinked.
The Devil answered immediately.
Strawberries.
Daemon smiled faintly.
“Exactly.”
He reached for his whiskey.
“You don’t know shit about her.”
Lily’s cheeks reddened.
The Devil settled smugly.
We do.
“I know she can’t satisfy you.”
Daemon stopped. The Devil went utterly still.
Across the room, Femi froze. Marta’s smile disappeared. Malone whispered something vicious. Lily saw Daemon’s attention sharpen. She thought she had finally found the right door. So she opened it wider.
“You’re a passionate man.”
Daemon stared at her.
“You’ve had beautiful women.”
Nothing.
“Experienced women.”
Nothing.
“Women who could give you what you wanted.”
The Devil whispered,
None of them were her.
Lily shifted closer.
“And now you’re pretending none of that matters.”
Daemon’s voice became quiet.
“Why?”
“Because of her.”
Lily nodded toward Femi.
“Because you’re protecting her feelings.”
Daemon looked toward the bar. Femi was staring at him now. No escape. No pretending she wasn’t listening. Daemon saw the old insecurity in her eyes.
The Devil saw it too.
No.
Something inside him broke. Not violently. Cleanly. Enough.
The Devil pressed forward.
Fix it.
Daemon looked at Lily.
“You really think you know what I want?”
Lily smiled.
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
Her confidence returned immediately.
“Someone who doesn’t fear you.”
Daemon nodded slowly.
“What else?”
“Someone who accepts all of you.”
Another nod. The Devil whispered,
She does.
“Someone who understands your darkness.”
Daemon almost laughed.
She knows it has nightmares.
“What else?”
Lily leaned closer.
“Someone who can handle your desires.”
Daemon’s gaze flicked toward Femi.
Then back.
“And you think that’s you?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. Lily reached toward his hand.
The Devil snapped.
Do not touch us.
Daemon moved it before she could. She paused.
He smiled.
“Wrong.”
Her face changed.
Daemon’s voice remained quiet.
“I want her.”
The Devil surged.
Her.
He looked toward Femi.
The room around them seemed to disappear.
“That’s it.”
Only her.
Lily laughed nervously.
“You don’t have to say that because she’s watching.”
“I know she’s watching.”
Daemon’s hands moved. Not for Lily. For Femi. Only Femi.
I love you.
The Devil whispered beneath the signs.
We love you.
Femi’s lips parted.
Daemon continued.
I choose you.
Again.
Femi’s eyes filled. Lily looked between them. She understood enough this time. Not every sign. But enough. Her face hardened. Daemon lowered his hands. Then looked at Lily.
“You know what I need?”
She said nothing.
“Her.”
Daemon pointed toward Femi.
“My coffee tastes better when she makes it.”
Femi’s eyes widened.
The Devil added,
Because she gives it to us.
“She steals my shirts.”
A tiny smile appeared on her face.
Keep stealing them.
“She leaves books everywhere.”
The smile grew.
Everywhere.
“She worries when I’m late.”
Daemon’s voice softened.
“She looks at me like I’m still worth looking at.”
Femi stopped breathing. The Devil went quiet.
That one belonged entirely to Daemon.
Then—
She does.
Daemon swallowed.
The Devil purred.
There.
Daemon leaned back.
“And when she touches me…”
His eyes remained on Femi.
The Devil became absolutely still.
“Everything in my head shuts the fuck up.”
Silence.
The Devil waited.
Then—
Rude.
Daemon nearly smiled.
You know it’s true.
A pause.
Yes.
Lily’s face burned.
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“I know exactly what you meant.”
Daemon finally looked at her.
“And you were wrong.”
Very fucking wrong.
Lily stood abruptly. Her chair scraped across the floor. People looked over. She immediately smiled. Pretended nothing was wrong.
“I think you’ve had too much to drink.”
“One.”
Daemon lifted his glass.
“And she brought it.”
Femi’s smile appeared fully now. Small. But unmistakable.
The Devil softened instantly.
Little ghost.
Lily saw it. Hated it. Marta saw Lily see it. Perfect. Lily turned away.
“Wait.”
Marta’s voice stopped her. Lily looked toward the bar. Marta was holding a remote. Malone stood beside her. The televisions mounted around Helix went black. Music stopped. Conversation faded.
The Devil became interested.
What is Marta doing?
Daemon looked toward the screens.
No idea.
Lily stared.
“What are you doing?”
Marta smiled.
“Something I should’ve done ten days ago.”
The first television flickered. Security footage appeared. Femi cleaning windows. Lily sitting behind her. Audio filled Helix.
“You know Daemon is a killer, right?”
The Devil stirred. Another screen activated. Femi behind the bar. Lily following her.
“Women probably throw themselves at him.”
Another. Cindy’s photograph.
“She’s exactly his type.”
The Devil growled.
No.
Another.
“Maybe he needs someone to save.”
Another.
“That’s not the same thing as wanting a woman.”
Another.
“Men like Daemon need certain things.”
Another.
“Eventually he’s going to want them.”
Lily stared around the room. Every screen showed her. Every screen showed Femi. Every screen showed the same pattern. Waiting until Femi was alone. Following her. Whispering. Smiling whenever Femi turned away.
Daemon stopped watching Lily. He watched Femi. The Devil did too. Every recording was another moment Femi had carried alone. Every silence. Every doubt. Every small wound.
Ten days.
Daemon’s hands curled beneath the table.
She did this for ten days.
I know.
And our little ghost said nothing.
I know.
The Devil’s voice became dangerous.
She protected everyone from her pain.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
Yeah.
The room became completely silent. Malone stepped from behind the bar.
“You wanted to know how we knew?”
Lily looked at him.
Malone pointed toward the nearest camera.
“My clubhouse.”
His voice was quiet.
“My cameras.”
Lily swallowed.
“I was concerned about her.”
Marta laughed. Nobody joined her.
“Concerned?”
“Yes.”
Marta changed the recording. Jessica. Daemon could never get enough. Hot and heavy. A real animal in bed.
The Devil groaned.
Jessica again.
Daemon almost wanted to laugh.
Almost.
The recording froze on Lily’s smile after Femi turned away. Marta pointed at the screen.
“That look concerned to you?”
Lily’s face hardened.
“You’re twisting this.”
“No,” Malone said. “We’re watching it.”
“I was protecting Femi.”
“From what?” Marta asked.
“Daemon!”
The room went still. The Devil lifted its head. Lily pointed toward the corner.
“Him!”
Daemon didn’t move.
Me?
“He’s dangerous!”
“Yes,” Marta said.
Lily blinked.
Marta shrugged.
“We know.”
“He kills people!”
Daemon lifted his drink.
“We know that too.”
The Devil almost sounded amused.
This is not new information.
“He’s a monster!”
Marta looked toward Daemon.
“Occasionally.”
Malone covered his mouth.
Daemon gave Marta a flat look.
The Devil was delighted.
I told you I like Marta.
Femi almost smiled.
The Devil caught it.
Little ghost thinks it is funny.
Daemon’s mouth twitched. Lily stared at them. Nobody was reacting correctly. Nobody was horrified. Nobody was shocked. Because Lily had made one enormous mistake. She thought she had discovered Daemon’s secrets. These people had lived beside them.
Marta stepped toward Lily.
“You weren’t warning Femi about Daemon.”
“Yes, I was.”
“No.” Another step. “You were teaching her to hate herself.”
Lily’s mouth closed. Daemon stopped breathing. The Devil stopped too. Marta’s eyes became cold.
“You couldn’t convince her he wasn’t good enough for her.”
Another step.
“So you convinced her she wasn’t enough for him.”
Femi went still. Daemon’s head turned toward her.
The Devil whispered,
Look at us.
Femi didn’t.
Little ghost.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
Marta didn’t look away from Lily.
“That was clever.”
Lily swallowed.
“Cruel.”
Another step.
“Cowardly.”
Marta.
Daemon didn’t realize the warning had belonged to both him and the Devil until Malone spoke.
“Marta.”
His warning was gentle. Marta stopped. She smiled.
“Fortunately, I’m trying murder-free conflict resolution.”
Malone muttered, “Trying.”
The Devil sounded disappointed.
Unfortunate.
Daemon ignored it.
Lily’s face twisted.
“This is ridiculous.”
“No,” Malone said.
He walked around the bar.
“This is finished.”
Lily looked at him.
“You don’t get Femi alone anymore.”
“What?”
“You don’t follow her.”
“Malone—”
“You don’t talk to her about Daemon.”
“I live here.”
“Not anymore.”
That landed. Lily stared.
The Devil became very pleased.
Good.
“You can’t throw me out.”
Malone’s expression became almost amused.
“I own the fucking building.”
“I have nowhere to go.”
“You had ten days to think about that.”
Lily looked toward Femi.
“Femi.”
Femi stiffened.
The Devil surged.
No.
Lily softened instantly.
“Please.”
Daemon began to rise.
Go.
Marta looked at him. Daemon stopped. Every muscle in his body protested.
The Devil protested louder.
She is going near her.
Femi can answer for herself.
She hurt her.
I know.
Then why are we fucking sitting?
Because Femi doesn’t need us to speak for her.
The Devil snarled.
She is ours to protect.
Daemon’s gaze stayed on Femi.
No.
The Devil recoiled.
No?
She’s hers.
Silence.
Daemon forced himself back into the chair.
She gets to answer.
The Devil hated it.
But it stayed.
Lily approached her.
“I was trying to protect you.”
Femi stared.
“You know me.”
Femi’s hands moved.
No.
Lily stopped. The Devil went quiet.
Femi signed again.
You don’t know me.
Silence.
Then—
You know what hurts me.
Lily’s face changed.
Femi’s hands trembled.
You learned that.
Daemon looked down.
His throat tightened.
The Devil whispered.
Our little ghost.
Not possessive. Proud. Femi continued.
You used it.
The Devil growled. Lily opened her mouth.
Femi raised one hand.
Stop.
Lily actually obeyed.
The Devil practically purred.
Again.
Femi pointed toward the stairs.
Pack.
Daemon’s head lifted.
The Devil went utterly delighted.
Again.
For the first time all night, Marta’s expression softened.
Malone nodded once.
“Cutter will bring your bags down.”
Lily looked around Helix. Nobody defended her. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Her gaze finally landed on Daemon. Maybe she expected something from him. Regret. Interest. A second thought.
The Devil stared back.
Nothing.
Daemon looked past her. At Femi. Only Femi.
The Devil followed.
Little ghost.
Lily’s humiliation became fury. She turned. Walked toward the stairs. Then stopped. Her phone buzzed. The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the silent room. Lily looked down. Daemon saw her face change.
The Devil noticed first.
Fear.
Actual fear. Not embarrassment. Not anger. Fear. Marta saw it too. Lily quickly locked the screen. Too late.
Marta’s eyes narrowed.
“Problem?”
“No.”
The Devil watched Lily differently now. Not as an irritation. Not as a woman trying to take something that did not belong to her. As information.
She is afraid of someone.
Daemon’s gaze sharpened.
Yeah.
Not us.
No.
Lily shoved the phone into her purse.
“Then pack.”
Lily disappeared upstairs. Malone watched her go. Marta moved beside him.
“That wasn’t over Daemon.”
“No.”
“You saw it?”
“Yeah.”
The Devil whispered,
Find out who.
Daemon agreed.
Later.
The Devil sighed.
You say that too much.
Daemon stood.
His attention returned immediately to Femi.
Marta glanced toward him.
“Go.”
This time he didn’t argue.
Neither did the Devil.
Little ghost.
He crossed Helix. Slowly. Femi watched him approach. Daemon stopped several feet away. No reaching. No questions. No pressure.
The Devil wanted all three.
Closer.
No.
Touch her.
She chooses.
Ask.
That—
Daemon could do.
His hands moved.
May I sit with you?
Femi stared at him. Then nodded.
The Devil exhaled inside him.
Yes.
Daemon sat. Femi sat beside him. Not touching. Not yet. Daemon was grateful anyway.
The Devil was less patient.
Her hand is six inches away.
Leave it.
Five.
Stop counting.
Four if we move ours.
Don’t.
The Devil grumbled. But obeyed. For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Femi’s hands began.
I’m sorry.
Daemon caught her hands gently.
The Devil surged at the contact.
There.
“No.”
Femi looked at him.
“No apologizing.”
Her eyes lowered.
“I mean it.”
Femi’s fingers moved inside his.
The Devil became completely focused on that tiny movement.
She is holding us.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
Her hands moved.
I believed her.
“Because she spent ten days making sure you would.”
Femi looked at him. Daemon swallowed. This was the conversation he’d been terrified to have. He was still terrified. But now he understood what the fear belonged to. Not Femi leaving. Femi believing she wasn’t enough.
His hands moved slowly.
You are enough.
Femi’s eyes filled.
The Devil immediately objected.
Wrong.
Daemon paused.
Yeah.
Wrong.
He shook his head. Femi frowned.
His hands moved again.
More than enough.
The Devil stirred.
Better.
Femi’s lips trembled.
Daemon looked into those green eyes.
The Devil pushed.
Tell her.
Daemon hesitated.
Tell her.
His hands moved.
You are what I want.
The Devil pressed closer.
Only you.
Daemon’s hands continued before he could reconsider.
There is nothing missing.
Femi stared at him.
The Devil went silent.
Daemon swallowed.
Then signed again.
I am not waiting for someone else.
Femi’s face crumpled for half a second. Daemon almost reached for her. Stopped himself.
The Devil nearly screamed.
Touch her.
She chooses. Femi looked down at their joined hands. Then back at him. Slowly— carefully— she leaned sideways. Her head touched his shoulder. Daemon closed his eyes. The Devil disappeared. No growl. No demand. No possessive whisper. Nothing.
Femi’s weight settled against him.
Warm.
Real.
Choosing.
Daemon didn’t move for several seconds. Afraid even breathing too deeply might disturb her.
Then the Devil returned.
Barely a whisper.
She came back.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
Yeah.
Femi shifted closer. Her temple rested against him.
The Devil softened further.
She chose us.
Yeah.
Daemon turned his hand beneath hers. Not trapping. Not holding. Just offering his palm. Femi threaded her fingers through his. The Devil went silent again. This time Daemon understood why. There was nothing left for it to demand. Nothing to protect. Nothing to fix. Femi was beside them because she wanted to be.
For the Devil— that was enough.
Across Helix, Marta watched. Malone came beside her.
“One problem,” he murmured.
Marta looked at him.
“Carr.”
Her smile disappeared.
The Devil lifted its head.
Daemon’s eyes opened.
Carr.
Malone glanced toward the stairs Lily had disappeared up.
“Who the fuck is Carr?”
Marta’s eyes hardened.
“I don’t know.”
A pause.
“But Lily was supposed to meet him at midnight.”
The Devil was fully awake now. Daemon remained still so Femi could stay against his shoulder. But something behind his gray eyes changed.
The one she fears.
Maybe.
Find out.
Daemon looked toward the stairs.
This time—
Yeah.
Malone looked at the clock.
11:17.
Marta smiled.
Cold.
Interested.
“And I think Lily should keep her appointment.”
The Devil smiled with her.
So do I.
Lily left Helix at eleven-forty.
Her bags were in the trunk of a cab Malone had called for her. That humiliation still burned. Thrown out. In front of everyone. In front of Daemon. Worse—
in front of Femi.
Lily stood beneath the broken streetlight half a block from Helix, arms folded tightly across her chest.
She could still see the clubhouse from here. Still hear the faint throb of music. Her phone read 11:58. Carr had been very specific. Midnight. Lily hated when he did that.
Never around midnight.
Never later tonight.
Midnight.
As though the entire city moved according to his fucking watch.
At exactly twelve, headlights appeared at the end of the street.
A black sedan approached slowly. Tinted windows. Clean body. No visible damage. It passed Helix. Continued toward Lily. Stopped. The rear window lowered several inches. Darkness waited inside.
“Pictures.”
A male voice barked the word. No greeting. No acknowledgment.
Lily’s jaw tightened.
She reached into her purse and removed a thick white envelope. She shoved it through the opening. A hand took it. The window remained down. Lily heard voices inside.
Low.
Male.
Then the shuffle of paper.
Photographs.
Lily knew every image inside that envelope.
Femi carrying groceries.
Femi leaving Helix.
Femi standing near the service entrance.
Femi sitting alone with a book.
Femi beside Malone.
Femi climbing onto the back of Daemon’s motorcycle.
Femi laughing in the kitchen.
Daemon standing behind her.
Daemon touching the small of her back.
Femi walking toward Daemon’s house.
Femi on the porch.
Nothing extraordinary. Nothing Lily understood anyone paying for. But Carr paid. And Lily needed money. Especially now. A man’s face appeared in the narrow opening. Voss. Heavy jaw. Dark eyes. A face that always seemed vaguely amused by something cruel.
“The boss says there should be more.”
Lily scoffed.
“Look, Voss, I haven’t exactly been in a position to take a lot of pictures.”
Voss stared.
“You’ve been living in the same building.”
“I was living in the same building.”
That caught his attention.
“Was?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning none of your fucking business.”
Voss smiled. Lily hated that smile.
“You tell Carr he made promises.”
Silence from inside the sedan. Lily waited. Then heard a voice. Too low to understand. She couldn’t make out the words. But Voss did. His amusement disappeared immediately. He turned his head toward the darkness. Listened. Nodded once. Then looked at Lily again.
“Boss says you promised an item.”
Lily went still. Voss held out his hand.
“Did you get it?”
For a moment Lily considered lying. Then she reached into her purse. Her fingers found the small plastic bag hidden beneath her wallet. She pulled it free. Something pale rested inside. Fabric. Lily passed the bag through the window.
Voss took it.
The plastic rustled.
He handed it into the darkness.
Lily heard the bag open.
Fabric shifting. Then— Silence. The kind that made the night outside feel suddenly colder. Lily rolled her eyes.
“Your obsession is getting out of control.”
Nothing. She leaned toward the opening.
“Seriously. Why her when you can have a real woman like me?”
Voss laughed.
Lily’s face hardened.
“What?”
He looked at her.
“You?”
“Yes, me.”
Voss laughed harder.
“You’re a thief and a druggie whore. What man would want you?”
Lily’s face burned.
“Your boss took me to his bed.”
Voss’s laughter stopped. His smile didn’t.
“A mistake he did not repeat.”
Lily went rigid.
“Fuck you.”
“Did he call afterward?”
“Shut up.”
“Send flowers?”
“Voss.”
“Invite you back?”
Lily stepped toward the car.
“Shut your fucking mouth.”
Voss tilted his head.
“Or should I show you the tape again?”
Everything inside Lily stopped. The street disappeared. The humiliation at Helix disappeared.
Daemon.
Femi.
Malone.
Marta.
Gone.
There was only that word.
Tape.
Horror crossed Lily’s face before she could hide it. Voss saw. His smile widened.
“Oh.”
He leaned closer to the opening.
“How cute.”
Lily’s hand tightened around her purse.
“A whore with shame.”
“Fuck you.”
“Did you forget?”
Voss’s voice became almost conversational.
“The boss had you removed once he was sober.”
Lily’s eyes burned. From the darkness inside the sedan—
Carr laughed. Quietly.
Lily heard him. And hated him. She hated Voss. Hated Carr. Hated the car. Hated herself for standing outside it waiting for whatever scraps Carr decided to give her. Then the smell reached the open window.
Strawberries.
Voss stopped laughing.
Even Lily noticed the change inside the sedan.
Carr moved.
For the first time, part of him entered the weak light from the streetlamp. Not enough for Lily to see all of his face. Only pieces. A cheek. The edge of his mouth. His hands. And between those hands— white lace. Lily’s stomach tightened.
Femi’s nightshirt.
Small.
Delicate.
One Femi kept folded beneath her pillow in the room at Helix. Lily had taken it that afternoon. Before Malone threw her out. She had slipped upstairs while Femi was working. Gone into the room. Opened drawers. Looked beneath the pillow.
Carr had asked for something personal. Something Femi wore close to her skin. Lily had thought it ridiculous.
Now— watching him— she understood she had underestimated what the item meant. Carr unfolded the nightshirt. Slowly. His fingers moved across the lace. Then he raised it. The scent of strawberries filled the sedan. Carr’s eyes appeared in the darkness. They sparkled.
Lily’s irritation disappeared. Something colder replaced it. Carr pressed the fabric against his face.
Inhaled.
Slowly.
Deeply.
His eyes closed. Nobody laughed now. Not even Voss. Carr remained like that for several seconds. Holding Femi’s nightshirt against his face. Breathing her in. When his eyes opened again, something about them made Lily take one involuntary step backward.
“Perfect.”
The word was almost a purr.
Lily stared. This wasn’t attraction. She suddenly understood that. Whatever Carr felt toward Femi— it wasn’t normal.
Maybe it had never been. Lily glanced at Voss. He was watching her.
Waiting.
Daring her.
Say something.
Lily didn’t.
Carr lowered the nightshirt. But he didn’t give it back. He folded it once. Carefully. Almost reverently. Then disappeared into the darkness again.
Lily swallowed.
“What exactly does he want with her?”
Voss’s expression changed.
“Careful.”
“I’m asking a question.”
“You’re paid to provide things.”
“I provided them.”
“Then we’re finished.”
“What about what Carr promised me?”
A low murmur came from inside. Voss listened. Then reached beside him. A red envelope appeared in his hand. He held it through the window. Lily reached for it. Voss released it before her fingers touched. The envelope fell. Hit the pavement beside Lily’s shoe. Lily stared down at it.
Voss smiled.
“Payment.”
“You asshole.”
“Pick it up.”
Lily looked toward the darkness where Carr sat. Nothing. No apology. No acknowledgment. She bent down. Slowly. Picked up the envelope. She could feel Voss watching her. Enjoying it. The envelope was thick. Money. Enough to soothe some of the humiliation. Not all. Lily straightened.
“One day you’re going to regret talking to me like that.”
Voss smiled.
“I’m terrified.”
“You should be.”
Lily glanced back toward Helix. Daemon was somewhere inside. Probably with Femi. Probably holding her. The thought made Lily’s anger flare again.
“Maybe when this is over I’ll find someone who knows how to teach you manners.”
Voss followed her gaze toward Helix. Then looked back.
“Daemon?”
Lily said nothing. Voss laughed. That laugh was different. Genuine.
“Oh, Lily.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“You really don’t understand what’s happening, do you?”
Lily’s stomach tightened.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Voss looked into the sedan. Carr said something. Too quiet. Voss nodded. Then the window began rising.
“Wait.”
Lily stepped forward.
“What does he want with Femi?”
The glass continued upward.
“Voss.”
He smiled through the shrinking gap.
“Boss wants more photos, Lily.”
“Voss!”
The window sealed. The sedan pulled away. Lily stood beneath the streetlight holding the red envelope. She watched the taillights disappear. Her anger slowly returned. Fine. Let Carr have his obsession. Let him pay for photographs. Clothes.
Whatever strange little pieces of Femi he wanted.
Lily had bigger problems now. She needed somewhere to stay. Money. A way back into Helix. And Daemon. She looked down at the red envelope. Then smiled. Carr thought she worked for him. Voss thought she was pathetic. Malone thought he had thrown her away. Marta thought she had won. Femi thought Daemon had chosen her.
They were all wrong. Lily would fix this. She always did.
What Lily did not know— was that she had been followed.
Half a block away, beneath the shadow of a boarded storefront, Marta sat behind the wheel of Malone’s truck.
The engine was off. Lights dark. She had seen the sedan. Seen the envelope. Seen Lily pass something through the window. Seen another package come out. She hadn’t heard the conversation.
Didn’t know who sat inside. Didn’t know what Lily had given them. But she had the license plate. Marta looked down at the number she’d written across the back of an old receipt. Then toward the disappearing sedan.
Her phone buzzed silently in her hand.
Malone.
Well?
Marta typed.
She made contact. Black sedan. Two men minimum. Maybe three. She gave them an envelope and a bag. They paid her.
The response came immediately.
Drugs?
Marta stared toward Lily. Lily was opening the red envelope beneath the streetlight. Counting money.
Marta typed.
Maybe. Didn’t look like a buy.
A pause.
Then—
What did she give them?
Marta’s eyes narrowed.
Don’t know.
She watched Lily stuff the money into her purse. Then Marta noticed something. Lily had brought a white envelope from Helix. Photographs, perhaps. But the other package— small. Plastic. Something inside it. Something soft. Fabric. Marta remembered Femi upstairs that afternoon.
Looking through her room. Opening drawers. Searching beneath the bed. Confused. Marta had asked what was wrong. Femi had signed—
Nothing.
Then—
Can’t find something.
At the time Marta hadn’t thought much of it. Now she did.
Her phone was already in her hand.
Malone.
Three dots appeared.
Yeah?
Marta stared at Lily.
Ask Femi what’s missing from her room.
The response took longer.
Why?
Marta looked toward the road where Carr’s sedan had disappeared. Her stomach had begun to feel cold.
Because I think Lily just sold it.
This time Malone didn’t answer. Marta started the truck. The engine rumbled beneath her. Lily looked toward the sound. Too late. Marta was already pulling away.
She didn’t follow Lily. Lily no longer interested her. The sedan did. Because Lily had been cruel.
Petty.
Jealous.
Manipulative.
Marta understood women like Lily. But whoever had been sitting inside that black sedan— had paid for photographs of Femi. Had specifically requested something belonging to her. And that was different.
That wasn’t jealousy.
That wasn’t revenge.
That was preparation.
Marta tightened both hands around the steering wheel. She had spent ten days thinking Lily was digging her own grave. Now Marta wondered whether Lily had been digging one for Femi.
The office door was closed.
Daemon almost walked past it.
Almost.
Then he heard Marta.
“It’s a clear pattern, Malone.”
Daemon stopped.
The clubhouse had gone quiet hours ago. Most of the lights were off, leaving the hallway in shadow. Marta’s voice carried through the door.
“She admitted Marco liked Femi, so what did she do? She slept with him.”
Daemon’s expression hardened.
The Devil stirred.
Femi.
“Then she sold her out to Angelo for money, drugs, whatever the hell he gave her.”
The Devil lifted its head.
Sold.
A pause.
“Then she tries to take Daemon from Femi.”
Another pause.
“Now Carr.”
Daemon went completely still.
So did the Devil.
Carr.
“I saw her counting money,” Marta hissed.
Inside the office, Malone rubbed both hands over his beard.
“No.”
Marta stared at him.
“No, she is not trying to sell my daughter again.”
The Devil surged. Daemon’s hand found the doorknob.
“I think she already has.”
Everything inside him stopped. Malone’s hand stopped too.
The words sat between them.
Heavy.
Ugly.
The Devil whispered one word.
Who?
Marta leaned against his desk.
“I followed her like we agreed.”
“Yeah.”
“Black sedan met her a few blocks from Helix. Didn’t park near the building. Didn’t come looking for her. She walked to the meeting point and waited.”
“So it was arranged.”
“Definitely.”
Malone’s jaw tightened.
“She gave them a white envelope.”
“The photographs?”
“That’s my guess.”
Daemon’s fingers tightened around the knob.
Photographs.
“You see what was inside?”
“No. But she’d been taking pictures. We already know that.”
Malone nodded grimly.
Marta continued.
“Then she gave them something else.”
“What?”
“A small plastic bag.”
“Drugs?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“No. But it didn’t move like pills. Didn’t look like powder.”
Marta frowned.
“Whatever was inside looked soft.”
Malone stared.
“Soft?”
“Fabric, maybe.”
The Devil went very still. Daemon opened the door. Neither of them heard the handle turn. They only saw him when he stepped inside. Malone closed his eyes.
“Fuck.”
Marta straightened. Daemon shut the door behind himself. Slowly.
The Devil whispered,
Ask.
“What did Lily sell?”
Nobody answered.
Ask again.
Daemon looked at Marta.
“What. Did. Lily. Sell?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said—”
“I said I think she sold something.”
“To Carr.”
“We don’t know that Carr was in the car.”
Daemon stared at her.
The Devil snarled.
She knows more.
No. She’s being careful.
I do not fucking want careful.
We need careful.
The Devil did not like that answer.
Marta didn’t retreat.
“We know Lily was summoned by Carr. We know she met a black sedan at midnight. We know she handed over an envelope and a second package. We know they gave her money.”
Daemon’s jaw flexed.
“So Carr.”
“Probably.”
“Don’t fucking probably me, Marta.”
Malone stood.
“Daemon.”
Daemon turned.
“What?”
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“Then stop looking like you’re about to tear my office apart.”
The Devil considered the office.
We could.
No.
The desk first.
Shut up.
Daemon looked around. He hadn’t realized his hands were clenched.The Devil was awake now. Not screaming. Not raging.
Listening.
Sold.
That word was enough.
Daemon forced his fingers open.
“What photographs?”
Marta glanced at Malone.
Daemon saw it.
So did the Devil.
There.
“What photographs?”
Malone sighed.
“Lily had been taking pictures.”
“Of?”
Neither answered quickly enough. Daemon understood.
The Devil did too.
Little ghost.
His eyes went cold.
“How long?”
“We don’t know,” Marta said.
“How many?”
“Don’t know.”
“What kind?”
“Daemon—”
“What. Kind.”
Marta folded her arms.
“The ones we know about weren’t hidden cameras or anything like that. Phone pictures. Of Femi. Inside Helix. Around the neighborhood. Coming and going. Normal shit that doesn’t look normal anymore when somebody’s paying for it.”
The Devil stopped making noise. That frightened Daemon more than the snarling. He turned away. His hand went through his hair. Pictures of Femi. Working. Walking. Leaving Helix. Coming home. Routines. Places. Times.
Carr?
“Who is he?”
Malone shook his head.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“Lily does.”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“Gone.”
Daemon looked back.
“Where?”
“She took a cab after we threw her out.”
Find her.
“Find her.”
“Already working on it.”
Daemon laughed once. There was no humor in it.
“Working on it.”
Marta stepped forward.
“Don’t start.”
His eyes snapped toward her.
“Don’t start what?”
“Doing that thing where everybody around you becomes incompetent because you’re scared.”
Silence.
The Devil snarled.
We are not scared.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
Marta didn’t blink.
“You’re terrified.”
“I ain’t—”
Tell her.
No.
We are not afraid of Carr.
That isn’t what she’s saying.
The Devil stopped.
“And you should be.”
That stopped Daemon too. Marta pointed toward the desk.
“Because this isn’t Lily trying to fuck somebody else’s man anymore.”
Daemon’s face hardened.
“This isn’t jealousy.”
Another step.
“This isn’t Marco.”
Another.
“And I don’t think this is drugs.”
Daemon stared at her.
“I think somebody has been paying Lily for access.”
The room became very quiet.
The Devil whispered,
Access to what?
Malone rubbed his beard again.
“That fits.”
Daemon looked at him. Malone hated saying it. Daemon could see that.
But Malone continued.
“She gets close to someone. Figures out what they want. What they fear. What they’re worth.”
Marta nodded.
“Marco wanted her.”
Malone’s mouth tightened.
“Angelo paid.”
“And Carr?”
Nobody answered.
Daemon’s voice dropped.
“What does Carr want?”
“We don’t know.”
The Devil answered anyway.
Her.
Daemon closed his eyes.
No.
Her.
We don’t know.
He bought photographs of her.
We don’t know what was in the envelope.
You know.
No.
Not until they knew. He would not invent threats. He had done that before. Fear made monsters out of shadows. But this shadow had paid Lily. This shadow had photographs. This shadow had asked for something in a bag.
The Devil whispered again.
Her.
Daemon opened his eyes.
“What did she take?”
Marta frowned.
“That’s the question.”
“From Helix?”
“Maybe.”
“She was staying here.”
“Yes.”
“She had access upstairs.”
“Yes.”
“To the office?”
“Sometimes.”
“Storeroom?”
“Could’ve gotten in.”
“Malone’s room?”
Malone nodded.
“Probably.”
Daemon started pacing.
The Devil paced with him.
“What else?”
Marta watched him.
“Daemon.”
“What else could she get to?”
“Plenty.”
“Keys?”
“Not mine,” Malone said.
“Books?”
“Yes.”
“Mail?”
“Maybe.”
“Records?”
“Not without getting into the locked cabinet.”
“Cash?”
Malone shrugged.
“She could’ve tried.”
Daemon stopped. None of those felt right.
The Devil agreed.
No.
Why?
Wrong things.
Why?
The Devil had no answer. Only instinct. Why put money in an envelope for something Lily could simply steal and sell anywhere? Carr had specifically asked her for an item. That meant the item mattered to Carr. Not its monetary value. Its connection. Daemon looked at Marta.
“You said soft.”
“Yes.”
“Like clothes.”
“Maybe.”
The Devil stirred. Not loudly. A slow movement beneath Daemon’s skin.
Clothes.
Daemon’s expression changed.
Marta saw it.
“So did mine.”
Malone looked between them.
“What?”
Daemon didn’t answer.
The Devil did.
Little ghost.
Marta spoke instead.
“If Carr wanted money, Lily could steal money.”
Malone frowned.
“If he wanted drugs, she’d bring drugs.”
“Yes.”
“If he wanted records—”
“She could photograph them.”
Malone went quiet. Daemon finished the thought.
“But he wanted something physical.”
Marta nodded.
“Something from inside Helix.”
“Maybe.”
“Something he couldn’t get himself.”
“Probably.”
Daemon’s eyes narrowed.
“Something belonging to somebody.”
The Devil whispered,
Femi.
Malone slowly stood again. The room changed. No one needed to say whose belongings Carr might value. Marta reached into her jacket. She pulled out the receipt with the license plate written across the back.
“I got this.”
Daemon took it. Looked down. Plate number. Vehicle description. Time. Location. Marta had even written which direction the sedan went when it left.
The Devil memorized everything.
Daemon looked at her.
“You follow it?”
“For six blocks.”
“Why’d you stop?”
“Because I’m not an idiot.”
Daemon’s eyes hardened.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Fuck you.”
Marta is useful.
Not now.
Still rude.
“Marta.”
Malone stepped between them before either could escalate.
“She was alone, Daemon.”
Daemon looked at him.
“We didn’t know how many people were in that car. Didn’t know whether they were armed. Didn’t know whether they had another vehicle watching.”
Marta folded her arms.
“I saw at least two silhouettes. Maybe three.”
The Devil changed. Not anger. Attention.
Three.
Daemon looked back at the plate.
“Professional?”
“Car was clean. Windows heavily tinted. Meeting lasted a few minutes. Nobody got out. Lily passed everything through the rear window.”
“No argument?”
“Couldn’t hear them.”
“She look comfortable?”
Marta considered it.
“No.”
“Scared?”
“Afterward?”
“During.”
“I couldn’t see enough.”
Daemon looked at the plate again.
“But she counted the money.”
“Yes.”
“So whatever Carr is doing, Lily agreed to it.”
Marta’s expression became cold.
“Yes.”
Malone pushed away from the desk.
“That bitch.”
Daemon looked at him. Malone’s anger had changed. This wasn’t the fury from watching Lily manipulate someone in his clubhouse. This was older. Deeper. Personal.
“She already did this once.”
Marta said nothing. Malone paced behind the desk.
“Angelo.”
His voice cracked around the name.
“She knew what she was doing then too.”
“Malone—”
“No.”
He pointed toward Marta.
“You said pattern.”
“Yes.”
“Well, there it fucking is.”
His hand returned to his beard.
“Marco liked somebody she wanted to hurt, so she took him.”
Daemon remained silent.
“Angelo offered whatever he offered, so Lily handed over information.”
Malone’s eyes became wet with rage.
“And now some bastard named Carr wants pictures and personal shit, and she takes his fucking money.”
The Devil whispered,
Sell her.
Daemon’s eyes narrowed.
What?
Lily sells people.
A pause.
Let us see how she likes being sold.
No.
The Devil growled.
No.
Daemon’s voice became dangerously quiet.
“If she sold access—”
Malone looked at him. Daemon didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
Marta did.
“Then Carr knows Helix.”
Silence.
The Devil began assembling the pieces.
“He knows routines.”
Femi works nights.
Another.
“He knows who comes and goes.”
She walks to the market.
Another.
“He may know where people sleep.”
Her room.
Malone’s face hardened.
Marta continued.
“He may know vehicles.”
Daemon looked down at the license plate.
“Routes.”
Your house.
“Yes.”
“Work schedules.”
When she is alone.
“Yes.”
“Who leaves alone.”
Marta didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The Devil was no longer snarling. That was worse. It had become very still.
Calculating.
Find him.
Daemon folded the receipt once. Placed it in his pocket. Marta immediately held out her hand.
“Give it back.”
“No.”
“I wrote it down.”
“Congratulations.”
“Daemon.”
“No.”
“You go charging after that plate tonight and you’ll destroy the only lead we have.”
“I ain’t charging anywhere.”
The Devil objected.
We are.
No.
We know the plate.
And nothing else.
Enough.
Not enough.
Marta stared at him. Malone stared too. Neither believed him.
Daemon sighed.
“Fine.”
He took the receipt from his pocket. Placed it on Malone’s desk.
The Devil was furious.
Why did you give it back?
Because she’s right.
I dislike when Marta is right.
You like Marta.
That is unrelated.
Daemon leaned over the desk.
“Run the plate.”
Marta nodded.
“Already planned to.”
“Find the sedan.”
“Yes.”
“Find Carr.”
“Yes.”
Marta shook her head.
“Forget it. We’ll start with Carr.”
Daemon straightened.
“No.”
His voice had changed.
Quiet.
Certain.
“We start with Lily.”
Marta studied him.
“She’ll run.”
“She already ran.”
“She’ll lie.”
“I know.”
“She’ll tell you whatever keeps her alive.”
The Devil whispered,
Eventually she will tell us the truth.
Daemon knew exactly what it meant.
No.
She sold something belonging to Femi.
No.
She took money.
We’re doing this smart.
The Devil snarled.
I do not want smart.
I do.
That stopped it.
Daemon looked at Marta.
“Then don’t send me.”
That surprised both of them.
It surprised the Devil most.
What?
Malone’s eyebrows rose.
Daemon looked toward him.
“She expects me.”
“Yes.”
“She knows I’m angry.”
“Definitely.”
“She knows what I do to people who hurt somebody under my protection.”
The Devil corrected him.
Someone we love.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
Yeah.
Marta’s mouth tightened.
Daemon continued.
“So if she sees me coming, she’ll disappear.”
“Or scream.”
“Or call Carr.”
Marta’s eyes sharpened.
Daemon nodded.
“Exactly.”
The Devil understood.
Its anger cooled.
Let her call him.
Yes.
Let her lead us to him.
Exactly.
A slow smile moved somewhere deep inside Daemon.
Not his.
Smart.
Malone understood.
“We don’t grab Lily.”
“No.”
“We watch her.”
“Yes.”
“See if Carr contacts her again.”
“Yes.”
The Devil settled.
Hunt.
Daemon almost smiled.
Marta slowly smiled too.
“There might be hope for you yet.”
Daemon gave her a flat look.
“Don’t push it.”
The Devil whispered,
I liked her better outside.
She almost laughed.
Then Malone spoke.
“And if Carr doesn’t contact her?”
Daemon’s gaze dropped to the desk. The photographs. The money. The night shirt. The black sedan.
The Devil stopped.
Night shirt.
Daemon’s thoughts stopped with it. Femi’s. Not just fabric. Something she had worn. Something that smelled like her.
The Devil changed.
A deep, ugly sensation crawled through Daemon’s chest.
He bought her scent.
Don’t.
He bought something that touched her skin.
We don’t know why.
I know I hate him.
Daemon couldn’t argue with that.
A pattern.
Marco.
Angelo.
Daemon.
Carr.
Every time Lily wanted something, somebody else paid. Every time somebody wanted something, Lily found a way to sell it. Daemon’s expression went cold.
“Then we find out what she sold him.”
Marta nodded.
“And when we know?”
Daemon looked at her.
For a moment, the Devil showed through. Not rage. Not madness.
Something much quieter.
Find him.
“Then we find out why he wanted it.”
Malone rubbed his beard.
“And after that?”
Daemon looked toward the dark window. The city waited beyond it. Somewhere out there was a black sedan. Somewhere was Carr. Somewhere was a man paying Lily for photographs and Femi’s night shirt.
The Devil moved closer to the surface.
He has her pictures.
Daemon’s gray eyes became empty.
He has something that smells like her.
His jaw tightened.
He knows her routines.
Daemon said nothing.
He knows Helix.
Still nothing.
He knows when she is alone.
Daemon’s hand slowly curled at his side.
The Devil whispered the question both of them were thinking.
What does he want with our little ghost?
Daemon stared through the glass.
“We find that out first.”
Malone and Marta exchanged a glance. Neither had asked a question.
Daemon didn’t notice.
The Devil did.
They heard you.
Don’t care.
Malone studied him.
“And after that?”
The Devil answered instantly.
He dies.
Daemon remained silent.
The Devil waited.
Daemon.
No.
A growl.
If he wants her—
We don’t know what he wants.
If.
Daemon looked toward the dark city.
If.
The Devil settled. Patient now. Predatory. It could wait for an if. Daemon finally answered Malone.
“After that depends on Carr.”
The Devil smiled.
Choose carefully, Carr.
Sunflower Park was crowded.
That was the first thing Daemon noticed when Lily stepped onto the path.
Families occupied the grass near the lake. Children ran between the flower beds while their parents called after them. An old man sat beneath an elm throwing pieces of bread toward ducks that had grown fat and shameless from years of handouts.
Femi walked beside Daemon.
Not touching him.
Almost.
Her hand swung close enough to his that her knuckles occasionally brushed his fingers.
Each accidental touch made the Devil purr.
Again.
Daemon ignored it.
Their fingers brushed.
Take her hand.
No.
She keeps touching us.
Accidentally.
I do not care.
Another brush.
Take. Her. Hand.
Daemon glanced down at Femi. She was wearing jeans and a loose blue shirt with sleeves that reached her elbows. Her midnight hair had been pulled into a long braid that hung down her back. She was watching two little girls chase bubbles across the grass. A smile touched her mouth.
The Devil softened instantly.
Little ghost.
Daemon’s fingers moved closer to hers.
The Devil became smug.
There.
Then Femi stopped.
The smile disappeared.
The Devil noticed before Daemon followed her gaze.
What?
Lily stood twenty feet away.
Yellow silk. High heels entirely inappropriate for a park. Black hair arranged perfectly around her shoulders.
Daemon’s expression hardened.
The Devil went still.
Her.
Lily smiled.
“Well.”
Daemon stepped slightly in front of Femi. The movement was instinctive.
So was the Devil’s response.
Behind us, little ghost.
“Walk away.”
Lily laughed.
“I haven’t even said anything.”
“You don’t need to.”
Her smile tightened.
Being thrown out of Helix had done nothing to teach Lily humility. If anything, humiliation had sharpened her. She carried it like a blade now, looking for somewhere softer to put it. Her eyes moved toward Femi.
The Devil noticed.
Do not look at her.
“I actually came to help you.”
“I don’t require your help.”
“Oh, I think you do.”
Femi touched Daemon’s arm.
The Devil’s attention immediately left Lily.
Little ghost.
Femi signed.
Leave.
He looked at her hands. He nodded. They turned.
The Devil objected.
She followed us here.
Doesn’t matter.
She wants something.
Femi wants to leave.
That mattered more.
Lily’s voice followed them.
“Have you seen her naked yet?”
Daemon stopped. Femi became completely still. The Devil lifted its head.
Slowly.
What did she say?
Lily laughed.
“I bet you haven’t.”
Daemon turned.
Lily’s eyes glittered.
“She is disgusting under all those clothes she wears.”
Femi’s face changed. Daemon saw it. The immediate retreat. Not from Lily. Into herself.
The Devil saw it too.
No.
Lily took another step closer.
“How can you be with a woman who can’t even dress sexy or wear a bikini for you?”
“Enough.”
Stop talking.
Lily ignored him.
“Have you ever wondered why she dresses like that?”
Daemon moved. Femi caught his wrist. Her grip was surprisingly hard.
The Devil surged.
Let us go.
Femi signed.
No.
Daemon looked down at her.
Her green eyes pleaded with him.
Don’t.
His jaw tightened.
The Devil snarled.
She is hurting you.
Femi held his wrist.
Don’t.
Daemon stayed.
The Devil raged.
She does not get to hurt you.
But it stayed too. Because Femi had asked. Lily saw the exchange. And smiled. Cruelly.
“Oh, he really doesn’t know, does he?”
Daemon’s gaze snapped toward her.
“I said enough.”
But Lily was already moving. She stepped around him before he understood what she intended.
The Devil understood one heartbeat too late.
NO.
Her hand caught Femi’s shirt. There was a violent jerk. Fabric ripped. Femi gasped. Daemon heard the sound. A tiny, broken sound from a woman who rarely made any at all. Everything inside him disappeared. The front and side of her shirt tore open. Femi stumbled backward.
Sunlight touched skin she had spent fourteen years hiding. Olive skin crossed by pale violence. Long, jagged scars ran across her stomach and ribs. Some were thin. Others were wider, twisted where flesh had healed badly. One disappeared around her side.
For several seconds, Femi did not move. She simply stared down. Then she realized people could see her. Her arms flew across herself.
The Devil screamed.
Cover her.
Daemon was already removing his jacket.
NOW.
Lily laughed.
“It makes my skin crawl every time I see them.”
Daemon covered Femi. His leather jacket swallowed her smaller body. She grabbed it closed with shaking hands. The Devil was no longer a voice. It was teeth. Violence.
A black thing throwing itself against Daemon’s ribs.
Kill her.
“Look at her.”
Daemon stepped between them.
“Lily.”
Something in his voice made several nearby conversations stop. But Lily was watching Femi. Enjoying it.
“You are disgusting. How can Daemon even look at you?”
The Devil surged.
Fucking Kill her.
Lily laughed.
“I bet he touches you out of pity.”
Daemon’s hands curled.
Right here.
No.
She tore her clothes from her body.
I know.
She made our little ghost cry.
I know.
Then why is she still fucking breathing?
Because Femi was behind him. Because she was shaking. Because if Daemon surrendered to what lived inside him now, Femi would have another horror to survive before sunset. He would not give Lily that.
The Devil slammed against him.
She deserves it.
This isn’t about what Lily deserves.
Then what is it about?
Femi.
The Devil stopped. Only for a heartbeat. Daemon felt Femi’s shaking behind him. That heartbeat became two. Then three. The Devil retreated half an inch. Not because it forgave Lily. Because Femi mattered more.
“Those clothes hide most of them,” Lily continued. “But they’re everywhere. Her stomach. Her back. Her side.”
Femi’s arms folded tighter across herself.
The Devil whispered,
Do not listen, little ghost.
Lily’s satisfaction grew. She could almost see Femi remembering. Her hands trying to pull a shirt down quickly enough. A towel held too tightly around her body. The panic whenever someone came too close while she changed.
“I bet her pimp cut her up.”
Lily’s voice carried. Loud enough to draw a crowd. Daemon’s head tilted. The Devil went silent.
Dangerously silent.
Then—
Say it again.
Daemon knew that voice.
No.
Let her fucking say it again.
No.
Because if Lily did, Daemon wasn’t certain either of them would stop.
“I am only telling you what people are too polite to tell you, Daemon.”
People had begun gathering. Not many. Enough. Enough for Femi to notice. Enough for her breathing to become shallow. Enough for her to lower her head. The Devil noticed every person staring.
Make them leave.
Daemon wished he could.
They are looking at her.
I know.
Make them stop.
“No one thinks that,” Daemon said.
“Of course they do.”
Lily looked at Femi again.
“Women like that always have some terrible story. They arrive broken, make everyone feel sorry for them, and then steal everything.”
The Devil growled.
She is not broken.
Femi’s fingers curled into Daemon’s jacket.
“First Marco,” Lily said. “Then Helix. Now you.”
She reached for Daemon’s arm.
The Devil recoiled.
Do not touch us.
Daemon moved away from her and farther in front of Femi, blocking as much of her from the gathering eyes as his body could manage.
“Her scars make me sick,” Lily continued. “I don’t know how anyone could look at them without—”
“I have.”
Silence.
The Devil hissed.
You damn right.
Behind him, Femi stopped moving. Daemon felt it. He turned his head. The pain in her face changed. Daemon knew immediately. She understood. Regret passed through his eyes.
The Devil whispered,
Careful.
But Lily laughed before he could speak.
“So you know.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Daemon stared at her.
“And what?”
Lily gestured toward Femi.
“You saw all that.”
The Devil snarled.
All that?
“I saw her.”
“You cannot tell me you liked looking at them.”
“There was nothing about her I disliked looking at.”
The Devil agreed instantly.
Nothing.
Femi stopped breathing.
Lily’s mouth tightened.
“You don’t have to protect her feelings.”
“I am not protecting her feelings.”
Daemon took one step toward Lily.
“I am correcting your mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“You believe her scars diminish her.”
“They do.”
“No.”
The single word ended hers.
The Devil whispered behind it.
Never.
Daemon’s gaze moved briefly toward Femi. She stood with her arms locked around her middle, every part of her attempting to become smaller. His expression softened. Only for her.
The Devil softened with him.
Do not hide from us.
“When Femi showed me her scars, she was not offering me her body.”
His voice remained low.
“She was showing me what she survived.”
Lily rolled her eyes.
“Everyone survives something.”
“Not everyone survives five stab wounds and a gunshot while their family dies around them.”
Femi recoiled. Daemon stopped. His stomach dropped.
The Devil recoiled too.
No.
Her eyes widened. Not at Lily. At him. Daemon suddenly understood what he had done. She hadn’t known. Not all of it. Not that. He had not meant for Femi to learn it here. Not beneath a bright afternoon sky. Not surrounded by strangers. Not from his angry mouth. Not like this. Never like this.
The Devil whispered,
You hurt her.
Daemon couldn’t breathe.
I know.
Lily looked between them. For one ugly moment, victory brightened her face. Daemon saw it.
The Devil rose.
She likes this.
Daemon’s grief turned cold.
“She was six,” he continued, and there was no gentleness left when his attention returned to Lily. “Those scars were not made by a pimp. They were made by the men who murdered her parents and left her bleeding beside them.”
Someone in the crowd whispered. Another person turned away. Then another. Lily’s expression shifted. Only slightly. Not shame. Discomfort at having the joke stripped from her. Daemon stepped closer.
“You were forced to look at them once?”
Lily lifted her chin.
“Yes.”
“Femi was forced to carry them every day of her life.”
His voice hardened.
“You looked at proof that someone tried to murder a child, and your only thought was whether the result made her less desirable.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
She did.
Lily glanced toward the remaining people watching. They looked at her with open disgust. She tried to laugh.
“I was joking.”
“No one laughed.”
The Devil whispered,
I didn’t.
Daemon’s voice descended.
“You wanted to humiliate her.”
Lily folded her arms.
“She should know what people think when they look at her.”
“I know what I think.”
Lily’s eyes returned to his. Daemon did not look toward Femi when he spoke. He would not give Lily the satisfaction of watching his choice happen.
“I think she is beautiful.”
Beautiful.
Lily scoffed.
“With those scars?”
“With every one of them.”
Every Fucking one.
“You would say that because she’s standing here.”
“I told her before today.”
Behind him, Femi’s eyes filled.
“I saw her scars, and I did not recoil,” Daemon said. “I understood why she sometimes cannot bear to be touched. Why she locks doors. Why she sleeps facing exits. Why she believes surviving is something for which she must apologize.”
Femi shook her head.
Her hands moved.
Stop.
Daemon saw the sign.
The Devil saw it too.
Stop.
Daemon stopped immediately. Silence. Lily noticed. Even now. One movement from Femi could silence him.
The Devil whispered,
She asked.
Yes.
Then we stop.
Resentment twisted Lily’s face.
“I was only trying to save you from discovering what she really looks like after you wasted more time chasing her.”
Daemon’s attention returned to Lily.
“You believe I am chasing a body.”
“You are a man.”
“So were the creatures who cut her.”
Lily stepped back. Daemon followed. Not close enough to touch her. Close enough to make retreat feel wise.
“Do not use my sex as an excuse for what is wrong with you.”
Heat rose into Lily’s face.
“I was trying to help.”
“No. You were trying to make her feel ugly because humiliating her is the only way you know how to feel beautiful.”
“That isn’t true.”
Daemon’s gaze traveled over her yellow silk dress. Disgust was written across his face. His scar pulled beneath a cold smile.
“Femi lifted her shirt once, and I forgot how to breathe.”
The Devil purred.
True.
Femi’s face turned scarlet.
Lily went rigid.
“You stripped in my room, and I asked Marta to remove you.”
Also true.
Daemon almost smiled.
“You have spent weeks trying to make me choose.”
Lily opened her mouth. He did not allow her to speak.
“I chose every time I looked past you to find her.”
The Devil whispered,
Every fucking time.
The humiliation settled over Lily slowly. Her revealing dresses. Her carefully arranged poses. The garage. The bedroom. Every touch Daemon removed. Every invitation he rejected. All of it exposed before the people still watching.
“You think Femi’s scars make her unworthy of me,” Daemon said. “You are wrong.”
His gray eyes became glacial.
“She could carry a thousand more, and I would still choose her.”
Always.
Lily’s lips parted.
“You could possess flawless skin, and I would never choose you.”
The words struck their target. Lily’s face collapsed before she could repair it. Daemon watched her struggle to reconstruct her smile.
“You want to know the difference between you?”
“No,” Lily whispered.
“Femi’s scars are on her skin.”
The Devil smiled.
Yours go much deeper.
Daemon’s mouth barely moved.
“Yours go much deeper.”
Lily’s eyes shone.
For one second, she appeared wounded. Then she looked toward Femi. And smiled. Daemon followed her gaze. His anger died. The Devil’s smile vanished. Femi was crying. Silent tears moved down her face. Her arms remained folded beneath his jacket.
Her body had become rigid beneath the weight of every watchful eye.
Little ghost.
Lily had lost.
Daemon had rejected her again. He had humiliated her before the people whose respect she wanted. But she had accomplished one thing. Femi had heard them discussing her body. Daemon had admitted he had seen it. Worse, he had given voice to a truth Femi had not known. Her scars were no longer hidden beneath her clothes. Her history was no longer hidden inside them. Lily had dragged both into the sunlight.
And Daemon had helped.
The Devil whispered,
We hurt her too.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
Yeah.
Femi looked at Daemon. Pain filled her green eyes.
His anger disappeared.
“Little ghost.”
The Devil called with him.
Little ghost.
She stepped back. Daemon did not move toward her. He knew better.
The Devil did not.
Go to her.
“Femi.”
Another step.
Go.
Then she saw Lily. Saw the smile. That was enough. Femi turned. And ran.
“Femi!”
Daemon went after her. Three steps. Then stopped. Too many people. Too many eyes. If he chased her now, everyone would watch. Femi would know they were watching.
The Devil screamed at him.
FUCKING GO.
Daemon stared at the path where she had disappeared.
GO AFTER HER.
Not yet.
She is crying.
I know.
She is alone.
I know.
THEN GO.
Daemon’s chest heaved.
Give her a minute.
No.
She needs to get away from all these eyes.
The Devil slammed against him.
Then make the eyes disappear.
Daemon almost laughed despite himself.
Not helping.
Kill—
No.
He turned slowly toward Lily. Fear entered her eyes. The Devil surfaced. Not fully. Enough. Lily took a step back. His attention had already left her.
Even now. Even after Lily had exposed everything she believed would make him turn away. He was thinking only of Femi. Lily had succeeded in hurting her. She had not made the Devil choose differently. She had never understood. There had never been a choice. Daemon looked at her for a long moment.
“If she is not all right because of this—”
Lily swallowed.
The Devil whispered,
Finish it.
Daemon shook his head.
“No.”
His voice became quieter.
“If she is not all right because of this, there isn’t anything I could do to you that would make me feel better.”
The Devil went still. It hated the truth. Because killing Lily would not erase Femi’s tears. Would not put her shirt back together. Would not return her privacy.
Would not pull Daemon’s words from the air.
No.
That frightened Lily more.
Daemon turned away.
The Devil turned with him.
Little ghost.
And went to find Femi.
Twenty minutes.
Nothing.
Daemon checked the parking lot first.
His motorcycle remained where they had left it.
Femi’s helmet hung from the handlebar.
The Devil noticed it instantly.
Helmet.
“Yeah.”
She didn’t take the bike.
“She can’t ride it.”
You know what I mean.
Good.
She had not left the park. Unless she had walked out. The thought tightened something in his chest.
The Devil paced inside him.
Find her.
“I am trying.”
Faster.
Daemon checked the eastern gardens.
Nothing.
The playground.
Nothing.
The walking trails.
Nothing.
Little ghost.
“I know.”
Find her.
“I fucking know.”
He asked a vendor whether he had seen a small woman with long black hair wearing an oversized leather jacket. The man pointed north. Daemon followed. Nothing.
Thirty-five minutes. The Devil had stopped threatening Lily. That frightened Daemon.
Now it whispered only about Femi.
She is crying.
“I know.”
Alone.
“I know.”
A pause.
Then the blade.
You told her.
Daemon stopped walking.
His hands clenched.
“I know.”
You told our little ghost what happened to her in front of strangers.
“I KNOW.”
A woman walking her dog stared at him.
Daemon lowered his head.
“Sorry.”
He kept walking.
The Devil followed silently for several steps.
Then—
We hurt her.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
“Yeah.”
We were supposed to protect her.
“I know.”
You should have stopped.
“I know.”
I told you careful.
Daemon closed his eyes briefly.
“I know.”
The Devil went quiet. Not satisfied. Grieving.
Forty-seven minutes. The sunlight had begun turning gold. Daemon searched the edge of the lake. He knew Femi. That was what he forced himself to remember. Not where would someone hide. Where would Femi hide? Somewhere quiet. Somewhere she could see without being seen. Somewhere with an exit. Somewhere enclosed but not trapped.
The Devil stopped pacing. Daemon looked across the water.
West.
West.
Why?
No answer.
Only certainty.
The western side of Sunflower Park was older.
Fewer playgrounds. Fewer flower beds. More trees. Daemon started walking. Then jogging. Then running.
Fifty-eight minutes. The sun was sinking behind the lake when he saw the willow. It was enormous. Ancient. Its long branches hung nearly to the ground, creating a green curtain around the trunk.
Daemon slowed.
The Devil became utterly still.
There.
He did not know how it knew. He simply did. Daemon approached carefully. Branches brushed across his shoulders. He pushed through them. The sounds of the park disappeared. Inside the willow was a small green world. Shadows. Roots. Golden pieces of evening light. And Femi.
She sat between two enormous roots near the trunk. Her knees were pulled against her chest. His jacket remained wrapped around her. Her face was buried against her knees. Daemon stopped. Everything inside him broke.
The Devil’s voice changed.
No rage.
No teeth.
No demands.
There you are.
Barely a whisper.
Our little ghost.
Daemon did not approach.
The Devil wanted to.
Go.
Wait.
She is alone.
She’s safe.
She is crying.
I know.
Go to her.
She decides.
The Devil trembled with impatience.
But stayed.
“Femi.”
She lifted her head. Her face was wet. Her eyes were swollen. Daemon had seen her bleeding. Terrified. Furious. He had seen her point a gun without hesitation. He had seen her stand against men twice her size. This hurt him differently. Because this wound had no blood. And he had helped make it.
The Devil whispered,
Fix it.
Daemon swallowed.
I can’t.
The Devil went silent.
That frightened him too.
“May I come closer?”
Femi stared at him. For several seconds, she did nothing. The Devil waited. For once, without complaint. Then one hand emerged from beneath his jacket. A small movement.
Yes.
The Devil exhaled.
Go.
Daemon crossed the space slowly. He sat on the ground several feet from her. Not beside her. Not touching. Just there. The Devil objected immediately.
Closer.
No.
Too far.
She said I could come closer. She didn’t say I could touch her.
She needs us.
She needs to decide that. The Devil growled. Then looked at Femi. Really looked. At the jacket clenched around her. At the wet face. At the way she had folded herself between the roots.
Its growl died.
Fine.
Daemon rested his forearms across his knees. Femi looked toward the lake through the branches. Daemon waited. A minute passed. Then another.
The Devil was restless.
Hold her.
No.
She needs us.
She needs to decide that.
Ask.
Not yet.
Please.
Daemon closed his eyes briefly.
The Devil rarely said please.
“I am sorry.”
Femi’s jaw tightened.
“I should not have said it.”
Her eyes closed.
“I was angry.”
She looked at him sharply. Daemon nodded.
“I know that doesn’t excuse it.”
The Devil whispered,
Nothing excuses hurting her.
Her hands moved.
You knew.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
“Yes.”
How long?
He hesitated.
The Devil warned him.
Truth.
Femi’s expression hardened.
“Since you ran.”
She looked away.
Daemon continued quietly.
“Not everything at first. Pieces. Then more.”
Why didn’t you tell me?
Daemon had asked himself that question many times.
“Because it belonged to you.”
The Devil stirred.
Femi looked back at him.
“You lost enough choices when you were a child. I wasn’t going to take another one because I thought I knew what was best for you.”
The Devil went quiet.
It understood that lesson now. Or was learning. Her hands trembled.
But you knew.
“Yes.”
Seven times?
Daemon swallowed.
“Yes.”
The Devil whispered,
Seven.
Hatred moved through it. Not toward Lily this time. Toward ghosts.
And shot?
“Yes.”
Femi stared at her own body beneath the jacket. Her hand slowly touched her side. Daemon watched comprehension move across her face. Not memory. She had pieces of memory. This was worse. This was understanding. Her fingers touched one of the places hidden beneath the leather.
The Devil whispered,
Don’t make her remember.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
He wished he could stop it.
Which one?
Daemon frowned.
Which scar is the bullet?
“I don’t know.”
She looked at him.
“I swear to you. I don’t.”
Femi nodded.
Then her hands moved again.
Everyone saw.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
Her eyes flashed.
They were staring.
“Yes.”
My scars.
“Yes.”
She looked away.
Daemon waited.
Her next sign was smaller.
Ugly.
The Devil reacted before Daemon.
NO.
His chest constricted.
“No.”
Femi hugged herself tighter.
No.
Daemon leaned forward.
“No.”
She refused to look at him.
“Femi.”
Nothing.
“Look at me.”
Her head shook.
The Devil whispered,
Please, little ghost.
Daemon’s voice softened.
“Please.”
Slowly, those green eyes returned to him. Daemon touched the scar on his own cheek.
“You have looked at this every day since you’ve known me.”
Femi stared at him.
“You have never once looked at me like I was ruined.”
The Devil whispered,
You kiss it.
Daemon nearly lost his voice.
Her brow furrowed.
“That is what Lily wanted you to feel.”
Femi wiped her face angrily.
“She wanted you to look at your body through her eyes.”
Daemon shook his head.
“Don’t.”
Femi’s hands moved.
Easy for you.
“No.”
Yes.
“No.”
You weren’t standing there.
“I was.”
Not like me.
Daemon fell silent. The Devil did too. Because she was right.
Femi’s hands shook harder.
They were looking at me.
“I know.”
Everyone could see.
“I know.”
I couldn’t cover them.
Daemon closed his eyes.
“I know.”
Her hands stopped. When he opened his eyes again, she was crying harder.
The Devil surged.
Hold her.
No.
Please.
Daemon’s fingers dug into his own arms.
Wait.
I hate this.
So do I.
I can make it stop.
No, you can’t.
Silence.
Then—
I know.
That hurt worse.
Daemon remained where he was. Every instinct demanded he cross the distance. He didn’t. Femi needed one thing from him now. Choice.
“Do you want me to leave?”
The Devil recoiled.
No.
Her answer came immediately.
No.
The Devil exhaled so hard Daemon nearly felt it physically.
She wants us here.
Daemon nodded.
“All right.”
He stayed.
Femi stared at him.
Then signed:
Do you hate them?
“No.”
Do they disgust you?
“No.”
Do you wish I didn’t have them?
Daemon paused. Femi’s face crumpled.
The Devil snarled.
Answer.
“No. Wait.”
She looked away.
“That question has two answers.”
Her eyes returned reluctantly.
“If you’re asking whether I wish your skin were different, no.”
The Devil whispered,
Never.
Daemon’s voice softened.
“If you’re asking whether I wish no one had ever hurt you enough to put them there?”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
Femi went still.
“I wish you didn’t have them because I wish six-year-old Femi had gone home that night and slept safely in her bed.”
The Devil became completely silent.
Her mouth trembled.
“I wish your mother tucked you in.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“I wish your father was there the next morning.”
Another.
“I wish no one ever taught you that a locked door means safety.”
Femi covered her mouth.
Daemon’s voice broke.
“I wish you had no reason to carry a single one.”
The willow branches moved softly in the evening breeze.
“But they are here.”
Daemon touched his chest.
“And so are you.”
The Devil whispered,
You survived.
Femi stared at him.
“And if the price of having you here is that I have to love the woman who survived with scars…”
His crooked smile appeared.
“That isn’t much of a price, little ghost.”
The Devil corrected him.
It isn’t a price at all.
Her eyes closed.
Daemon waited.
Then her hands moved.
You said you forgot how to breathe.
The Devil immediately perked up.
Yes.
Daemon stared at her.
Of everything he had said in that disastrous confrontation, naturally she remembered that.
“Yes.”
Why?
Daemon rubbed a hand over his face.
A faint blush had begun creeping into Femi’s wet cheeks.
The Devil became delighted.
There.
Anything but that shattered expression.
“Femi.”
Why?
“You know why.”
Her eyebrow rose.
The Devil laughed.
She wants to hear it.
No.
Tell her.
No.
Coward.
Daemon glared at nothing.
Femi watched him suspiciously.
Then another sign.
Why?
The Devil practically bounced.
She asked twice.
Shut up.
Three times if you count the eyebrow.
Daemon sighed.
“Because you’re beautiful.”
She looked down.
“With clothes.”
Her gaze returned.
Without them.
Femi’s face reddened.
The Devil purred.
Answer carefully.
Daemon’s voice lowered.
“Very much without them.”
Her mouth opened.
Good.
“But that wasn’t what mattered that night.”
Femi became serious again.
“You trusted me.”
The Devil quieted.
She looked at him.
“You were terrified, and you trusted me enough to show me something you had hidden from everyone.”
Daemon shook his head.
“I wasn’t thinking about whether your scars were attractive.”
His eyes remained on hers.
“I was thinking that someone tried very hard to erase you.”
He paused.
“They failed.”
The Devil whispered,
They fucking failed.
Femi’s mouth trembled.
“I was thinking how grateful I was that they failed.”
A tear slipped down her face. Daemon’s fingers twitched. He wanted to wipe it away.
The Devil whispered,
Please.
He didn’t. Femi noticed. Her eyes moved to his hand. Then back to his face. Slowly, she unfolded herself. The Devil stopped breathing with him.
She crawled across the space between them.
Don’t move.
Daemon didn’t.
Let her come.
He almost smiled.
I’m trying.
Do not frighten her.
I know.
Femi reached him.
Her forehead touched his chest.
The Devil broke.
Little ghost.
Daemon’s arms came around her. Carefully. Femi collapsed against him. A broken sob escaped her.
Daemon closed his eyes.
“There you are.”
His hand settled against the back of her head.
She gripped his shirt.
“Come here, little ghost.”
The Devil whispered the same words beneath his.
Come home.
He pulled her closer. Femi cried against him. Not quietly anymore. Small sounds escaped her throat, raw from disuse and grief. Daemon rocked her. The Devil wrapped itself around them both. Not teeth. Not claws. Something darker and gentler. A wall.
A shelter.
Mine.
Daemon corrected it.
Ours.
The Devil went quiet. Daemon felt Femi trembling against him.
Then the Devil corrected them both.
Hers.
Daemon stopped rocking for half a heartbeat.
The Devil whispered again.
We are hers.
Something inside Daemon cracked open.
Yeah.
Femi’s fingers tightened.
He pressed his cheek against her hair.
“I am sorry.”
She shook her head.
“Yes. I am.”
Her hand moved weakly against his chest.
Not you.
Daemon closed his eyes.
“I still should have protected what was yours.”
The Devil whispered,
We will.
Not her scars. Not her body. Not her choices. Her right to decide who saw them. Her right to decide who knew.
Her right to decide when.
We will.
Femi stayed against him. The sun continued sinking. Gold became orange. Orange became red. Neither moved. After a long while, Femi pulled back. Her eyes were swollen. She touched Daemon’s scar. The Devil went utterly still.
Her finger traced the pale line along his cheek.
Beautiful.
Daemon’s breath caught.
The Devil made a sound somewhere between a purr and surrender.
Oh.
Daemon almost laughed.
Oh?
Quiet.
Femi touched her own stomach beneath the jacket. Her expression became uncertain. Daemon understood. His hand rose. Stopped.
The Devil waited with him.
“May I?”
Femi looked at it.
Then nodded.
Yes.
Daemon placed his palm over the leather covering her stomach. Nothing more. No attempt to move the jacket. No attempt to see. Just warmth through leather and torn cloth.
The Devil whispered,
Beautiful.
Daemon said it aloud.
“Beautiful.”
Femi shook her head.
“Yes.”
Another shake.
Stubborn little ghost.
Daemon leaned closer.
“Do you want to argue with me?”
A tiny smile threatened.
“I have several hours.”
Her shoulders moved.
Almost a laugh.
The Devil practically preened.
There she is.
Daemon’s thumb moved once over the leather.
“You don’t have to believe me tonight.”
Femi looked at him.
“You don’t have to believe me tomorrow.”
His gray eyes held hers.
“I have time.”
The Devil settled around the words.
Forever, if necessary.
Her expression softened.
“I’ll tell you until you do.”
Femi signed slowly.
Every scar?
Daemon looked at her.
“Every scar.”
The Devil whispered,
Every fucking one.
Even ugly ones?
“There aren’t any.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Daemon’s crooked smile appeared.
“You are welcome to disagree.”
He leaned slightly closer.
“You’ll still be wrong.”
The Devil laughed.
Very wrong.
Femi finally smiled. Small. Fragile. But there. Daemon felt something inside him unclench.
The Devil did too.
Keep that.
Daemon stood and offered his hand. Femi looked at it. Then took it. Their palms met.
The Devil purred.
Finally.
Daemon pulled her carefully to her feet. His jacket remained wrapped around her. She looked toward the path beyond the willow branches. Her smile vanished. Daemon understood.
“It’s getting dark.”
Femi glanced at him.
“Most of them are gone.”
Her grip tightened around his hand.
The Devil noticed.
She doesn’t want to go out there.
“We can stay here longer.”
She considered it.
Then shook her head.
Home.
The word she signed struck him harder than it should have.
The Devil went quiet. Home. Not Helix. Not a room. Not four walls. Home. Daemon nodded.
“Home.”
Take her home.
They walked toward the branches. Femi stopped. Daemon looked back. She pulled him toward her. He bent automatically. Femi kissed his scar. Once. Softly. The Devil disappeared. Not silent.Gone.
For one impossible second, Daemon had nothing inside his head. No violence. No old blood. No instinct. No voice. Only Femi’s lips against the place everyone else stared at.
Then she signed beside his face.
You aren’t ruined either.
Daemon could not speak.
The Devil could. But when it returned, its voice was unlike anything Daemon had ever heard from it. Small.
Almost broken.
Oh, little ghost.
Femi stepped through the willow branches.
Daemon remained beneath the tree for another second, staring after her.
The Devil whispered,
She sees us.
Yeah.
All of us.
Yeah.
And she stayed.
Daemon’s crooked smile appeared.
She did.
He followed. Femi waited for him on the other side. Their hands found each other. This time it was not accidental.
The Devil purred.
There.
Femi threaded her fingers through his. Daemon closed his hand around hers. Not trapping. Not keeping. Holding. Because she had reached for him too.
The Devil understood the difference now.
She chose us.
Daemon looked down at their joined hands.
Yeah.
And he did not let go.
The temperature reached ninety-seven before noon.
Then it rained. Not the gentle summer rain that cooled pavement and lifted the smell of grass from the earth. This rain fell hot. Heavy drops struck the roof of Helix, hissed against sun-baked concrete, and turned Wolfwater into a sweating maze of brick, asphalt, and steam.
The air remained thick enough to drink. Femi wore long sleeves. She had worn them for two days.
The first morning, Marta noticed.
The second, Malone began to speak, thought better of it, and placed a glass of lemonade beside her instead.
Daemon noticed immediately. He noticed everything about Femi. The dark shirt buttoned to her throat despite the heat. The way she folded her arms whenever someone looked too long. The fact that she no longer worked with her sleeves pushed above her elbows.
He noticed she had not spoken to him. Not with her hands. Not with her eyes. Not even with one of those quiet expressions that told him he was being difficult. Femi served dinner. She washed his sheets. She left clean towels outside his locked door. But she did not bring his whiskey. She did not sit across from him with a book. She did not touch the pale strands of hair that fell into his face.
For two days, Daemon lived within reach of her silence and remained shut outside it. He did not approach her room again. He did not corner her in the kitchen. He did not ask Malone to intervene.
He waited.
By the second afternoon, patience had turned poisonous inside him.
Then Red called.
Steven worked around Helix when he needed money. He unloaded liquor shipments. Cleaned the lot after large gatherings. Carried messages between clubs when the message was not important enough to require someone trustworthy.
He had been inside Helix often enough to become invisible. Invisible men heard things. They knew schedules. Entrances. Weak locks. They knew when Femi walked to Riverward Market and which route she took home.
They knew Daemon left before dawn on Wednesdays.
They knew Malone kept a spare key beneath the second register.
Steven had been selling those details to Lily. Not all at once. Twenty dollars for Femi’s work schedule. Fifty for the location of her room. Another hundred for the hours Daemon usually spent at Sully’s garage.
Lily asked questions. Steven answered. He never wondered why. Red found him beneath Wolfwater Bridge with three hundred dollars folded inside his boot and Lily’s number written on the back of a betting slip.
Daemon brought him to Sully’s.
Femi discovered Daemon had not eaten shortly after three. His breakfast remained covered in the kitchen. The sandwich she prepared at noon sat untouched inside the refrigerator. She told herself it did not matter. Daemon was an adult. A dangerous one. He could find food without her. She closed the refrigerator. Opened it again.
The sandwich remained where she left it, unreasonable and accusatory. Femi placed it inside a paper bag. She added an apple. Then removed it. Daemon rarely ate apples. She replaced it with two oatmeal cookies and a bottle of cold water.
Femi stood over the bag.
Her heart hurt.
She was still angry.
Anger did not stop her from knowing he had not eaten. The two truths refused to cancel each other.
Malone entered the kitchen carrying an empty crate.
He saw the bag.
Then her face.
“Daemon is at Sully’s.”
Femi looked at him sharply.
“I did not ask you to take it.”
She folded the top of the bag.
“I am only telling you where he is.”
Her eyes narrowed. Malone lifted both hands.
“No demands.”
Femi looked toward the rain moving beyond the rear door.
“You can leave it here.”
She picked up the bag. Malone stepped aside. He hid his relief well.
Not well enough.
Femi walked into the rain.
Sully’s garage stood next door to Helix.
By the time Femi reached it, her shirt clung to her back and her braid dripped against her spine. The rain had not cooled anything. Heat rose from the pavement beneath her shoes. Water ran along the gutters in gray rivers carrying oil, cigarette ends, and pieces of summer trash toward the drains.
The garage doors stood open.
Femi heard the screaming before she entered. She stopped beneath the narrow metal awning. Another scream tore through the building.
Then came the sound of a fist striking flesh.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Femi stepped inside.
The garage smelled of gasoline, rain, sweat, and blood.
A man hung from a chain fastened to the ceiling beam. His wrists had been bound above his head. The toes of his boots barely touched the concrete. Blood covered his mouth and ran from his nose. One eye had swollen shut.
Daemon stood in front of him. Shirtless. His black jeans hung low upon his hips, darkened in places by rain and sweat. His pale hair had been tied at the nape of his neck, exposing his scar and the strong line of his jaw. Sweat covered him. It moved over the tattoos across his shoulders. Traveled down his spine. Gathered along the scars crossing his back. His fists were bloody. Daemon struck the man’s ribs. The chain swung. The man screamed. Daemon waited for him to swing back. Then punched him again.
He treated the body like a heavy bag. Measured strikes. Controlled footwork. No wasted movement.
The Devil had enjoyed the questions at first.
Again.
Daemon had asked them.
Who approached you?
Lily.
What did she want?
Information.
What information?
Femi.
That had been the moment something changed.
The Devil had gone very still.
Our little ghost.
Daemon had continued.
What did you tell her?
Her schedule.
Again.
Her route to Riverward.
Again.
Which entrance she used after dark.
Again.
Where she slept.
The Devil had stopped asking questions after that.
Break him.
Daemon had. Now the terrible rhythm had begun to deteriorate. The questions were gone. This was no longer an interrogation. Daemon was taking something out of himself.
Two days of watching Femi avoid his eyes. Two nights of lying awake while her key remained unused. Two mornings of seeing her scars hidden beneath long sleeves because he had helped make her ashamed of them.
The Devil had been worse. It knew exactly when Femi entered Helix. Knew when she passed his corner without looking at him. Knew when another waitress carried his whiskey because his little ghost would not.
Every time Femi disappeared through the kitchen doors, it whispered the same thing.
Fix it.
Daemon did not know how. So he had come here. His fist struck Steven’s stomach.
The man folded around the blow.
“Please.”
Daemon hit him again.
“I told her where the market was,” Steven gasped. “That’s all.”
“You told her which days Femi went alone.”
Another blow.
“I didn’t know what she wanted.”
“You did not ask.”
Daemon drove his fist into Steven’s ribs. Something cracked.
Again.
Femi flinched. The paper bag crumpled inside her hands. Daemon heard it. His fist stopped inches from Steven’s face.
The Devil turned before Daemon did.
Little ghost.
Gray eyes found her across the garage. Everything became still. Steven swung weakly from the chain. Rain struck the metal roof. Water dripped from Femi’s clothes and gathered around her shoes.
Daemon lowered his fist.
“Femi.”
She came.
The thought carried such naked relief that Daemon nearly hated it.
The Devil did not care.
She came to us.
Her eyes moved over him. The blood on his hands. The bruised man hanging from the ceiling. Daemon’s bare chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. She should have looked away. She could not. Sweat traced the dark lines of his tattoos. It traveled over the hard planes of his stomach before disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. A pale scar crossed his ribs. Another rested near his hip. His body bore its own history of knives, bullets, experiments, and violence.
No one called his scars disgusting. They made him look dangerous.
Survived.
Beautiful.
Femi hated the thought the moment it entered her. A man was hanging from the ceiling. Daemon’s fists were covered in blood. And still, heat moved through her that had nothing to do with the weather. Her gaze followed a drop of sweat as it rolled from his throat, crossed his chest, and disappeared along his stomach. Daemon noticed. Of course he noticed. The Devil noticed first.
Its pleasure unfurled slowly.
Again.
Daemon ignored it.
Femi’s gaze dropped.
She likes us.
Shut up.
She is looking.
Daemon knew.
That was the problem.
Let her.
The anger in his face changed. Not gone. Interrupted. Femi’s cheeks burned. She forced her eyes toward Steven.
The Devil was almost unbearably pleased.
Little ghost.
Daemon clenched his jaw.
Steven lifted his head.
“Help me.”
Femi looked at Daemon. Her hands remained around the paper bag. Daemon reached for a rag on the workbench and wiped the blood from his knuckles.
“He sold information about you to Lily.”
Shock broke through Femi’s embarrassment. Her fingers released the bag. It fell to the floor. The bottle of water rolled free.
Daemon watched it cross the concrete.
“You brought me food.”
She brought us food.
Femi ignored him.
Her hands moved.
What information?
“Your schedule.”
Her expression changed.
“The route you take to Riverward.”
Fear entered her eyes.
The Devil stopped smiling.
Kill him.
“Which entrance you use when you return after dark.”
Femi looked toward Steven.
He attempted to shake his head.
“I didn’t tell her anything important.”
Daemon turned toward him. Steven shrank as much as the chain allowed.
Femi signed again.
My room?
Daemon did not answer quickly enough. Her stomach dropped. The Devil became silent. Not calm. Silent.
“You told her that too?” Daemon asked.
Steven began to cry.
“She asked where the mute girl slept.”
Something cold moved through Daemon.
He told them where our little ghost sleeps.
The garage became silent. Femi pulled her wet shirt away from her skin. She suddenly felt exposed again. Lily knew where she slept. When she worked. When she walked alone. Daemon’s schedule. Every detail required to reach her when the people protecting her were elsewhere.
Why? Femi signed.
Steven stared at her hands. He did not understand. Daemon did.
“Why did Lily want the information?”
Steven swallowed blood.
“She wanted to know when you were alone.”
Femi became still.
“She wanted pictures.”
Daemon’s voice changed.
Femi’s hands lowered.
“What kind of pictures?” Daemon asked.
Steven looked toward her wet clothing. That glance answered before he spoke.
The Devil moved.
No.
Daemon moved with it. Femi stepped between them. The Devil stopped so quickly his body jerked with the restraint. Steven swung behind her. Daemon stared down at Femi. Rainwater moved along her face. Her shirt remained buttoned to her throat.
“Move.”
Femi shook her head.
“He wanted to photograph you.”
Her hands rose.
I know.
“Move, little ghost.”
Move.
For once, Daemon and the Devil wanted exactly the same thing.
You will kill him.
Daemon did not deny it.
Neither did the Devil.
Yes.
Steven sobbed behind her.
“I didn’t take any. I swear. I only told her where the window was.”
He gave them her window.
Daemon attempted to step around Femi. She moved with him. His bloody hands curled at his sides.
“Do not protect him.”
He is not worth protecting.
I am protecting you.
Everything inside Daemon stopped. The Devil went quiet with him. His face hardened.
“I do not require it.”
Femi pointed toward Steven. Then toward Daemon.
You are not hitting him because of what he did.
Daemon became perfectly still.
Do not answer.
She knew. Of course she knew. Femi saw too much.
Her hands moved more slowly.
You are angry with me.
“No.”
Lie.
She held his gaze.
Daemon looked away first.
“I am angry with myself.”
The Devil withdrew into silence. Femi’s fingers hesitated.
Her eyes filled.
“For speaking about your scars when you told me to stop.”
Femi folded her arms over herself. Daemon saw the movement.
The Devil saw it too.
We did that.
There was no accusation in the whisper. That made it worse. His hands opened.
“I made you feel exposed.”
She nodded.
The admission struck him harder than any fist could have.
Fix it.
I cannot.
Try.
“I am sorry.”
Femi looked at Steven.
And him?
“He sold you.”
You were questioning him.
“Yes.”
Then you stopped asking questions.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
Steven turned weakly on the chain.
Femi looked at the blood covering Daemon’s fists.
Her fingers moved.
You used him because I would not talk to you.
Daemon said nothing. That silence confessed everything. Hurt entered her face.
The Devil recoiled from it.
No.
His frustration belonged to him.
She had needed two days. Two days to live inside her own skin again. Two days without Daemon asking her to forgive what he had done. He had given her the distance. Then brought his anger here and beat another man beneath it.
Femi stepped away from him. Daemon’s expression changed.
The Devil surged forward.
No.
“Little ghost.”
She pointed toward Steven.
Take him down.
“He endangered you.”
Take him down.
“He would have allowed Lily to photograph you through your window.”
Her hands shook.
Take him down.
Listen to her.
Daemon stared at her.
She came back.
His jaw flexed.
Do not make her leave angry again.
Daemon reached above Steven’s head and unhooked the chain. The man collapsed. Daemon caught the chain rather than the body. Steven struck the concrete and groaned.
Femi flinched.
“He is alive,” Daemon said.
She glared at him.
“Barely,” Steven whispered.
Daemon looked down.
“I can correct that.”
Gladly.
Steven became quiet.
Femi covered her eyes for a moment. When she lowered her hands, Daemon stood several feet away. Sweat continued to move over his body. His chest rose more slowly now. The violence had stopped, but nothing about him had become less dangerous. Femi’s attention fell to the scars along his ribs. Then the tattoos covering his chest. Then lower. She caught herself. Looked away.
The Devil practically stretched beneath Daemon’s skin.
Again.
Daemon’s scar pulled beneath the beginning of a crooked smile.
She is looking again.
The smile vanished when he remembered she was angry.
Does not matter.
It mattered.
She wants us.
She is hurt.
The Devil quieted.
It understood that distinction immediately.
Then wait.
Femi noticed the almost-smile anyway. Her face heated. She hated her body for responding to him now. After Lily. After the humiliation. After two days of wishing she could crawl free of her own scarred skin. She hated that she could stand before something so violent and still want to touch him.
Daemon bent and picked up the bottle of water. The movement tightened the muscles across his back.
Femi stared.
The Devil purred.
Little ghost.
She closed her eyes. That did not help. She had already seen him. Daemon straightened. He held out the bottle.
“You brought this for me.”
Femi opened her eyes and nodded once. The paper bag lay near his boot. One corner had torn. The sandwich remained wrapped. One oatmeal cookie had escaped and rested upon the garage floor. Daemon picked up the bag. His expression softened when he saw what was inside.
The Devil softened with him.
She remembered.
“You are still angry.”
Femi nodded.
“You still brought food.”
Another nod. Something inside his face broke. Femi’s fingers moved.
Anger does not mean I want you hungry.
Daemon looked down at the sandwich.
The Devil became painfully quiet.
Ours.
No.
The correction came automatically.
Not ours.
The Devil considered that.
Then—
Her choice.
Daemon swallowed.
“No.”
His voice roughened.
“It means you care for me while wishing to strike me.”
Femi looked toward Steven.
Then at Daemon’s bloody hands.
Someone has already been struck enough.
The Devil laughed.
Daemon lowered his head to hide the smile.
Femi saw.
She frowned.
“I am sorry.”
Her expression became skeptical.
“For smiling.”
The skepticism deepened.
The Devil was delighted.
She is scolding us.
“I am also sorry for telling Malone.”
Femi looked away. The Devil’s amusement vanished.
“I did not describe your body.”
Her shoulders tightened.
“I told him because I could not understand why you thought hiding made you a coward. I needed him to understand what you survived.”
Femi’s eyes returned to him.
“That explanation does not make it right.”
Her hands stilled. Daemon stepped forward once. Only once. The Devil wanted closer.
Daemon refused it.
Wait.
“I should have asked you.”
Femi stared at him.
“I knew you would say no, and I decided my reason mattered more than your answer.”
His bloodied fingers curled around the water bottle.
“That was wrong.”
The garage held only rain and Steven’s labored breathing.
Daemon’s gaze moved over her dark shirt.
“You are covered from your throat to your wrists in ninety-seven-degree heat because of what happened.”
Femi folded her arms tighter.
“Lily made you ashamed. I helped her do it.”
The Devil recoiled again.
Never.
But they had.
Tears gathered in Femi’s eyes. Daemon did not approach. He did not ask to touch her. The Devil did not tell him to.
“I cannot undo that.”
Her fingers moved.
No.
“No.”
Femi looked at the scars across his body again. Daemon followed her gaze. The Devil awakened beneath that look.
“You do not find mine disgusting.”
Her head snapped up. He had seen the answer in her face.
So had the Devil.
Never.
Femi looked away.
“You have never looked at me with pity.”
Her cheeks warmed.
“Or disgust.”
She shook her head.
Daemon’s voice softened.
“Do not make my scars beautiful and yours ugly.”
Femi stopped breathing. The Devil became utterly still. There. That was the thing it wanted her to understand.
Same.
Daemon placed the water and paper bag upon the workbench. He remained on the opposite side of the garage.
“My scars do not become different because they are carried by a man.”
Femi’s eyes dropped to the pale mark across his ribs.
“Yours do not become shameful because Lily needed them to be.”
Her hands trembled.
People see yours and fear you.
“Yes.”
They see mine and pity me.
“I do not.”
You told Malone because you pitied me.
“No.”
The word struck hard.
The Devil rose with it.
Never.
Daemon took one step toward her.
Femi did not retreat.
“I told Malone because I hated myself.”
Confusion moved across her face.
“You showed me what happened when you did not run fast enough.”
His voice lowered.
“And all I could think about was that you were six years old and no one came.”
The Devil remembered the photograph. The scars. Her hands telling the story.
Six.
Too small.
Femi’s eyes filled.
“I told him because the truth was killing me, and I was selfish enough to make him carry part of it.”
Daemon looked at his bloodied knuckles.
“I took something that belonged to you because I could not bear its weight alone.”
Femi stared at him.
“That was not pity.”
His eyes lifted.
“It was weakness.”
The admission settled between them. The Devil did not protest. It knew weakness. It had been born from it. Femi looked toward Steven. The man had curled onto his side and appeared to be reconsidering every choice that brought him to Sully’s garage.
Her hands moved.
He needs a doctor.
“He needs to learn silence.”
He needs to die.
Daemon ignored that. Femi’s eyes narrowed. Daemon exhaled.
“I will have Harlon take him to a doctor.”
She continued staring.
“He will receive medical attention.”
Femi pointed toward the chain.
And afterward?
“I will explain the value of silence.”
Thoroughly.
Her expression remained unmoved.
“With words.”
One eyebrow rose.
The Devil whispered helpfully.
And one finger.
Daemon nearly sighed.
“Mostly words.”
Femi folded her arms.
Two fingers.
Daemon mentally told the Devil to shut up. It laughed.
Daemon surrendered.
“Only words.”
Steven released a wet sound of relief.
Daemon looked down at him.
“Do not become optimistic.”
We know where you live.
Femi’s shoulders moved. The smallest silent laugh escaped her. Daemon went still. The Devil did too. It was the first they had seen in two days. Hope entered Daemon so violently it hurt. The Devil’s response was worse.
Pure pleasure.
Again.
Femi saw the hope. Her laughter vanished. Not because she wanted to punish him. Because she was not ready for hope. The Devil immediately quieted. Daemon understood. He looked toward the sandwich instead.
“You should return to Helix.”
Femi studied him.
“I need to clean myself.”
Her attention traveled over his chest again. Slowly this time. Daemon felt every inch of it.
So did the Devil.
There.
The heat in the garage changed. Femi’s gaze caught upon the line of hair disappearing beneath his waistband. She swallowed.
The Devil became insufferable.
She likes that.
Daemon’s gray eyes darkened.
She likes us.
He did not smile. Did not tease. Did not move closer. Femi was hurt. Her desire did not erase that hurt or grant him permission to use it. The Devil wanted her.
But it wanted her willing more.
Wait.
Still, it was very awake. Femi dragged her attention back to his face. Daemon lifted one eyebrow.
Her cheeks turned crimson.
It is hot.
“Ninety-seven degrees.”
You are sweating.
“I have been beating a man.”
She glanced toward Steven.
I noticed.
The Devil laughed. Daemon’s crooked smile appeared despite himself. Femi looked at his bare chest again. Then at the rain beyond the open garage. Anywhere but his eyes.
“You have been staring.”
Tell her.
Her hands rose sharply.
I have not.
“You walked in while I was committing a felony and looked at my stomach.”
The Devil was practically delighted beyond reason now.
Our stomach.
Femi’s mouth fell open.
Steven made a weak sound from the floor.
“I saw it too,” he whispered.
The Devil went cold. Daemon kicked the sole of Steven’s boot.
Steven silenced himself.
He does not get to look at her looking at us.
Femi covered her burning face. Daemon’s low laugh moved through the garage. The sound entered her despite everything. Warm. Dark. Familiar. She lowered her hands and glared at him.
I am still angry.
“I know.”
I have not forgiven you.
“I know.”
The Devil whispered reluctantly—
We know.
You should not laugh.
“I know.”
His smile remained. Femi pointed toward his face.
Stop.
No.
Daemon attempted to obey. He failed. Femi turned toward the door.
The Devil panicked immediately.
No.
“Little ghost.”
She stopped beneath the awning.
Rain formed a silver wall beyond her. Daemon’s amusement disappeared. The Devil’s did too.
“I will wait.”
Femi looked back.
“As long as you need.”
Always.
She searched his face.
Then her hands moved.
Do not beat anyone while you wait.
The Devil considered this unreasonable.
Daemon glanced at Steven.
“I will find another hobby.”
Her eyebrow rose.
“A quiet one.”
We could watch her.
Daemon ignored it. Femi nodded. She stepped into the rain. Daemon watched her walk toward Helix until the steaming streets swallowed her.
The Devil remained at the doorway long after she disappeared.
She came.
Yes.
She brought food.
Yes.
She looked at us.
Daemon closed his eyes. Do not start.
The Devil was already starting.
Twice.
Daemon returned to the workbench. He opened the paper bag. The sandwich had been cut diagonally. Two oatmeal cookies waited beneath it. Even angry, Femi remembered which food he liked. Even hurt, she had crossed from Helix in the rain because he had not eaten. Daemon closed his eyes. The Devil had endured two days without her hands. Two days without her smiles. Two days without those green eyes finding him across Helix.
One silent laugh had nearly brought it to its knees.
She still cares.
Daemon swallowed against something painful in his throat.
Yes.
Fix it.
I am trying.
For once, the Devil accepted that answer. Steven groaned from the floor.
Daemon opened his eyes.
“You are going to a doctor.”
“Thank God.”
Premature.
“Afterward, you will tell me every question Lily asked and every answer you gave.”
Steven’s relief disappeared.
Daemon bit into the sandwich.
“And if you lie—”
From the open doorway, Femi reappeared. Daemon froze.
The Devil went utterly delighted.
Little ghost.
She stood in the rain with both hands on her hips. Daemon stopped chewing.
Her fingers moved.
Only words.
The Devil whispered—
She knew.
Daemon stared at her.
Then swallowed.
“Only words.”
Femi nodded. She walked away again. Daemon waited until she was gone. A slow smile spread across his face.
The Devil was almost unbearably pleased.
She came back to check.
Yes.
On us.
Yes.
Because she knows us.
Daemon looked toward the rain. That was precisely the problem. And perhaps, eventually, the salvation. Steven looked from the doorway to the Devil standing over him.
“Does she always do that?”
Daemon picked up an oatmeal cookie.
“Yes.”
“Do you always listen?”
The Devil answered first.
To her?
Daemon watched the rain.
“When she returns to make certain I obey?”
His smile deepened.
“Yes.”
The Devil settled beneath his ribs, warm and possessive and terribly content.
Always.
Daemon didn’t sleep. He tried. That was the irritating part. He went home. Showered. Lay down. Closed his eyes.
And the Devil started pacing.
Lily wanted Marco.
Daemon stared at the ceiling. That was how it had started. Marco had liked Femi. Wanted Femi. Had promised Femi something she had desperately needed at the time. A life off the streets. Safety. An apartment. A future. And a job. Except the apartment and job had been Femi’s. She had earned them herself. The building had hired her as a janitor and given her an apartment as part of the arrangement. Femi had worked ninety hours a week to keep both. Ninety.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
Little ghost.
She had scrubbed floors. Cleaned bathrooms. Dragged trash. Worked until her hands cracked and her body stopped feeling like hers. But it had been hers. The apartment. The key. The job. The first thing she had ever built without somebody handing it to her and taking it back.
Lily had looked at that life— and decided she wanted it. So she slept with Marco. Not because she loved him. Because he was something Femi wanted.
The Devil snarled.
She took it.
Daemon turned onto his side. Then Angelo. Marco’s brother. Angelo hadn’t wanted Lily. He had wanted Femi. Wanted to own her. Possess her. And Lily—
Lily had taken his money. For information. For access. For an opportunity to get close enough to Femi that Angelo could have her kidnapped. Daemon’s eyes opened.
The room was dark.
The Devil paced.
She sold her.
Daemon clenched his jaw.
Yeah.
Then Lily came back.
Daemon knew.
And what did she do?
The same fucking thing. She saw Daemon. Saw what existed between him and Femi. Decided she wanted it. So she tried to take him too. Not because she knew him. Not because she loved him. Because he belonged to something Femi had.
Because Femi had him. And Lily didn’t.
The Devil stopped pacing.
She thought she could take us.
Daemon almost laughed.
Almost.
Yeah.
The Devil sounded offended.
From her.
Yeah.
A pause.
Stupid woman.
Daemon closed his eyes. Now Carr. Photographs. Money. A black sedan. A personal item stolen from Helix. Femi’s nightshirt.
The Devil surged so violently that Daemon sat up.
She sold her again.
“Yeah.”
His voice sounded terrible in the darkness.
The Devil paced through his blood.
Hot.
Furious.
Restless.
After everything our little ghost did for her.
Daemon rubbed both hands over his face.
He knew.
She fed her.
“Yeah.”
Gave her somewhere to sleep.
“I know.”
Trusted her.
“I fucking know.”
The Devil snarled.
HOW COULD THAT FUCKING BITCH?
Daemon stood. He couldn’t lie there anymore. He went downstairs. Made coffee. Didn’t drink it.
The Devil noticed.
Little ghost makes it better.
“Not now.”
Still true.
Daemon went outside. Came back inside. Checked the locks. Checked them again. Walked upstairs. Walked downstairs.
The Devil never stopped.
Find Carr.
“We will.”
Now.
“No.”
Find him.
“Marta’s working the plate.”
Find him.
“Shut up.”
The Devil laughed. It had not quieted in days. Not since Lily. Not since the photographs. Not since the nightshirt. Not since Daemon understood that somewhere in Ravenside was a man collecting pieces of Femi.
Find him.
Daemon gripped the kitchen counter. The Devil whispered what it wanted once they did. Ugly things. Bloody things. It wanted Carr punished for every photograph. For the nightshirt. For believing Femi could be reduced to something he could purchase and collect.
Daemon closed his eyes.
“No.”
The Devil snarled.
NO ONE FUCKING GETS HER.
“I know.”
No one.
“I fucking know.”
The Devil settled into one absolute promise.
We will not let them take our little ghost.
Daemon looked toward the dark windows. His reflection stared back at him. Scar. Gray eyes. A tired man with murder sitting too comfortably beneath his skin. His voice was quieter when he answered.
“No.”
Nobody was taking her.
Not Carr.
Not Lily.
Not anyone.
But first—
Daemon had something else to fix. Because Carr wasn’t the only thing keeping him awake. Femi’s face was there too. The way she had looked during those recordings. The shame. The uncertainty. The apology she had tried to give him.
The Devil quieted.
She apologized.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
Yeah.
For being hurt.
Yeah.
The Devil growled.
I did not like that.
Neither did he. They had talked. But not enough. Not nearly enough.
And this time—
Daemon wasn’t going to let fear keep his mouth shut.
The Devil settled.
Good.
He found her the next afternoon in the machine shop.
The large doors were open. Sunlight spilled across the concrete floor in long bright rectangles. The smell of oil and metal hung in the air. Daemon heard boxes shifting before he saw her. He followed the sound. Femi was crouched beside a shelving unit.
Three boxes surrounded her.
A fourth sat open between her knees.
She was searching through washers, fittings, bolts, and small machine parts. Daemon leaned against the doorway. Watched her for a moment.
The Devil immediately softened.
Little ghost.
Femi didn’t notice him. She frowned into the box. Moved several pieces aside. Checked beneath them. Nothing. She reached for another box.
The Devil purred.
She is concentrating.
Daemon almost smiled.
“Lose something?”
Femi startled.
Not badly.
Just enough that her head snapped toward him.
The Devil snapped at him.
You frightened her.
Daemon immediately regretted speaking from behind her.
“Sorry.”
Femi looked at him. Then shook her head. She lifted a small metal fitting. Held it up. Daemon recognized it.
“Wrong size.”
Femi nodded. She returned it to the box. Daemon walked closer. Not too close.
“Need help?”
Femi hesitated. Then shook her head.
Of course.
The Devil sounded amused.
Stubborn.
Daemon almost smiled. She searched another box. He remained where he was. Silence stretched between them. Not comfortable. Not exactly uncomfortable either. Just full. Femi knew he was there. Daemon knew she knew.
The Devil whispered—
Talk.
Daemon ignored it.
You came here to talk.
I know.
Then talk.
Not yet.
Coward.
Femi found another fitting. Compared it to the old part sitting on the floor. Wrong again. She sighed. Daemon shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Top shelf.”
Femi looked up.
“Blue box.”
She stood. Reached. Couldn’t quite get it.
The Devil perked up.
Help.
Daemon’s mouth twitched. Femi gave him a look. He didn’t laugh. Mostly. The Devil did. Daemon walked over. Reached above her. Pulled down the blue box. Set it on the workbench. Femi opened it. Three seconds. She found the part.
Daemon stared.
“You knew it was in there?”
Femi nodded.
“Then why the hell were you searching the bottom shelves?”
Femi looked at him. Then at the shelf. Then back.
Daemon understood.
“You thought somebody moved it.”
She nodded.
“Fair.”
He leaned against the workbench. Femi replaced the other boxes. One. Then another. Then another. Too carefully. The Devil noticed too.
Something is wrong.
Yeah.
Daemon watched. Not Carr. She didn’t know about Carr. This was something else. Femi closed the final box. Stood. Didn’t turn around. Daemon waited. Her shoulders rose. Fell.
Then her hands moved.
I’m sorry.
The Devil immediately snarled.
No.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
“No.”
Femi turned.
I’m sorry about Lily.
No.
“No.”
Her hands moved again.
I should have—
“No.”
Femi stopped.
Daemon shook his head.
“We are not doing that.”
Her expression fell.
The Devil growled.
Wrong.
Daemon softened immediately.
“I mean it.”
Femi looked away. Daemon stepped closer. Not enough to crowd her.
“Don’t apologize to me because somebody lied to you.”
Femi’s fingers moved.
I believed her.
“I know.”
I let her make me doubt you.
“She worked at it.”
Femi shook her head.
That doesn’t make it okay.
“It makes it understandable.”
Femi’s mouth tightened. Daemon saw frustration flicker across her face.
The Devil perked up.
Good.
Frustration was better than that awful passivity.
Much better.
Her hands moved.
You don’t understand.
“Then tell me.”
Femi froze. Daemon waited. No pushing. No guessing.
The Devil whispered,
Ask again.
“Tell me.”
Femi looked toward the open machine-shop doors. A motorcycle passed somewhere beyond the yard. The sound faded.
Her hands finally moved.
I don’t know how to do this.
Daemon frowned.
“Do what?”
This.
Her hand moved between them.
Daemon stared.
“You mean us?”
Femi nodded. Daemon straightened.
“Okay.”
She looked surprised.
“Okay.”
He shrugged.
“Neither do I.”
The Devil agreed.
We absolutely do not.
Daemon nearly smiled. Femi frowned.
“What?”
She stared at him as though he’d said something ridiculous.
“I don’t.”
Femi’s hands moved.
You’ve had women.
The Devil sighed.
Ah.
There it was.
Daemon looked down.
“Yeah.”
Femi’s expression changed.
The Devil snapped.
Fix that.
Daemon immediately continued.
“Women ain’t the same as this.”
She looked at him.
“Sex ain’t the same as this.”
Her cheeks reddened.
The Devil purred.
Pretty.
Not helping.
I am helping.
Daemon didn’t let her escape the conversation.
“Femi.”
Her eyes returned to him.
“I’ve never done this.”
She frowned.
“Loved somebody.”
Stillness.
Complete.
The Devil became quiet.
Daemon swallowed.
“Not like this.”
Femi stared at him.
The Devil whispered,
Never.
Daemon continued.
“So if you’re waiting for me to know what the I’m doing…”
He shook his head.
“You picked the wrong man.”
The Devil objected.
No.
Daemon ignored it.
She picked the correct man.
A tiny change touched Femi’s mouth. Almost a smile. Then disappeared. Her eyes lowered again. Daemon saw it. There was more.
The Devil knew too.
Again.
“Talk to me.”
Femi’s hands remained still.
“Please.”
That did it.
Her fingers moved.
I never had anyone.
Daemon frowned.
“Before?”
She nodded.
Not really.
Daemon waited.
Foster homes.
Her movements slowed.
Street.
Another pause.
There wasn’t anyone.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
The Devil whispered,
There is now.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
Yeah.
Femi continued.
I didn’t date. I didn’t know how.
Daemon said nothing.
Nobody asked.
The Devil stirred.
Idiots.
Daemon kept his face still.
Femi’s hands moved.
Nobody wanted me like that.
Something inside him hurt.
The Devil reacted instantly.
Wrong.
“Femi—”
She shook her head.
Let me finish.
Daemon closed his mouth. The Devil did too.
She took a breath.
There was Julian.
Daemon didn’t recognize the name.
The Devil lifted its head.
Who?
“Julian?”
Femi nodded.
The name clearly cost her something.
Her hands became slower.
I tried once.
Daemon’s entire attention settled on her. So did the Devil’s. Femi looked at the floor.
I thought he liked me.
Her fingers hesitated.
He was nice at first.
The Devil growled softly.
At first.
Another pause.
I had already gotten the apartment.
Daemon’s expression changed. Femi continued.
And the job.
Daemon frowned.
“What job?”
Her hands moved.
Building janitor.
She looked down.
I worked ninety hours a week.
Daemon went still.
The Devil stopped.
Ninety?
“Ninety?”
Femi nodded.
Ninety.
Her fingers moved again.
Cleaning.
Repairs.
Trash.
Whatever they needed.
Daemon stared at her.
The Devil whispered,
Little ghost.
She had worked ninety hours a week for a room and a key. For the right to call one place hers.
Femi continued.
It wasn’t much.
Her mouth trembled.
But it was mine.
The Devil understood that word. Mine. It knew mine better than almost anything. But this mine was different. Not possession of another person. Something Femi had built. Something nobody had given her. Something she had earned.
Hers.
Daemon understood why that mattered. Not nice. Not expensive. Not perfect. Hers. After foster homes. After shelters. After sleeping wherever she could. A door that locked. A key in her hand. Her own place. Her own job. Her own life.
Femi rubbed her palms against her jeans.
I thought maybe—
She stopped. Daemon waited. Her hands tried again.
Maybe I could be normal.
The Devil growled.
You are not wrong.
Daemon’s jaw tightened. He hated that word. Normal. As though she had ever been the problem.
Femi continued.
Julian moved in.
The Devil lifted its head.
I already dislike Julian.
Daemon almost agreed aloud. Femi’s movements became smaller.
He started having parties.
Daemon’s expression hardened.
“Parties?”
Femi nodded.
Illegal ones.
Her hands moved faster now.
People came all night. Drugs. Fighting. Noise. He used my apartment.
The Devil snarled.
Her apartment.
Daemon’s jaw clenched.
“Without asking?”
Femi nodded.
I told him to stop. He wouldn’t.
Find him.
No.
I have heard enough.
No, you haven’t.
Another pause.
I called the landlord.
Daemon already knew where this was going.
So did the Devil.
No.
Femi’s hands dropped.
They blamed me.
Daemon’s eyes narrowed.
“Because it was your apartment.”
She nodded.
The lease was in my name.
Her fingers moved.
The job was tied to it.
Daemon understood. The apartment and the janitor job had been one arrangement. Julian had used both. And when the parties came to light— Femi had lost both.
They evicted me.
The Devil became silent.
Her hands shook.
I lost the job too.
Daemon’s chest tightened. Not because Julian had magical power over her. Because Femi had been alone. No family. No safety net. No Malone yet. No Marta. Nobody to catch her. She had worked ninety hours a week to keep that place. Julian had turned it into a crime scene. Then left her to carry the blame.
The Devil whispered,
He took her home.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
Yeah.
Femi continued.
There it was.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
I lost the apartment. Then my job.
“How?”
She hesitated.
I stopped sleeping.
Daemon’s face softened. The Devil did too.
Couldn’t get there sometimes.
Another.
Couldn’t wash clothes.
Another.
Couldn’t think.
Her hands dropped.
Four months later, I was back outside.
Daemon closed his eyes for one second. Four months. One cruel sentence. And everything she’d managed to build had collapsed around her. Not because she was lazy. Not because she hadn’t tried. Not because she hadn’t worked hard enough. She had worked ninety hours a week. Julian had taken the rest.
The Devil was no longer interested in Carr. For one dangerous second— it wanted Julian.
Find him too.
“No.”
Femi looked at Daemon. He realized he’d spoken aloud.
“Not you.”
Her brows drew together.
The Devil grumbled.
You keep doing that.
Daemon rubbed his face.
“Just…”
He exhaled.
“Keep going.”
Femi stared at him.
Then signed.
There isn’t more.
“I think there is.”
Her eyes lowered.
“Lily didn’t start this.”
Femi froze. The Devil became still. Daemon understood.
“Did she?”
Femi shook her head. Slowly.
“She found it.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
The Devil whispered,
Oh, little ghost.
Daemon’s voice softened.
“She found something somebody else put there.”
Femi covered her face. Daemon’s heart broke. The Devil surged forward.
Hold her.
Daemon stepped— then stopped.
Hold her. Ask.
“Can I touch you?”
The Devil went quiet. Femi lowered her hands. She stared at him. That question seemed to hurt worse. Daemon waited. The Devil waited with him.
Femi nodded.
Yes.
He reached for her. Slowly.
His fingers touched her cheek. Femi closed her eyes.
The Devil softened.
There.
Daemon wiped away one tear. Then another. Her skin was warm beneath his hand. She didn’t make his skin crawl. The thought alone made something vicious rise inside him.
The Devil snarled.
Who told her that?
Lily.
I know.
Daemon cupped her face.
“Look at me.”
Femi did.
“Nothing about touching you feels wrong.”
Her eyes filled again.
“Nothing.”
The Devil whispered,
Everything about touching you feels right.
Femi shook her head. Daemon’s thumb moved beneath her eye.
“I mean it.”
Her hands rose between them.
I don’t know.
“Know what?”
What I’m supposed to do.
Daemon frowned.
“With me?”
Femi nodded.
“You ain’t supposed to do anything.”
Her expression twisted. Daemon realized immediately that wasn’t enough. Not after Lily. Not after Julian. Femi stepped away.\ His hand fell. The Devil protested.
No.
Let her.
Femi paced once. Turned. Her signs came faster. Sharper.
I don’t know when to touch you.
Daemon stared.
The Devil answered immediately.
Whenever you want.
I don’t know where.
Anywhere.
Another.
I don’t know when you want me near you.
Always.
Another.
I don’t know what you expect.
Nothing.
Daemon said it aloud.
“Nothing.”
Femi shook her head violently.
Lily said—
“Fuck Lily.”
Femi flinched.
The Devil snapped at him.
Too loud.
Daemon immediately lowered his voice.
“Sorry.”
Her hands continued.
She said men need things.
“I know what she said.”
I don’t know those things.
The Devil growled.
There are no things.
“Femi—”
I don’t know what women do.
The signs became jerky. Uncontrolled.
I don’t know how to make a man happy.
Daemon felt something crack inside him. The Devil stopped breathing. Femi was crying openly now. No longer wiping the tears away.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
Daemon stepped toward her. Femi backed away. Not afraid of him. Overwhelmed.
Daemon stopped immediately.
The Devil wanted to follow.
Stay.
I know.
Her hands moved.
Julian knew.
“No.”
He knew I was wrong.
“No.”
The Devil snarled.
You were never wrong.
He had women before me.
“Femi.”
So did Marco.
Her breathing hitched.
So did you.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
The Devil whispered,
None of them were you.
Femi’s hands were shaking so badly now some of the signs blurred.
But he understood.
Everyone. Everyone knows except me.
“That’s not true.”
Lily was right.
The Devil exploded.
NO.
“No.”
Femi’s face crumpled. She signed it again. Harder.
Lily was right.
“No, she fucking wasn’t.”
The Devil was almost shouting with him.
She knows nothing. Femi’s hands flew. Sharp. Jerky. Angry now. Finally angry. At herself. At Lily. At Julian. At everything she had never been taught.
I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH A MAN.
Daemon went completely still. So did the Devil. Tears streamed down Femi’s cheeks. Her chest heaved. Her hands dropped. For one terrible second she looked ashamed of herself. Then her fingers moved once more. Smaller. Broken.
I don’t know what to do with you.
The Devil went silent. Daemon stared at her. And suddenly he understood the cruelty of Lily’s manipulation completely. Femi hadn’t been comparing herself to Cindy. Or Jessica. Or Lily. She had been comparing herself to every woman she imagined had received some secret education she had somehow missed. How to flirt. How to touch. How to kiss. How to want. How to be wanted. How to keep someone. Nobody had ever taught Femi that there wasn’t a test. Julian had convinced her she’d failed one anyway. Lily had simply handed it back to her.
The Devil whispered,
There is no test.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
No.
Tell her.
Daemon took one slow step forward. Femi didn’t move. Another. Still nothing. He stopped within reach. Didn’t touch her.
“Little ghost.”
Femi looked at him.
His voice was rough.
“You don’t have to know what to do with a man.”
She stared. Daemon swallowed.
“You only gotta learn me.”
The Devil immediately added,
And we are easy.
Daemon almost laughed.
No, we’re not.
She already knows us.
Femi stopped breathing.
“And I gotta learn you.”
Her lips parted.
“That’s all this is.”
The Devil whispered,
Learn us, little ghost.
Daemon lifted one hand. Waited. Femi looked at it. Then placed her hand in his.
The Devil purred.
There.
Daemon closed his fingers gently around hers.
“I don’t want whatever Cindy knew.”
The Devil scoffed.
What did Cindy know?
Femi’s eyes filled.
“Don’t give a shit what Jessica knew.”
We still do not know which Jessica.
Daemon ignored it.
His thumb moved across her knuckles.
“And Lily doesn’t know a goddamn thing about me.”
Correct.
A tear slipped free. Daemon leaned slightly closer.
“You know what I like?”
Femi watched him.
“You.”
The Devil purred.
You.
Her face crumpled.
Daemon squeezed her hand.
“You know what I want?”
Another tear.
“You.”
You.
His voice dropped.
“You know what shuts this shit up?”
He touched two fingers to his temple.
The Devil sounded offended.
Excuse me.
Femi stared. Daemon lifted her hand. Placed her palm against his chest.
The Devil purred.
“There.”
Femi’s fingers curled slightly into his shirt.
“That.”
His eyes closed for one second.
Then opened.
“You.”
The Devil went completely quiet. Femi stood very still. Daemon let her feel his heartbeat. Fast. Hard. Nothing disgusted. Nothing recoiling. Nothing crawling away from her touch. His heart was trying to beat through his fucking ribs.
The Devil finally whispered,
Closer.
Daemon gave her a crooked smile.
“Does that feel like you make my skin crawl?”
Femi’s mouth trembled. Then— a tiny laugh escaped her. Silent. Wet with tears. But there.
The Devil practically melted.
Again.
Daemon smiled.
“Yeah.”
He moved her hand slightly higher over his heart.
“Julian was a fucking idiot.”
The Devil agreed instantly.
Finally.
Femi’s eyes widened. Daemon shrugged.
“Somebody had to say it.”
Her shoulders shook. Another silent laugh. The Devil settled. Not quiet. Not completely. Carr still existed. Lily still existed. The nightshirt was still somewhere in Ravenside. Danger still waited beyond those open machine-shop doors.
But for this moment— Daemon refused to let any of it enter.
The Devil tried.
Carr—
Later.
It stopped.
Lily—
Later.
Another pause.
Julian?
Daemon almost smiled. Later. The Devil grumbled. But obeyed. Because this belonged to Femi. His little ghost. Not Carr. Not Lily. Not Julian. Them. Daemon looked down at their joined hands.
“Femi.”
She looked up.
“You don’t have to perform for me.”
The Devil whispered,
Never.
Her expression softened.
“You don’t have to compete with women I don’t fucking want.”
Especially Jessica.
Daemon nearly sighed.
Another tear.
“You don’t have to prove you’re enough.”
His throat tightened.
The Devil whispered,
You already are.
He swallowed.
“And you sure as hell don’t have to know what to do with some imaginary man Lily invented in her head.”
Femi watched him. Daemon brought her hand to his mouth. Stopped.
The Devil waited.
Ask.
Daemon asked with his eyes. Femi nodded. He kissed her knuckles.
Slowly.
The Devil purred.
Again.
Daemon lowered their hands.
“Just learn me.”
Femi stared at him.
Daemon’s mouth curved.
“And I’ll learn you.”
Her fingers tightened around his. For the first time since he’d entered the machine shop—
Femi stepped closer on her own.
The Devil surged with joy.
She chose closer.
Daemon didn’t move. Didn’t claim the distance. Didn’t finish the choice for her. Femi did. She rested her forehead against his chest. Daemon closed his eyes.
The Devil whispered,
Little ghost.
His free hand hovered over her back. Every instinct wanted to wrap her up. Hold her. Keep her.
The Devil wanted it too.
Ask.
Daemon’s eyes opened slightly. He almost smiled. You remembered.
Ask.
“Can I?”
Femi nodded against him.
The Devil exhaled.
Yes.
Daemon wrapped his arm around her. She exhaled. Long. Shaking. Then her arms slowly circled his waist. The Devil finally stopped pacing. Completely.
There.
Daemon rested his cheek against her hair. Femi tightened her arms.
The Devil whispered,
She knows exactly what to do with us.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
Yeah.
She always did.
Carr was not forgotten. Carr was a future problem. A dangerous one. Lily was not forgotten. Neither was Julian. The Devil kept all three names somewhere dark. Waiting. But not now. Not while Femi was in his arms. Not while she had chosen to put herself there. Daemon understood something Lily never would. Love wasn’t knowing exactly what to do with another person.
It wasn’t performing correctly. It wasn’t possessing some secret knowledge every other woman had received. It wasn’t keeping someone satisfied enough that they wouldn’t leave. It was caring enough to learn. And being patient enough to let them learn you too.
The Devil shifted quietly beneath Daemon’s skin.
Daemon.
What?
She said she doesn’t know what to do with us.
Yeah.
The Devil considered that. Then Femi’s fingers curled into the back of Daemon’s shirt. Her cheek settled more comfortably against his chest. Her body slowly relaxed into his.
The Devil purred.
She is doing fine.
Daemon smiled into her hair.
Yeah.
She was.
Daemon looked at Femi. She stood several feet away from him. Too far.
The Devil hated it.
Closer.
Daemon stayed where he was.
Femi had spent enough of her life with people deciding what she needed. He wouldn’t become another one.
Still— his chest hurt looking at her.
“Did anyone besides Dai treat you with respect, my little ghost?”
Femi’s expression changed. She thought about it. Daemon almost wished she wouldn’t answer.
Then she shook her head.
No.
The Devil went still. Daemon felt something ugly move through him.
“No one?”
Another shake. Femi looked down at her hands. They moved slowly.
People were nice sometimes.
Daemon watched.
But not for long.
Her fingers hesitated.
There was always something wrong with me.
“No.”
Femi looked up.
Daemon shook his head.
“No.”
She looked away.
Her hands moved.
That’s how it felt.
Daemon’s anger immediately softened. He understood the difference. How something felt didn’t have to be true to become real inside you.
Femi continued.
Foster homes.
School.
Shelters.
Street.
Her movements became smaller.
If something happened—
She stopped.
Then tried again.
It was me.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
“If somebody hurt you, they blamed you?”
Femi nodded.
If someone got angry, I made them angry.
Another sign.
If someone didn’t like me, I was difficult.
Another.
If I was afraid, I was dramatic.
Her hands lowered.
Daemon felt sick.
The Devil growled.
They taught her that.
Yeah.
They were wrong.
Daemon looked at her.
Yeah.
Femi stared at the concrete floor.
Then signed—
I never understood why.
Daemon said nothing.
Why did people hate me so much?
The Devil snarled.
They didn’t deserve her.
Daemon’s heart broke. Femi wasn’t asking him. Not exactly. She was asking the years behind her. The foster homes. Julian. Lily. Marco. Every person who had taught her that merely existing near them was some kind of offense.
Daemon took a breath.
“Come here.”
Femi looked at him.
The Devil immediately approved.
Yes.
Daemon immediately corrected himself.
“Sorry.”
The Devil objected.
Why?
Because I ordered her.
You asked her to come closer.
I told her.
The Devil grumbled. Daemon held out his hand instead.
“Will you come here?”
Femi stared at his hand. Then crossed the distance herself. The Devil sighed through his blood.
There.
Daemon didn’t pull her against him. He only took her hand. Held it. Her fingers were small inside his.
The Devil settled.
Better.
“I’m gonna tell you something.”
Femi looked up.
“I don’t talk about this.”
Her brows drew together.
“Pretty much ever.”
Daemon looked down at their hands. His thumb moved once across her knuckles.
“I had a good mother.”
Femi became still. Daemon smiled faintly.
“She was…” He exhaled. “Soft.”
That wasn’t quite right. His mother had not been weak. Not remotely. But she had possessed a gentleness Daemon still remembered almost painfully.
“She was happy.”
The word felt strange.
“She laughed a lot.”
The memory surprised him. He hadn’t thought about that laugh in years.
“She sang when she cooked. Badly.”
Femi’s mouth moved. A tiny smile. Daemon’s own appeared.
“Fucking terribly.”
Her shoulders shifted with silent amusement.
The Devil whispered,
She was loud.
Daemon almost laughed.
Yeah.
His mother had been.
The Devil remembered her too. Not the way Daemon remembered her. More like fragments. Warm hands. Music. The smell of food. A woman humming somewhere nearby. Safety.
“My father hated it.”
The smile disappeared. Daemon looked somewhere beyond her.
“He hated a lot of things.”
The Devil stirred. Not with anger. Something older. Something that felt like an animal retreating into the darkest corner of a room. Daemon continued.
“He drank.”
Femi watched him.
“When he drank, he got mean.”
A pause.
“When he wasn’t drinking…”
Daemon shrugged.
“He was still mean.”
The Devil whispered,
Watch his hands.
Daemon froze.
Femi frowned.
“What?”
Her hands moved.
What?
“Nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing. That voice. Those words. He hadn’t heard them exactly that way in years.
Watch his hands.
Daemon swallowed. Femi’s fingers tightened around his.
The Devil went quiet again.
“My father hit me.”
Femi’s eyes changed. Daemon kept going before she could pity him.
“I was little.”
His voice became flatter.
“Didn’t matter.”
He looked away.
“He hit Caemon too.”
Femi knew that name. His brother.
Her free hand moved.
Older?
“Yeah.”
Daemon nodded.
“Much older.”
He rubbed his jaw.
“Caemon used to step between us.”
Femi stared.
“All the fucking time.”
Daemon could still see it. A boy already tall enough to look nearly grown. Standing between their father and a much smaller Daemon. Taking the blow meant for him.
“Father would come looking for me.”
Daemon’s voice lowered.
“Caemon would find him first.”
The Devil whispered,
Hide.
Daemon’s breath caught. Another old word. Another command. Femi noticed the change in his face. Her hand tightened around his. Daemon looked at her.
“He took a lot of beatings because of me.”
Her hand moved immediately.
Not because of you.
Daemon stopped.
The words hit strangely.
Femi stared directly at him.
Not because of you.
The Devil went utterly silent.
Daemon swallowed.
“Yeah.”
He looked away.
“Know that now.” Mostly. “But when you’re a kid…”
He shrugged.
“You think everything is because of you.”
Femi became very still.
Daemon looked back at her. There. That was why he was telling her.
“You think if you were quieter…”
Femi’s eyes filled.
“Better.”
Her fingers curled.
“Smarter.”
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
“Maybe nobody would get hurt.”
Femi stared at him.
“You think maybe there’s something wrong with you that makes people do ugly shit.”
Her eyes lowered.
Daemon squeezed her hand.
“There ain’t.”
Femi looked back up.
“There wasn’t anything wrong with me.”
The words were harder to say than he expected.
“And there ain’t anything wrong with you.”
Silence settled between them. Not empty. Shared.
The Devil moved faintly beneath Daemon’s skin.
Tell her.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
No.
Tell her.
He hadn’t planned to. He hadn’t planned to tell anyone. Hell, he wasn’t even sure there was anything to tell. Only pieces. A room. His father’s voice. His mother’s scream. The smell of whiskey. And then— someone else inside his head.
Femi touched his wrist. Daemon looked down. Her fingers rested lightly against his pulse.
The Devil whispered,
Little ghost.
Daemon exhaled.
“All right.”
Femi frowned.
He looked at her.
“There is something else.”
She waited.
Daemon stared at their joined hands.
“I don’t remember when the Devil started.”
Femi went completely still. The Devil did too. Daemon almost stopped. Then Femi’s fingers curled tighter around his. He continued.
“I know I wasn’t born hearing him.” A pause. “At least I don’t think I was.”
The Devil said nothing.
“I remember being little without him.”
His voice became distant.
“I remember being scared alone.”
That was the difference.
Before the Devil— fear had belonged only to Daemon.
Afterward— something had been afraid with him. Something had become angry for him.
“I think I was seven.”
Daemon frowned.
“Maybe eight.”
The memory refused to sharpen.
“It was during one of my father’s rages.”
The Devil retreated. Daemon felt it. For the first time since he’d begun speaking, the Devil moved away from Femi. Away from him. Deep.
Don’t.
Daemon’s jaw tightened. Femi watched him carefully. He could stop. She would let him. That almost made him continue.
“My father had been drinking.”
Daemon’s eyes lost focus.
“I remember the bottle.”
Brown glass. Half empty. Maybe more.
“I remember him throwing something.”
A plate? A glass? He didn’t know anymore.
“It hit the wall.”
Femi’s fingers tightened.
“My mother was crying.”
That he remembered. Not loudly. His mother never cried loudly around his father. She had learned better.
“She kept telling him to stop.”
Daemon swallowed.
“He didn’t.”
The Devil whispered from very far away.
Don’t remember.
Daemon closed his eyes. Femi immediately moved closer. Not touching more. Just there.
“I remember him coming toward me.”
His voice lowered.
“I remember thinking I needed to run.”
The Devil whispered—
Run.
Daemon’s eyes opened. The machine shop disappeared for half a second. A hallway. Dark. Small bare feet.
His father’s boots behind him.
Run.
“I remember running.”
Femi’s face changed. Daemon’s breathing slowed deliberately.
“I remember hiding.”
Quiet.
Daemon’s throat tightened. The Devil’s voice had changed. Not the deep predatory thing Femi knew. Not the creature that wanted Carr torn apart. In Daemon’s memory, it sounded smaller. Not childish. But new. Barely formed.
Quiet.
Daemon stared at nothing.
“I remember him looking for me.”
Footsteps. A door slamming. His name shouted down the hallway. His mother’s voice. Then something hitting something. Or someone. Daemon didn’t know.
“I remember being scared.”
His thumb stopped moving over Femi’s hand.
“So fucking scared.”
The Devil whispered,
Don’t cry.
Daemon’s eyes burned. Femi stepped closer.
“I don’t remember what happened after that.”
He shook his head.
“Not exactly.”
Fragments. His father’s hand. A wall. Pain. The smell of sweat and whiskey. His mother’s scream. Darkness.
“I remember him finding me.”
The Devil disappeared completely. Daemon almost couldn’t continue.
Femi’s hand moved.
You don’t have to.
Daemon looked at her. There was no demand in her face. No curiosity. Only permission to stop.
The Devil returned as a whisper.
Little ghost.
Daemon breathed.
“I know.”
He swallowed.
“But I think I need to.”
Femi nodded. Daemon looked away again.
“I remember him grabbing me.”
His shoulders tightened.
“And then…”
Nothing. A hole. A black space in his childhood.
“I don’t know.”
His voice roughened.
“I don’t know what he did.”
Femi’s eyes filled.
“I don’t know what happened.”
Daemon shook his head.
“Sometimes I think I remember.”
A fist. The floor. His father’s face. Blood. His mother screaming.
“But then it changes.”
The Devil whispered,
Enough.
Daemon ignored it.
“I remember waking up.”
That part never changed.
“Floor was cold.”
His mouth went dry.
“My head hurt.”
Femi’s thumb moved slowly across his wrist.
“And there was a voice.”
Silence. The Devil did not move. Daemon looked at Femi.
“His voice.”
Her eyes flicked toward his temple. Daemon nodded.
“The Devil.”
The words settled between them.
“I didn’t know what it was.”
Daemon gave a faint, humorless laugh.
“Thought maybe I’d broken something in my fucking head.”
The Devil muttered,
Rude.
Daemon almost smiled. Femi’s eyes widened slightly.
“He didn’t call himself the Devil then.”
A pause.
“He didn’t call himself anything.”
The Devil whispered,
Daemon.
His name. Soft. Old. Daemon’s breath caught.
“He knew my name.”
Femi stared.
“He told me to stay still.”
Stay down.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
“He told me not to move.”
Listen.
“He told me to listen.”
Daemon closed his eyes. His father’s footsteps. Heavy. Uneven. Moving down the hallway. Away.
Wait.
“He told me when to wait.”
A door slammed. Silence.
Now.
“And when to move.”
Daemon opened his eyes.
“I listened.”
Femi was crying silently now.
“He got me to my mother.”
Daemon’s voice nearly failed.
“I think.”
The memory blurred there. His mother’s hands. Her face. Her pulling him against her. Her whispering something over and over.
“My father passed out eventually.”
Daemon swallowed.
“Or left.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
The Devil whispered,
He stopped.
Daemon frowned. Yeah. That was all that had mattered to a child. The danger had stopped.
“I woke up the next morning…”
His mouth twisted.
“And the voice was still there.”
Femi stared at him.
“So I kept listening.”
The Devil moved closer.
Slowly.
Almost cautiously. Daemon touched two fingers to his temple.
“He told me when Father was too drunk to walk straight.”
Stay away.
“When he was angry enough that I needed to hide.”
Bedroom.
“When not to make noise.”
Quiet.
“When my mother needed me to stay out of the kitchen.”
Don’t go in.
“When Father was lying about being calm.”
Watch his hands.
Daemon stopped. That phrase again. The oldest lesson the Devil had ever taught him. Watch his hands. Not his face. Not his words. Hands moved first. Hands reached. Hands hit. Hands killed. Daemon stared at his own.
“The Devil learned my father before I did.”
Femi’s mouth trembled.
Daemon laughed softly.
“Or maybe I learned him and gave the knowledge a voice.”
The Devil stirred.
Daemon looked somewhere beyond her.
“I don’t know.”
And that was the truth. He didn’t know what the Devil was. Trauma. Madness. A piece of himself his mind had carved out because a child needed somebody stronger. Something else. He had stopped caring years ago.
“I just know I went into that night alone.”
Daemon’s voice became very quiet.
“And I woke up with him.”
The Devil whispered,
You weren’t alone again.
Daemon stopped breathing. Femi saw it. Her hand lifted. Paused near his face. Daemon leaned into it before she could ask. Her palm touched his scarred cheek.
The Devil softened immediately.
Little ghost.
Daemon closed his eyes.
“He’s been there ever since.”
Femi’s thumb moved beneath his eye.
“The same voice.”
Daemon opened his eyes.
“That voice kept me alive.”
The Devil became still.
“When my father was drunk.”
Hide.
“When my parents died.”
Stay down.
“When Caemon brought me home.”
Watch.
“When men came for him.”
Move.
“When Leto found me.”
Listen.
“When the Silent Order tried to turn me into something useful.”
Survive.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
“Every bad fucking place I ever ended up…”
The Devil whispered,
I was there.
Daemon nodded slowly.
“He was there.”
Femi looked toward his temple again. Then back into his eyes. Her hand moved away from his cheek so she could sign.
He protected you.
Daemon stared. The Devil recoiled. Not violently. As though the words had struck somewhere nothing had ever touched.
Femi signed again.
When no one else did.
The Devil went silent.
Daemon swallowed.
“Yeah.”
He had called it a monster. A sickness. A weapon. The Devil. He had cursed it. Argued with it. Tried to drown it in whiskey. Tried to ignore it. Used it. Feared it. But—
“Yeah.”
His voice cracked.
“He did.”
The Devil whispered,
Daemon.
Not Devil. Not little ghost. His name. Daemon looked down. Femi touched his wrist again.
Then signed.
He was a scared little boy too.
Daemon’s head snapped up. The Devil vanished. Completely. Femi watched him. Her expression uncertain now. As though she thought she might have misunderstood. Daemon couldn’t speak. Because something about those words had gone straight through him.
The Devil had always sounded older. Stronger. Meaner. But when had it begun? On a floor. With a terrified child.
Stay down.
Quiet.
Listen.
Run.
Not commands from a monster.
Instructions from something that wanted them to survive.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
“I never thought about it like that.”
Femi’s hands moved.
Maybe he was the part of you that wasn’t allowed to be afraid.
Daemon stared.
The Devil returned.
Very quietly.
Little ghost.
Femi continued.
So he became angry instead.
Daemon’s jaw trembled. Once. He looked away.
“Don’t know.”
She didn’t argue. Didn’t tell him what the Devil was. Didn’t try to name something even Daemon couldn’t name. She only reached for his hand again. Daemon gave it to her.
The Devil whispered,
She isn’t afraid.
No.
Femi wasn’t. That realization nearly broke him more than anything else. She knew now. Not just that the Devil existed. She knew where he might have come from. A drunk father’s rage. A frightened boy on a cold floor. And she wasn’t afraid.
The Devil moved closer to the surface.
Tell her.
Daemon knew what it wanted.
“No.”
Femi frowned.
He looked at her.
“Not you.”
Her mouth twitched.
The Devil grumbled.
Tell her.
Daemon sighed.
“He likes you.”
Femi blinked.
The Devil exploded.
LIKES?
Daemon’s mouth twitched.
“Apparently that description is offensive.”
Femi’s shoulders shook. The first hint of silent laughter.The Devil snarled.
We fucking love her.
Daemon’s amusement disappeared. Femi watched him.
The Devil repeated it.
Quieter.
We love her.
Daemon swallowed.
“He…”
Femi waited.
Daemon looked into her green eyes.
“He loves you.”
Femi stopped moving. The Devil went utterly still. Daemon almost laughed at the absurdity of it.
“He’s possessive.”
Protective.
“Violent.”
When necessary.
“Annoying.”
Fuck you.
Femi’s mouth opened.
Daemon smiled despite himself.
“He disagrees.”
Her shoulders shook harder.
The Devil muttered,
Little ghost thinks this is funny.
She does.
Good.
That single word carried so much softness that Daemon’s smile disappeared. Femi saw it. Her hand rose. She touched his scar.
“Anyway.”
Daemon cleared his throat.
“He’s been keeping me alive a long time.”
The Devil whispered,
Us.
Daemon looked at Femi.
“Us.”
Her fingers moved.
Then I’m glad he came.
Daemon froze. The Devil did too. Femi looked almost embarrassed. But she signed it again.
I’m glad he came.
The Devil made a sound Daemon had never heard before. Small. Wounded.
Almost disbelieving.
Why?
Daemon didn’t mean to say it aloud.
“Why?”
Femi frowned.
Daemon touched his temple.
“He wants to know.”
Her expression softened. Then she signed.
Because you survived.
Daemon’s chest tightened. Another sign.
Because he kept you here.
The Devil stopped moving.
Femi’s eyes filled again.
So I could meet you.
Nothing inside Daemon breathed. Nothing. The machine shop seemed to disappear.
The Devil whispered,
Oh.
That was all.
Just—
Oh.
Daemon looked away because he suddenly couldn’t look at Femi and keep whatever remained of himself intact. She squeezed his hand.
The Devil whispered again.
Little ghost.
Daemon took a breath. Then another. When he looked back, Femi was still there.
Of course she was.
“Caemon eventually left.”
Femi frowned.
Daemon’s mouth hardened.
“He ran away.”
Her brows lifted.
“I hated him for it.”
The admission came easily. Too easily.
“For years.”
Daemon looked toward the open shop doors.
“I thought he left me.”
Femi’s expression changed.
“He did.”
Daemon’s voice was quiet.
“He left because he couldn’t take another beating for me.”
Femi squeezed his hand harder.
Daemon laughed once.
No humor.
“The kid in me didn’t give a shit about reasons.”
Of course he didn’t.
Daemon glanced toward nothing.
The Devil continued.
He was a child.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
“He was just gone.”
Daemon looked at her.
“And I was still there.”
A gust of wind moved through the open doors. Something metal clinked on a nearby workbench. Daemon remembered that house. The hallway. The kitchen. Knowing which floorboards creaked. Knowing when his father’s footsteps meant hide. Knowing his mother’s voice would become too gentle when she was afraid. He rarely allowed himself to remember. The Devil didn’t like the memories either.
Now Femi understood why.
It had been born somewhere inside them.
“When I was ten…”
Daemon stopped. Femi waited. He looked down.
“My mother and father were shot.”
Femi froze.
“Both of them.”
Her hand tightened violently around his.
Daemon let her.
“Killed.”
Femi’s eyes widened.
Daemon stared somewhere far beyond the machine shop.
“I was there.”
The Devil stirred. Not angry. Old. Cold.
“I hid.”
I told you to.
Daemon’s breath caught.
Yeah.
He could still feel the darkness around him. Still remember making himself small. Still remember the sound of gunfire. The terrible quiet afterward.
“I stayed hidden while they died.”
Femi shook her head immediately.
Daemon continued.
“I was ten.”
She nodded fiercely.
Ten.
“I know.”
His voice roughened.
“Didn’t feel like an excuse for a long fucking time.”
The Devil growled.
I made you stay.
Daemon froze. Femi watched him.
The Devil continued.
You wanted to go to her.
Daemon’s eyes closed. A memory. His mother’s scream. Daemon moving.
Then that voice—
NO.
He had stopped.
Stay down.
His mother’s scream again.
Do not move.
Daemon’s breathing changed.
Femi touched his wrist.
“Fuck.”
Her expression filled with concern.
Daemon looked at her.
“He remembers.”
Femi’s gaze flicked toward his temple.
Daemon swallowed.
“He told me to stay hidden.”
The Devil whispered,
You would have died.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
“I know.”
Femi signed.
He saved you.
Daemon stared at her.
The Devil whispered,
I tried.
Not proud. Not triumphant. Just truth.
Femi moved closer. Only slightly. Daemon noticed.
The Devil noticed too. But this time it didn’t say closer.
It simply waited.
“Afterward, Caemon came back.”
Femi blinked. Daemon nodded.
“My brother came for me.”
Her expression softened.
“I thought…” Daemon almost laughed. “I thought everything was gonna be okay.”
It hadn’t been.
“Caemon took me in.”
Femi waited.
“He raised me.”
Daemon paused.
“At least that’s what people called it.”
Her brow furrowed.
Daemon’s face emptied.
“To Caemon, I was just…” He searched for the word. “Nothing.”
Femi shook her head.
The Devil snarled.
No.
Daemon continued before either could argue.
“Less than nothing, sometimes.”
His voice became colder.
“I was the kid in his back room.”
A shrug.
“Something that ate his food.”
Another.
“Used his electricity.”
Another.
“Needed shoes.”
Femi’s face crumpled.
“He made sure I knew it too.”
Daemon could hear Caemon’s voice even now. How much do you cost me? You know what I’d have if I didn’t have you? You’re lucky I came back. Lucky. Daemon had hated that word.
“He’d remind me what he sacrificed.”
Femi’s jaw tightened.
“Money.”
Another.
“Women.”
Another.
“Freedom.”
Daemon gave a humorless smile.
“Apparently I ruined everything simply by being alive.”
The Devil whispered,
He was wrong.
Femi’s hands came up.
No.
Daemon looked at her.
No.
Sharper this time.
Her eyes were wet.
Daemon’s smile faded.
“I know.”
He swallowed.
“Now.”
The Devil whispered,
We know now.
Silence again.
Then—
“I was sixteen when it changed.”
Femi watched him carefully.
“Three men came for Caemon.”
The Devil woke. Not the raging creature obsessed with Carr. Not even the frightened voice from the hallway. Something between them. The survivor becoming the weapon.
“They found us one night.”
Daemon’s voice lost emotion. The way it always did around violence.
“Caemon owed them something.”
Femi frowned.
“Money. Work. Don’t remember.”
He did remember. He simply didn’t care anymore.
“They put guns to his head.”
Femi went still. Daemon remembered everything after that with perfect clarity. The room. The smell. The gunmetal. Caemon’s face.Fear. Real fear. The first time Daemon had ever seen it there.
“I didn’t think.”
His voice was barely above a whisper.
“I just moved.”
The Devil whispered,
Left.
Daemon frowned.
“What?”
Femi looked at him. He shook his head.
“Nothing.”
The Devil corrected him.
The first man. Left.
Daemon remembered.
A man turning toward him.
The Devil’s voice.
Left.
Daemon moved left. Gunshot. Missed.
Throat.
His hands. A neck. Breaking. Daemon stared at the floor.
“You told me how.”
The Devil went silent. Femi watched him. Daemon’s eyes lifted.
“He told me how to survive.”
The Devil whispered,
Always.
“I killed all three.”
Femi didn’t recoil. That almost hurt worse.
“Bare hands.”
Her eyes dropped to his fingers. Daemon turned one hand over. Studied the palm.
“First man, I broke his neck.”
The Devil hummed.
He had the gun.
“Second one…”
Daemon’s jaw moved.
“Don’t really remember how.”
The Devil did. It did not tell him. For once, Daemon was grateful.
“The third one fought longer.”
Daemon lifted his eyes.
“When it was over…” He stopped.
Femi waited.
“There was blood everywhere.”
The Devil breathed inside him.
We saved him.
“Yes.”
Femi frowned. Daemon realized he’d answered it aloud. He shook his head slightly.
“Sorry.”
She knew better than to ask who he was talking to. Not anymore. Daemon continued.
“I saved Caemon.”
His mouth twisted.
“At least that’s what I thought.”
Femi stared.
“That night was the first time he looked at me like I was worth something.”
Her face changed. Daemon laughed softly. It was a horrible sound.
“Think about that.”
His voice cracked just slightly.
“I was sixteen years old.”
Femi’s eyes filled.
“My brother had spent years treating me like garbage.”
Another breath.
“And then I killed three men.”
Daemon’s eyes went cold.
“And suddenly…” He snapped his fingers once. “I mattered.”
Femi’s tears spilled. Daemon looked away.
“That was all it took.”
The Devil moved restlessly.
“To be useful.”
Daemon’s voice dropped.
“I had to hurt somebody.”
Femi stepped closer.
This time Daemon didn’t move.
“To be valuable…”
Another step.
“I had to kill.”
Femi stood directly in front of him now. Daemon looked down at her.
“And I was good at it.”
The Devil whispered,
We survived it.
Daemon’s jaw tightened. There it was. The thing underneath everything. The Silent Order. The executioner. The Devil. All of it had started long before that room. It had started with a frightened child learning that footsteps could mean pain. The Devil had not taught Daemon violence first.
It had taught him survival.
Hide.
Quiet.
Listen.
Run.
Wait.
Move.
Then the world had kept changing the meaning of survival until those instructions became—
Break him.
Kill him.
Move before he moves.
Do not hesitate.
The child had grown. So had the voice. Femi’s hand moved.
Caemon was wrong.
Daemon stared.
Her signs came slowly.
Deliberately.
You mattered before.
Daemon stopped breathing. The Devil went silent. Femi continued.
Before the three men.
Her hands trembled.
Before you saved him.
Another sign.
Before you killed anyone.
Daemon looked away. Couldn’t help it. His throat had closed. Femi touched his wrist. Very gently. Daemon looked back.
You mattered when you were ten.
His chest tightened.
You mattered when you were little.
Another.
You mattered when your brother left.
Another.
You mattered in the back room.
Daemon’s jaw trembled once. He hated that. Femi saw. She didn’t pretend she hadn’t. Her hands moved.
They treated you like you were the problem.
Daemon froze. Femi’s tears ran freely now.
But you weren’t.
The Devil made a sound deep inside him. Not a growl. Something wounded. Daemon stared at her. Femi pointed toward herself.
Neither was I.
There. Something opened between them. Not healing. Healing was too clean a word. Recognition.
Daemon slowly nodded.
“No.”
His voice was rough.
“You weren’t.”
Femi stared.
“Not once.”
Daemon took a breath.
“And neither was I.”
It sounded strange coming out. Almost foreign.
The Devil whispered,
Neither were we.
Daemon froze.
We?
The Devil didn’t answer. It didn’t need to. The frightened child. The angry voice. The man standing here now. None of them had been the problem. Femi’s mouth trembled into the smallest smile. Daemon looked at the space between them.
The Devil whispered—
She is too far.
She wasn’t. Not anymore. Still, Daemon lifted his arms slightly. Stopped.
“May I?”
Femi nodded. Immediately. Daemon drew her against him. Hard. Possessive. Femi’s arms went around his waist. Daemon rested his cheek against the top of her head. The strawberry scent reached him.
The Devil exhaled.
Home.
Daemon closed his eyes. For a while neither of them moved. Two people who had spent too many years believing pain was proof of their own defect. Standing in a machine shop. Holding each other. No fixing. No promises. No pretending the past hadn’t happened. Just— understanding. Femi’s fingers moved against his chest. Daemon looked down.
Her signs were awkward from where she stood. He still understood.
You aren’t nothing.
Daemon’s breath caught. The Devil went utterly still.
Femi signed again.
Never were.
Daemon swallowed. His arms tightened around her. Just slightly.
“No.”
He lowered his face into her hair.
“Neither were you, little ghost.”
Femi remained against him. Then one hand slipped from around his waist.
Her fingers moved.
And neither was he.
Daemon frowned.
“Who?”
Femi glanced toward his temple. The Devil vanished. Daemon stopped breathing. Femi signed carefully.
The Devil.
Silence. Daemon stared at her. The Devil said nothing.
Femi continued.
He was trying to keep you alive.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
“He did.”
Then he mattered too.
The Devil recoiled. Not in anger. It had no defense for that. Femi rested her cheek against Daemon’s chest again. Her fingers moved once more.
Thank you.
Daemon’s brow furrowed.
“For what?”
She pointed gently toward his temple.
Daemon almost told her the Devil couldn’t see her signs. Except somehow— it always seemed to understand.
Femi signed again.
For keeping him alive.
The Devil broke. There was no other word for it. It retreated so deeply Daemon almost couldn’t feel it. Then—
Little ghost.
The whisper trembled.
Daemon closed his eyes. Femi waited. Daemon’s arms tightened around her.
“He says…”
His voice failed. He cleared his throat. Femi looked up. Daemon tried again.
“He calls you little ghost.”
Her face softened.
The Devil whispered,
Tell her.
What?
Tell her.
Daemon waited.
The Devil had demanded blood with more hesitation than this.
Tell her I would do it again.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
“He says he’d do it again.”
Femi’s eyes filled.
What?
Daemon looked at her.
“All of it.”
The Devil whispered,
Every year.
Daemon swallowed.
“Every year.”
Every wound.
“Every wound.”
The Devil became quiet.
Then—
Every monster they made us become.
Daemon’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t repeat that one. Femi touched his scar.
The Devil softened instantly.
If it brought us here.
Daemon closed his eyes. That one he could say.
“If it brought me here.”
Femi stared at him. Daemon covered her hand against his cheek.
The Devil corrected him softly.
Us.
Daemon opened his eyes.
“If it brought us here.”
Understanding moved slowly across Femi’s face. Then she rose onto her toes. And kissed his scar. The Devil went silent. Completely. Daemon felt Femi settle back against him. Her arms returned around his waist. For once— the Devil had nothing angry to say. Nothing possessive. Nothing violent. It simply stayed.
The same voice that had whispered to a terrified little boy on a cold floor.
Stay down.
The same voice that had warned him through years of bruises.
Hide.
The same voice that had kept him beneath cover while gunfire killed his parents.
Don’t move.
The same voice that had guided his hands when violence finally came for him.
Left.
Move.
Survive.
The same voice that had followed him into the Silent Order.
Into blood. Into Wolfwater. Into Helix. Into every terrible place Daemon had survived.
And now—with Femi held safely against his chest—the Devil whispered the gentlest command it had ever given him.
Stay.
Daemon closed his eyes.
Yeah.
This time—he would.
Malone sent Femi home with Daemon that evening. He didn’t ask. He pointed at Daemon. Then at Femi.
“Go.”
Daemon raised an eyebrow. Malone gave him a look.
“Both of you.”
Femi’s mouth twitched. Daemon looked toward her.
“You hear how he talks to me?”
Femi nodded solemnly.
Terrible.
The Devil agreed.
Disrespectful.
Daemon almost smiled. You don’t even like Malone.
We tolerate Malone.
Because he feeds you?
The Devil considered that.
And he protects her.
That was apparently enough to earn Malone the highest honor the Devil bestowed upon most people: Continued existence. Malone pointed toward the door.
“Out.”
Daemon muttered something about ungrateful old bastards and took Femi home.
By ten, the house had gone quiet. Femi had showered. Daemon had checked the doors twice.
The Devil demanded a third inspection.
Again.
“No.”
The back door.
Again.
“Fuck off.”
Little ghost sleeps here.
Daemon checked the back door again. Femi stood at the end of the hallway watching him do it. Her eyebrow rose. Daemon pointed at her.
“Not a word.”
Her mouth twitched.
The Devil was unrepentant.
Safe.
Now Femi lay sideways across Daemon’s bed. Completely comfortable. As though his bedroom had quietly become another place she was allowed to occupy. Daemon had learned not to mention that. Every time he noticed one of her books on his bedside table or one of her hair ties around the lamp, something inside him became embarrassingly pleased.
The Devil was worse.
Ours.
Daemon had corrected it so many times the argument had become routine.
Hers.
Here.
Yes.
With us.
For now.
The Devil disliked that answer.
Here.
Daemon let it have that one. Tonight Femi was lying on her stomach across the black sheets, bare feet moving lazily behind her while she looked through one of his old books.
Daemon sat near the window. He hadn’t been reading. He had been watching her.
Again.
The Devil had been watching too. Not the way it watched doors. Not the way it watched strangers. Not even the way it watched Femi when danger was near. This was something quieter. Her feet moved. One crossed over the other. Her hair spilled across his pillow. One of her hands turned a page.
Happy.
Daemon glanced toward the window.
Maybe.
She is.
You don’t know that.
The Devil settled deeper.
We know her.
That should not have pleased him as much as it did. Femi glanced over. Caught him. Daemon didn’t bother pretending otherwise.
“What?”
Her eyes narrowed.
Nothing.
“Liar.”
Femi smiled.
The Devil stirred with immediate satisfaction.
Again.
Daemon ignored it. Femi looked back at the book. A few minutes passed. Quiet. Easy.
The sort of quiet Daemon had never known existed before her. The Devil had once considered quiet suspicious. Quiet meant someone was approaching carefully. Quiet meant a gun being drawn behind a door. Quiet meant waiting. Hunting. Death.
Femi had changed the definition. Now quiet could mean bare feet moving above black sheets. Pages turning. A woman breathing in his bed. Nothing happening. Nothing needing to happen.
The Devil had discovered it liked that kind. Perhaps too much. Then Femi closed the book. She looked thoughtful. Daemon recognized that look.
So did the Devil.
Question.
“What?”
Her hands moved.
Everyone tells me about the Silent Order.
Daemon’s body stilled. The Devil did too. There it was. He leaned back in the chair.
“What about them?”
Femi considered her words.
Did you kill for them too?
Daemon stared at her. The Devil lifted its head. Not angry. Attentive. Memories shifted somewhere neither of them liked visiting. Concrete rooms. Blood beneath fluorescent lights. Orders. Names. Photographs. People reduced to assignments. The Devil remembered all of them. It remembered being useful. Daemon could lie.
He didn’t.
“Yes, little ghost.”
Femi watched him.
“Yes, I did.”
He stood. Crossed the room. Then sat beside her on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped beneath his weight.
“Does that scare you?”
The Devil waited. That surprised him. Usually it supplied answers before anyone finished asking questions. Not now. It wanted hers. Femi studied his face.
Then shook her head.
No.
The Devil relaxed.
Barely.
Daemon’s eyebrows rose.
“No?”
Her hands moved.
I knew you were dangerous when I first met you.
Daemon stared. Then laughed quietly.
“That obvious?”
Very.
“Damn.”
Femi smiled.
Daemon shook his head.
“Yet you came closer.”
Femi shifted. Then, without asking, turned and placed her head across his lap. The Devil practically melted.
There.
Daemon looked down at her. Midnight hair spilled over his thighs and across the black sheets. His fingers entered it automatically.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Femi’s eyes softened.
Ours.
Hers.
Safe.
Daemon didn’t argue with that one.
Her hands moved above her chest where he could see them.
You always protected him.
Daemon frowned.
“Him?”
Femi corrected herself.
Malone.
“Ah.”
She continued.
You are nice to me.
Daemon’s fingers stopped for half a second.
Nice.
The Devil seemed equally offended.
No.
Daemon looked down at her suspiciously.
“Don’t spread that around.”
Femi smiled.
Her shoulders moved with silent laughter.
“I got a reputation.”
She nodded gravely.
Very frightening.
“Exactly.”
We are frightening.
Yes.
She is mocking us.
Yes.
A pause.
Again.
Daemon bit the inside of his cheek. Femi reached up and touched his scar lightly with one fingertip. Daemon became still. The Devil purred. Every damn time. It loved that. Not merely because she touched him. Because she touched the scar. The thing other people noticed and carefully pretended not to. Femi sought it. Her fingertip moved over it without fear.
Without pity.
Again.
Her hand lowered.
The Devil objected immediately.
No.
Daemon almost laughed.
Behave.
Again.
Daemon resumed combing his fingers through her hair instead. For a while neither spoke. Then he found himself thinking about what she had told him in the machine shop. Foster homes. Wolfwater. Lily. Marco. Julian. All those years before Malone found her. So many pieces. Still enormous empty spaces.
The Devil had begun collecting those pieces too. Not from curiosity. It wanted a ledger. Names. Faces. Places. Every person who had touched her life badly enough to remain inside her. Daemon knew exactly what it intended to do with that ledger.
Nothing.
Eventually.
Nothing.
We can discuss it later.
There will be no discussion.
Fine.
That agreement came much too easily.
Daemon looked down.
“Tell me about your childhood, little ghost.”
Femi’s expression changed.
The Devil noticed immediately.
Careful.
“Before all that.”
His fingers continued moving gently through her hair.
“Were you a happy child?”
Femi stared toward the ceiling. For several seconds, she didn’t answer. Daemon almost told her she didn’t have to.
The Devil beat him to it.
Do not make her.
I won’t.
Then her hands moved.
I remember my parents were good to me.
Daemon said nothing.
I remember laughter.
A pause.
Playing with my mother.
Something softened in her face. A memory. Old. Fragile. Daemon watched it appear. The Devil watched too. Neither disturbed it.
Then it disappeared.
Now all I remember is that they died.
Her movements slowed.
Mostly.
Daemon’s hand stopped.
Femi looked up at him.
The Devil whispered—
Keep touching her.
Daemon resumed stroking her hair.
“What do you mean, mostly?”
She swallowed.
Her fingers moved.
Sometimes I remember pieces.
Mom’s perfume.
A pause.
My father carrying me.
Another.
Someone singing.
Her eyebrows drew together.
I don’t know who.
“Could’ve been your mother.”
Maybe.
Another sign.
Rain on windows.
Daemon listened.
Femi stared somewhere beyond him.
Then her hands moved again.
But after they died—
The softness vanished. The Devil felt it happen. It came awake.
It’s hospitals.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
And mental institutions.
His fingers stopped again. The Devil went silent. Not absent. Watching. Femi noticed.
This time he didn’t pretend otherwise.
“Mental institutions?”
She nodded.
“How old?”
Femi thought.
Six when they died.
Daemon knew that much.
She continued.
Seven for most of the hospitals.
A pause.
Eight when they started sending me away.
The Devil stirred. Something old moved with it. Not bloodlust. Recognition.
Daemon’s voice became careful.
“Sending you away where?”
Femi looked directly at him.
Two mental institutions.
Daemon went very still.
“Why?”
Her hands moved.
Because I couldn’t speak.
Daemon stared.
The Devil did not understand.
Neither did he.
“That was why?”
Femi nodded.
They said something was wrong with me.
Something cold entered his chest.
The Devil stopped purring.
Wrong?
Femi continued calmly. Too calmly. Daemon already understood that about her. The worst things were often the things she told without emotion. Not because they hadn’t hurt. Because she’d survived them by putting the hurt somewhere she didn’t have to look at it.
The Devil understood that too. Perhaps better than Daemon wanted it to. There were rooms inside him that existed for the same reason. Daemon’s fingers resumed their slow path through her hair.
“What did they think was wrong?”
Femi shrugged.
Different doctors said different things.
Her hands moved.
Some thought I was refusing to speak.
Daemon’s mouth tightened.
Some thought I couldn’t remember how.
Another.
Some thought I was mentally ill.
Her eyes lowered.
Some said I was being difficult.
Daemon’s expression changed.
The Devil’s changed with it.
Difficult.
“Difficult.”
Femi nodded.
Because I wouldn’t answer questions.
“You couldn’t fucking answer them.”
She looked at him. Daemon’s anger had slipped into his voice.
The Devil did not regret it.
Idiots.
Daemon immediately softened his tone.
“Sorry.”
Femi shook her head.
It’s okay.
“No. Keep going.”
She stared at her hands.
I didn’t know sign language.
Daemon froze. The Devil did too. That piece landed differently. Of course. He knew she’d learned very little even by the time she’d reached Wolfwater. But eight—Nothing. No voice. No signs. No way to tell anyone what she needed.
The Devil became restless.
How did she tell them no?
Daemon’s chest tightened.
She couldn’t.
How did she tell them stop?
She couldn’t.
The Devil went very still.
Femi continued.
I could hear them.
Her eyes met his.
I understood everyone.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
But they thought because I didn’t speak, I didn’t understand.
“Jesus Christ.”
The Devil moved beneath his skin.
They knew nothing.
Daemon agreed. Worse. They had never bothered to learn.
Femi’s fingers moved.
They talked about me while I was there.
“Like you weren’t in the room.”
She nodded.
Bad child.
The Devil’s attention sharpened.
Another sign.
Damaged.
Something in Daemon recoiled.Something in the Devil did not. It recognized that word. Damaged. Broken. Unstable. Unusable. Failure. Words people used when another human being failed to behave according to design.
Another.
Disturbed.
Daemon’s jaw clenched.
Dangerous sometimes.
“You?”
A faint shrug.
Daemon almost laughed, but there was nothing funny in him.
“Eight-year-old you.”
Femi nodded.
Daemon stared down at the woman resting in his lap.
Five feet three.
Quiet.
The same woman who apologized when somebody else stepped on her foot.
“Dangerous.”
Femi’s mouth twitched.
Apparently.
Daemon shook his head.
“Fucking idiots.”
The Devil didn’t answer. It was thinking. That bothered Daemon more. She looked amused for only a second.
Then her hands moved again.
They gave me pills.
His amusement vanished.
“A lot?”
Femi nodded.
They made me sick.
“How?”
Her movements slowed as she remembered.
Tired.
Another.
Couldn’t stand sometimes.
Another.
My stomach hurt.
She touched her head.
Everything felt far away.
The Devil recoiled. Not from Femi. From the words.
No.
Daemon’s hand tightened slightly in her hair. He forced it loose.
“What else?”
Femi hesitated.
That hesitation frightened him more than the answer.
“Little ghost.”
Her eyes lifted.
“You don’t gotta tell me.”
The Devil agreed immediately.
Enough.
Femi studied him. Then signed—
I want to.
Daemon nodded.
“Okay.”
The Devil did not like it. But it understood something Daemon had been forced to learn: Femi choosing to tell was different from someone forcing her to. So it waited. A long pause. Then—
Shock treatments.
Daemon stopped breathing. The Devil rose. Not slowly. Not gradually. It came awake with such violent fury that Daemon’s entire body went rigid.
WHAT?
Daemon stared down at her.
“What?”
Femi’s expression remained strangely calm.
Shock treatments.
“I understood you.”
His voice sounded wrong. Deep. Flat. Dangerous. The Devil was no longer beside his thoughts. It filled them. White rooms. Straps. Hands holding bodies still. Machines.
Men explaining pain as necessity. Men calling suffering treatment. Men deciding what another person should become. The Devil knew those rooms. Different walls. Same language.
They experimented on her.
No.
They hurt her to change her.
Daemon swallowed.
“How old?”
Eight.
The Devil roared.
Eight.
Not eighteen. Not a grown man who had already learned violence and walked knowingly into rooms full of monsters. Eight. A child. A little girl. Their little ghost before she had ever belonged anywhere near them. Daemon closed his eyes. Eight years old. A child whose parents had been murdered. A child stabbed nearly to death. A child who had stopped speaking after watching her world disappear.
And somebody had decided the solution was—
Make it stop.
It’s over.
MAKE IT STOP.
It’s already over.
But the Devil did not live entirely in time. Some things, once imagined, were happening forever.
Daemon opened his eyes.
“Why?”
Femi shrugged.
They wanted me to talk.
Something inside him nearly snapped.
“They thought hurting you would make you talk?”
Femi looked confused by his phrasing.
Then signed—
They said it would make me better.
The Devil vanished into absolute silence. Daemon knew that silence.
It was worse than screaming.
Better.
The Order had used that word. Improvement. Refinement. Control. Better. Make the weapon better.Make Daemon better. Make the Devil useful. Strip away hesitation. Strip away conscience. Strip away whatever resisted.
He looked at Femi. Eight years old.
Unable to tell anyone no.
They tried to fix her.
Daemon looked away. His hand left her hair. Not because he wanted distance. Because suddenly he didn’t trust it not to shake. He stared at the opposite wall.
The Devil paced through him.
Names.
Daemon swallowed.
Give us names.
“No.”
Femi looked up. Daemon realized he’d spoken aloud again.
He pressed his hand over his face.
“Sorry.”
She studied him.
The Devil hissed.
THEY HURT HER.
“I know.”
They strapped her down.
“I know.”
They put electricity through her because she would not give them words.
“I know.”
Names.
“No.”
Femi slowly sat up. Daemon immediately looked at her.
The Devil reacted with him.
No.
“No.”
She stopped.
“Stay.”
The word came out rougher than he intended.
The Devil softened it.
Stay, little ghost.
Femi’s expression softened. Daemon held his hand out. She took it. The instant her fingers settled into his, the Devil quieted. Not completely. Enough. Daemon brought her hand to his mouth. Pressed his lips against her fingers. Then kept holding it. The Devil curled around that contact like a starving thing given warmth.
Here.
Daemon closed his eyes briefly. Yes. Here. Now. Safe.
“Seven times?”
Femi frowned.
“What you said.”
His voice lowered.
“Stabbed seven times.”
She nodded.
“And shot once.”
Another nod. The Devil became deathly quiet. Daemon had known she had been badly injured. He had seen the scars. He had touched some of them. But numbers made it different.
Seven.
One.
A six-year-old body.
The Devil counted them.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Then the bullet.
Too small.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
“How the fuck did you survive?”
Femi shrugged.
Daemon stared.
“No. Seriously.”
She thought about it.
Doctors.
A pause.
Luck.
Daemon’s mouth twisted.
“Stubbornness.”
Femi’s eyes narrowed.
Daemon nodded decisively.
“Definitely stubbornness.”
The Devil approved.
Stubborn little ghost.
She smiled faintly. He needed that smile. The Devil needed it too. Just for a second. Then her hands moved.
I had to learn to walk again.
Daemon went still.
Femi looked down at her legs.
They didn’t work right for a long time.
“How long?”
I don’t know.
Her brow furrowed.
Months. Maybe longer.
Her fingers continued.
I remember bars.
Daemon frowned.
“Parallel bars?”
She nodded.
Holding them.
Trying to move one foot.
Daemon pictured it. Tiny Femi. Hospital clothes. Hands wrapped around cold metal.
Dragging one foot forward.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The Devil watched the imagined child with him. For once it did not demand names. It did not demand blood. It simply watched.
One foot.
Again.
One foot.
Again.
No mother cheering. No father waiting. Just strangers telling her to walk.
Something inside Daemon ached.
Come on, little ghost.
Daemon swallowed.
The child in his imagination moved another foot.
Again.
Another.
Again.
Femi signed—
Everyone became happy when I walked.
Daemon looked at her.
But no one cared that I still didn’t talk.
His throat tightened.
The Devil whispered—
We would have cared.
“So they decided you were broken.”
She nodded.
“And kept trying to fix something that wasn’t broken.”
Femi’s eyes filled. The Devil went perfectly still. Daemon understood immediately. That was it. The sentence beneath everything. Hospitals. Institutions. Foster homes. People treating Femi as a problem requiring correction. Everyone trying to force something from her. Words. Reactions. Normality. Compliance.
The Devil knew those words without ever needing to hear them spoken. They had tried to do the same to Daemon. Not because he was silent. Because he wasn’t obedient enough. Because something inside him remained his.
The Devil had been called a defect until someone realized the defect could kill. Then it became an asset. Femi had been called damaged because no one understood her silence. Different cages. Same arrogance. Someone else deciding what a human being ought to be.
The Devil understood now.
They wanted obedience.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
Yeah.
She would not give it.
No.
Something almost like pride moved through the Devil.
Good.
Nobody had stopped long enough to simply meet the child where she was.
Daemon lifted her hand.
“You know what I would’ve done?”
Femi looked at him cautiously.
His mouth curved.
“Probably gotten arrested.”
Her shoulders moved.
The Devil supplied—
Killed someone.
Daemon ignored it.
“I would’ve gotten you a notebook.”
Femi blinked.
“Paper.”
Another.
“Pictures.”
Another.
“Pointing at shit.”
His crooked grin appeared.
“Smoke signals if necessary.”
Femi’s smile grew.
The Devil basked in it.
Again.
“But I wouldn’t have hurt you because you couldn’t talk.”
The smile faded.
Daemon’s thumb stroked her hand.
“Wouldn’t have made you prove you understood me either.”
Femi stared.
“I would’ve figured out how to understand you.”
Her eyes filled.
The Devil calmed. Not slightly this time.
Completely.
We understand her.
Daemon swallowed.
“Eventually.”
We understood her before you did.
Daemon frowned.
That’s debatable.
She wanted strawberries.
You guessed.
Correctly.
Once.
She wanted you to kiss her.
Shut up.
The Devil was smug. Femi leaned closer. Her forehead rested against his shoulder. Daemon wrapped an arm around her. Slowly. The Devil curled around her with him. Not physically. Something stranger.
An instinctive closing of every imagined door.
No doctors.
No institutions.
No Otis.
No Carr.
No Lily.
No Order.
No one.
Safe.
Daemon rested his cheek briefly against her hair.
“Is that why you don’t like doctors?”
Femi thought. Then shook her head.
Not all doctors.
Of course. Daemon almost smiled. Even after everything, she still refused to turn an entire group of people into monsters because some had harmed her.
“Better person than me.”
The Devil disagreed.
Better than everyone.
Daemon wasn’t entirely prepared to argue. Femi looked up. Her expression said obviously.
Daemon snorted.
“Rude.”
She settled against him again. A few moments passed. Then Femi’s hands moved between them.
Did the Silent Order hurt you too?
Daemon became still. The Devil lifted its head. Of course she’d bring it back to him. That was Femi. He had asked about her suffering. So now she wanted his. Daemon looked toward the bedroom window.
Darkness had settled beyond the gauzy curtains.
“Yes.”
Femi waited.
Daemon exhaled.
“A lot.”
Her fingers curled against his shirt.
The Devil watched them.
“Difference was…”
He searched for the words.
“I was older.”
Femi shook her head immediately.
Doesn’t make it better.
The Devil stilled.
Daemon looked down.
“No.”
A pause.
“It doesn’t.”
Femi waited.
Daemon’s hand returned to her hair.
“They taught me what I already knew how to do.”
Kill.
He didn’t have to say it. Femi understood. The Devil remembered. Targets. Rooms. Blood. Men congratulating themselves because the weapon worked.
“They just made me better at it.”
No.
Daemon’s fingers paused.
Her eyes stayed on him.
“More efficient.”
No.
His voice flattened.
“Less human about it.”
Femi touched his chest. Daemon looked down at her fingers resting over his heart.
The Devil recoiled from his words before her hands even moved.
Not less human.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
“You didn’t see me then.”
I see you now.
The Devil went utterly silent. Not the silence before violence. Not the silence of hunting. Something Daemon had never felt from it before. Shock. Femi saw him. Not the executioner. Not the weapon. Not the experiment. Not the thing the Order had tried to manufacture. Him. And because the Devil existed somewhere inside that him— she had seen it too.
She sees us.
Daemon stared at her. Femi settled her head against his lap again as though she’d said nothing extraordinary. The Devil remained stunned.
Daemon looked down.
“Little ghost?”
She glanced up.
“That shit you do.”
Her brow furrowed.
“What?”
“You say something that knocks the air outta me, then act like you didn’t.”
Femi smiled.
The Devil finally found its voice.
Keep her.
Daemon’s fingers stilled.
She isn’t something to keep.
A pause. Then—
Then make her want to stay.
That shut him up. Femi watched his expression change without knowing why. Daemon shook his head.
“Dangerous woman.”
She closed her eyes. Daemon resumed running his fingers through her hair. Slow. Repetitive. Gentle. Minutes passed. Femi’s breathing became deeper. Sleep approaching.
The Devil listened to every breath. Daemon thought the conversation was over. Then one hand rose lazily. Her eyes remained closed.
Her fingers moved.
I remember one more thing.
Daemon looked down.
“What?”
My mother called me her miracle.
His hand stopped. The Devil stirred.
Femi opened her eyes.
After I was born.
A tiny smile.
She said I was her miracle.
Daemon stared at her.
The Devil whispered—
Of course.
No hesitation. No blood. No possessiveness.
Just certainty.
Of course she did.
Daemon’s fingers returned to her hair.
“Well.”
Femi waited. His crooked smile appeared.
“Your mother was clearly the smartest person in the family.”
Femi gave him an offended look. Daemon chuckled.
Then lowered his voice.
“She was right.”
Femi’s expression softened. Daemon brushed her hair away from her face.
“You survived seven stab wounds.”
The Devil counted with him.
Another stroke.
“A gunshot.”
Another.
“Learned to walk again.”
Again.
“Survived those institutions.”
His eyes darkened.
“Foster homes.”
Another.
“Wolfwater.”
Another.
“And somehow…”
His thumb brushed her temple.
“You still share food.”
Femi stared.
“Still worry about everybody.”
His voice became rougher.
“Still crawl into bed with a bastard like me and ask whether killing people scared me.”
Femi smiled.
Daemon shook his head.
“No, little ghost.”
He bent slightly closer.
“Your mama knew exactly what she had.”
Femi’s eyes filled. Daemon kissed her forehead. Then leaned back. Femi curled closer. Her head returned to his lap. Within minutes, she was asleep. Daemon remained sitting against the headboard. One hand buried in her midnight hair. Watching her breathe.
The Devil remained awake.
But for once—
it wasn’t asking for Carr.
It wasn’t asking for Lily.
It wasn’t demanding blood.
It was looking backward.
At a six-year-old child. Seven stab wounds. One bullet. Hospital beds. Parallel bars. Pills. Locked institutions. People trying to shock words out of a child who had already survived too much. And farther back than that— a mother holding a newborn daughter.
Calling her a miracle.
The Devil understood violence. It understood survival. It understood possession, protection, hunger, blood.
Miracles were outside its experience.
Until Femi.
The Devil curled protectively around the woman sleeping across Daemon’s lap.
Its voice was almost tender.
They should have protected her.
Daemon looked down.
“Yeah.”
His fingers moved through her hair.
“They should have.”
The Devil watched her breathe.
In.
Out.
Safe in his bed. Safe beneath his hand. Safe enough to sleep.
For years, people had looked at Femi and decided what she needed to become.
Talk.
Behave.
Answer.
Obey.
Be normal.
Be easier.
Be useful.
The Devil looked at her and wanted nothing changed.
Not her silence. Not her scars. Not the strange little movements of her hands. Not her stubbornness. Not the way she brought food to people she was angry with. Not the way she returned to make certain Daemon obeyed.
Nothing.
Little ghost.
Daemon’s thumb brushed softly over her temple.
“Yeah.”
A long silence.
Then the Devil whispered something so quietly Daemon almost believed he’d imagined it.
Perfect.
Daemon looked down at her. He didn’t correct it. For once, there was nothing to correct.
The Devil fell quiet. Daemon did not.
Not for a very long time.
Breakfast ended slowly. Femi had made too much food. Daemon had eaten too much of it. Neither apologized. By the time the dishes were washed and the kitchen returned to order, sunlight had filled the front room.
Daemon stretched across one end of the sofa. Femi occupied the other. For approximately three minutes. Then she abandoned her side. Daemon watched her climb across the cushions toward him. The devil perked up immediately.
Yes.
Daemon ignored it.
Mostly.
Femi put one knee beside his thigh. Then the other. Daemon raised an eyebrow.
“Moving in?”
She gave him a look.
I already did.
Daemon stared. Femi smiled. The devil purred so loudly through his blood Daemon nearly laughed.
“Fair.”
She settled sideways across his lap as though that had always been where she intended to sit. Daemon’s arm went around her waist automatically. Then stopped. He looked at her. Femi nodded. His hand settled against her hip.
The devil sighed.
Better.
Daemon looked toward the window. Morning sunlight moved through the gauzy curtains. Femi leaned back against his chest. For a few minutes they did nothing.
No talking.
No signing.
Just quiet.
Daemon had discovered he liked doing nothing with Femi. That was new. His entire life had been motion.
Work.
Violence.
Watching doors.
Watching people.
Calculating exits.
Waiting for somebody to become dangerous. With Femi—sometimes he simply sat. The devil had learned to tolerate it. Mostly because Femi usually ended up touching them. Then she shifted. Daemon looked down. Her expression had changed. Thoughtful.
“What?”
Femi hesitated.
Her hands rose.
Do you really enjoy killing people?
Daemon went completely still. The devil woke. Not violently. Instantly.
Truth.
Daemon looked at her. Femi wasn’t frightened. Wasn’t accusing him. She was curious. That somehow made the question harder. Daemon looked past her shoulder. Toward the wall.
The devil hissed again.
Truth.
“Yes, my little ghost.”
His voice was low.
“Yes, I do.”
Femi remained still. Daemon’s jaw tightened.
“More than I should.”
He kept looking at the wall. Not her.
“It satisfies something in me.”
Silence. The words felt ugly once they existed outside his head. Daemon had killed for survival. Killed for Caemon. Killed for the Silent Order. Killed for money. Killed because someone threatened people he loved. Killed because he was angry. Killed because sometimes—sometimes— he simply wanted the man in front of him dead. That was the part nobody wanted to discuss. The part Daemon didn’t particularly enjoy discussing either. Femi touched his chin. Daemon stopped. Her fingers gently turned his face back toward her. Gray met green. Femi watched him. No fear. Daemon swallowed.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
Her brow furrowed.
“Like you’re trying to understand.”
Her fingers moved.
I am.
Daemon gave a quiet, humorless laugh.
“Might not like what you find.”
Femi considered that.
Then signed—
Maybe.
Daemon stared.
She shrugged.
Maybe I will.
That surprised a laugh out of him.
Small.
Real.
“You’re fucking strange.”
Femi smiled.
So are you.
“Fair.”
Her smile faded.
She touched his chin again.
Why?
Daemon knew exactly what she meant.
Why did he enjoy it?
He leaned back against the sofa. Femi remained on his lap. His hand stayed at her waist.
“I don’t know.”
She waited. Daemon sighed.
“That ain’t entirely true.”
The devil stirred.
Tell her.
His gaze shifted toward the window.
“When I was sixteen and killed those three men…”
Femi’s expression changed.
Daemon continued.
“I told you that was the first time Caemon looked at me like I mattered.”
She nodded.
“It was also the first time…”
He stopped. The words were difficult. Not because he didn’t know them. Because he did. Too well.
“The first time I felt powerful.”
Femi watched him.
“I’d spent my whole fucking life being smaller than somebody.”
His father. Caemon. Men with guns. Men with money. Men who could decide whether Daemon ate, slept, stayed or disappeared.
“I was always the kid somebody could hit.”
His jaw hardened.
“The kid somebody could leave.”
Another breath.
“The kid who took up space.”
Femi’s hand moved against his chest. Daemon looked down at it.
“When I killed those men…”
His eyes went distant.
“Nobody could hurt me.”
Silence.
“Nobody could hurt Caemon.”
Another.
“And nobody could make me small.”
The devil whispered—
Never again.
Daemon’s thumb rubbed absently against Femi’s hip.
“That feeling…”
He exhaled.
“It got inside me.”
Femi listened.
“The Silent Order figured that out fast.”
Her expression darkened.
“They took something already fucked up in me and trained it.”
Femi immediately shook her head. Daemon noticed.
“What?”
Not fucked up.
“Little ghost—”
You were sixteen.
Daemon stared at her.
Her signs continued.
You protected someone.
“Then I kept killing.”
Yes.
She didn’t flinch from it.
But they taught you.
Daemon’s mouth tightened.
“I had choices.”
Femi stopped.
Good.
He needed her to understand that. Daemon leaned forward slightly.
“No excuses.”
Her eyes stayed on him.
“I ain’t giving Caemon the blame for everything.”
A pause.
“Not giving the Order everything either.”
His voice became harder.
“They used me.”
Another.
“They trained me.”
Another.
“They fucked with my head.”
Daemon looked directly into her eyes.
“But there were times I chose it.”
Femi became very still.
“I knew exactly what I was doing.”
The devil went quiet.
“I wanted to do it.”
There. The ugliest piece. Daemon refused to look away now.
“If you’re gonna love me, you should know that.”
Femi stared. His chest tightened around the word. Love. Still strange. Still terrifying.
“I’ve killed men who deserved it.”
His mouth twisted.
“Some who probably didn’t.”
Femi’s eyes changed. Daemon caught it. Pain. Not fear. He continued anyway.
“I’ve hurt people because somebody paid me.”
Another breath.
“I’ve watched somebody realize they were gonna die and felt…”
His jaw worked.
“Nothing.”
The devil whispered—
Sometimes pleasure.
Daemon closed his eyes briefly.
“Sometimes worse than nothing.”
Femi’s fingers tightened against his shirt. Daemon opened his eyes.
“Sometimes I liked their fear.”
Her breathing changed slightly. Daemon noticed. There. That was the place most people left. He loosened his arm around her waist. Not pushing her away. Giving her room.
“You can get up.”
Femi frowned.
“If you want.”
She stared at him. Daemon’s chest felt suddenly too tight.
“I ain’t gonna hold you here while I tell you shit like this.”
Femi looked down. Daemon waited.
The devil snarled.
Do not move.
Daemon mentally shoved it back.
Her choice. Always.
Femi shifted. For one horrible second, Daemon thought she was leaving. Instead— she turned fully toward him. One leg went to either side of his thighs. She settled closer. Daemon stared.
The devil practically crowed.
OURS.
Daemon corrected automatically.
Hers.
Femi placed both hands on his shoulders.
Daemon swallowed.
“You’re terrible at following directions.”
Femi ignored that. Her hands moved between them.
Do you enjoy hurting me?
Daemon recoiled.
“No.”
Immediate. Absolute. The devil snarled at the very idea.
“Never.”
Femi watched him.
“Never, Femi.”
Would you?
“No.”
If someone paid you?
Daemon’s expression turned murderous.
“No.”
If someone ordered you?
“Fuck no.”
If the Silent Order ordered you?
Daemon’s jaw clenched.
“I’d kill them first.”
Femi nodded. Daemon stared at her.
She signed—
Then there is a difference.
Daemon frowned.
“Between what?”
Killing because you enjoy it.
A pause.
And hurting everyone because you enjoy hurting.
Daemon’s expression changed.
“Femi.”
She continued.
You don’t hurt everyone.
Daemon almost laughed.
“I’ve hurt a fucking lot of people.”
I know.
“You keep saying that like it helps.”
Her mouth twitched.
It does.
Daemon stared at her. Femi touched his scar.
Her fingers moved.
You don’t lie to me.
His expression softened slightly.
You could have said no.
Daemon said nothing.
You could have told me you only kill because you have to.
Another sign.
You didn’t.
Daemon looked away. Femi caught his chin again.
No.
She made him face her. Daemon almost smiled despite himself.
“Bossy.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Truth.
The devil purred.
She learns.
Daemon looked at Femi.
“Truth?”
She nodded.
“Fine.”
His arm tightened slightly around her.
“I like killing.”
Her gaze stayed steady.
“I like the moment the fight changes.”
Femi listened.
“When the other bastard realizes he picked the wrong man.”
His eyes darkened.
“I like knowing he can’t hurt anybody anymore.”
Another breath.
“And sometimes…”
Daemon’s mouth tightened.
“I like the blood.”
Femi remained still.
“I like the violence.”
There was no pride in it. No apology either. Only fact.
“It quiets something.”
Femi glanced toward his chest.
The devil?
Daemon’s brows rose.
“You asking if the devil likes it?”
She nodded. Daemon gave a dry laugh.
“Oh, the devil fucking loves it.”
Inside him came a pleased rumble. Daemon shook his head.
“See?”
Femi smiled faintly.
“But it ain’t separate from me.”
Her smile vanished. Daemon needed that understood too.
“I call it the devil because…”
He searched.
“Because it’s easier.”
His thumb moved once along her side.
“Easier to argue with.”
Another.
“Easier to tell it no.”
Another.
“Easier than admitting every ugly thought in my head belongs to me.”
Femi stared. Daemon’s voice became quieter.
“But it does.”
The devil did not protest. Not this time.
“All of it.”
Femi lowered her eyes. Daemon watched her think. He forced himself not to fill the silence. Not to convince. Not to soften. Not to ask whether she still loved him. The old fear arrived anyway.
She will leave.
Daemon ignored it. If she did— she did. His hands would open. He would let her go. Femi looked at him again.
Her fingers moved.
Does protecting me satisfy something too?
Daemon froze.
The question hit somewhere much deeper.
“Yes.”
Her eyes softened.
“More.”
Femi waited. Daemon swallowed.
“A lot more.”
Why?
Daemon stared at her.
“Because when I kill somebody…”
He paused.
“They’re gone.”
His fingers touched the ends of her hair.
“That’s it.”
A small shrug.
“Moment’s over.”
His gaze dropped to where she sat across his lap.
“But you…”
He looked back up.
“You stay.”
Femi’s face changed. Daemon’s voice roughened.
“When I make coffee, and you’re sitting at my table…”
Another breath.
“When I fix something, and you use it.”
Another.
“When you sleep upstairs.”
His thumb brushed her waist.
“When you leave one of those damn books everywhere.”
Femi narrowed her eyes.
“They’re everywhere.”
She almost smiled. Daemon continued.
“That satisfies something killing never fucking touches.”
The devil became quiet. Daemon looked at her.
“Violence makes me powerful.”
His hand rose and touched her cheek.
“This makes me…”
He stopped. Femi waited. Daemon hated the next word. Needed it anyway.
“Peaceful.”
Femi went still. Daemon laughed awkwardly.
“Don’t tell Malone.”
A smile appeared.
“I’ll deny it.”
Femi leaned into his palm. Daemon’s heart kicked.
The devil sighed.
There.
Her hands moved.
So you like killing.
“Yes.”
You like protecting people.
“Yes.”
You love me.
Daemon’s eyes narrowed.
“That one ain’t a question.”
Femi smiled. He stared at her for another second. Then his expression softened.
“Yes.”
Her smile disappeared into something quieter. Daemon brushed his thumb beneath her eye.
“I love you.”
Femi’s fingers touched his wrist.
And you would tell me if something about you was ugly?
Daemon hesitated.
“Yes.”
Her eyebrow rose. He sighed.
“I’ll try.”
Better.
“Don’t get greedy.”
Femi gave him that little look. Daemon smiled.
Then she signed—
I don’t need you to be good.
Daemon went still.
Her hands continued.
I need you to be good to me.
The devil stopped breathing.
Daemon stared at her. Femi touched his face.
You are.
For several seconds, he couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. Then Daemon wrapped both arms around her. Pulled her against his chest. Not hard. Just close. Femi went willingly. Her arms circled his neck. Daemon buried his face in her hair. Strawberries. Home. The devil curled around the feeling with something almost reverent. Daemon’s voice was rough beside her ear.
“You ever decide I’m not…”
Femi pulled back. He stopped. Her eyes narrowed. Daemon already knew.
“Yeah, yeah.”
She waited.
“I know.”
Choice. Always. Daemon touched his forehead to hers.
“If I ever stop being good to you…”
His voice dropped.
“You walk.”
Femi stared at him.
“I mean it.”
Her hands rose between them.
And if I am not good to you?
Daemon’s mouth twitched.
“I’ll tell you.”
You walk?
Daemon looked offended.
“Probably follow you around the house complaining first.”
Femi’s shoulders shook.
“I got options.”
She laughed silently. Daemon smiled.
The devil purred.
There it was.
Not forgiveness. Not absolution. Femi hadn’t told him killing was good. Hadn’t pretended the blood didn’t matter. Hadn’t turned the Devil into something harmless so she could love him. She had simply looked directly at the ugliest truth he could give her— and asked what else was true. Daemon had spent most of his life believing a man was the worst thing he’d ever done. Femi, sitting on his lap in the morning sunlight, seemed determined to measure him by everything.
The killing.
The protection.
The violence.
The tenderness.
The Devil.
And the man who kept asking permission before he touched his little ghost. Daemon kissed her forehead. Femi settled against him again.
The devil went quiet.
Satisfied.
For reasons that had nothing to do with blood.
Femi stayed where she was. Curled across Daemon’s lap. One hand rested against his chest. The other played absently with the edge of his shirt. For several minutes, neither of them spoke. The Devil was content. That alone should have disturbed Daemon.
Usually silence gave it room to wander.
To listen.
To inventory exits.
Count weapons.
Notice footsteps outside.
Wonder whether the truck slowing on the road mattered.
Decide which window offered the cleanest shot.
But Femi was in his lap.
So the Devil was doing none of those things.
It was watching her fingers play with Daemon’s shirt.
Little ghost.
Daemon’s thumb moved lazily along her back.
Femi’s fingers stopped.
Then moved.
What pleases the Devil?
Daemon’s hand stopped against her back.
The Devil went silent.
Not gone.
Listening.
Then—
Her.
Daemon almost sighed. Femi looked up at him. Curious. Nothing more. Daemon stared at her.
There were answers.
Blood.
The Devil stirred.
Yes.
Fear.
Sometimes.
Violence.
A pleased hum.
Yes.
The moment somebody realized they had lost. The instant arrogance became fear. When a weapon slipped from someone’s hand because their fingers no longer worked. When a room full of armed men realized the quiet blond bastard in the corner had already decided how every one of them would die. The Devil liked all of those things. Too much.
It liked the smell of gunpowder. The percussion of gunfire inside a closed room. The brief silence after a magazine emptied. The hot metallic smell of blood. The clarity. Especially the clarity.
No lies in a firefight. No polite conversation. No hidden intentions. A man shooting at you wanted you dead. Simple.
The Devil adored simple.
Move.
Kill.
Survive.
But that wasn’t what Femi was asking. Not really. She wanted to know the creature inside him. The part he argued with. The part he blamed. The same voice that had taught a frightened boy when to hide from an alcoholic father. The same voice that had kept him beneath cover while his parents died. The same voice that had guided him through his first killing. Through Leto. Through the Silent Order. The Organization. Through warehouses filled with armed men and hallways slick with blood. The thing that had learned violence because violence kept Daemon breathing. The thing that had begun calling her little ghost before Daemon had understood why.
For a few moments, he said nothing. Then he bent. Pressed a slow kiss to her forehead. Femi waited. Daemon remained there for a second. His lips against her skin.
The Devil purred.
That.
Daemon leaned back.
“You do.”
Femi blinked. Daemon looked at her.
“You please the Devil.”
Her eyebrows rose. A tiny smile touched his mouth.
“From the moment we saw you.”
Before you admitted it.
Daemon ignored that. Femi frowned.
Her hands moved.
How?
Daemon watched.
I don’t do anything.
The Devil immediately objected.
Everything.
Daemon’s expression changed.
Softened.
“You do everything.”
The words came out almost as a breath. Femi stared at him. Daemon’s hand slid slowly up her back. Stopped between her shoulders.
“You don’t notice it.”
She waited.
“That’s part of it.”
Her brows furrowed.
Daemon looked down at her hand resting against his chest.
“The first time I saw you…”
He thought back. Helix. Dark corner. Noise everywhere. Men drinking. Laughing. Arguing. Then Femi. Quiet. Moving through all of it like she belonged to some different world.
“You weren’t afraid of the room.”
Femi looked confused.
“You were careful.”
Another pause.
“But you weren’t scared.”
Her fingers moved.
I was scared sometimes.
“I know.”
Daemon nodded.
“But you kept moving.”
His thumb stroked her back once.
“You’d walk past men twice your size.”
Idiots.
“Drunks.”
Loud idiots.
“Bikers.”
Armed idiots.
His mouth curved.
“Me.”
The Devil purred.
Not an idiot.
Debatable.
Fuck you.
Femi smiled.
“Everybody else knew what I was.”
Daemon’s voice lowered.
“They’d look at me and decide how far away they wanted to stand.”
Usually wise.
Femi listened.
“You looked at me…” He stopped.
The memory made something warm move through him.
“Then brought me a drink.”
Her smile grew.
Daemon shook his head.
“Like I was just some bastard sitting at a table.”
Femi’s expression softened.
You were.
The Devil laughed.
Daemon did too.
“See?”
Little ghost.
Daemon looked at her.
“You didn’t worship me.”
A pause.
“Didn’t challenge me.”
Another.
“Didn’t try to impress me.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“Didn’t want anything.”
Femi’s fingers touched his shirt.
“You just…”
Daemon searched for it.
“Accepted that I was there.”
She waited.
“And the Devil liked that.”
Still do.
Femi’s hands moved.
Why?
Daemon leaned his head back against the sofa.
“Because everybody always wanted something from me.”
His father. Caemon. Leto.
The Silent Order. The Organization
People who paid him.
People who feared him.
People who thought his violence could be purchased.
“Kill this.”
The Devil stirred.
“Protect that.”
Sometimes.
“Break him.”
A pleased hum.
“Scare them.”
Easy.
His jaw tightened.
“Be useful.”
The Devil went silent. Femi became very still. Daemon looked at her.
“You never asked.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
He brushed hair from her cheek.
“You gave.”
Femi frowned. Daemon’s mouth twitched.
“Don’t argue yet.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“I know that face.”
Her mouth twitched. Daemon continued.
“You gave me coffee.”
One finger lifted.
“Food.”
Another.
“Blankets.”
Her eyes widened.
“Yes. I know about the blanket.”
Femi immediately looked guilty. Daemon grinned.
“You thought I was asleep.”
We weren’t.
“I was.”
I wasn’t.
Daemon ignored it.
“Little thief.”
Her eyes snapped back. Daemon laughed quietly.
“Stole my whole fucking life while I wasn’t looking.”
The Devil corrected him.
Gave us one.
Daemon’s laughter disappeared. His eyes dropped to her.
The Devil repeated it.
She gave us one.
Something tightened inside his chest. Femi’s cheeks reddened, unaware. Daemon’s expression softened again.
“You sat near me.”
A pause.
“You started touching me.”
The Devil purred.
Finally.
“Little things.”
His thumb moved over her hip.
“A hand on my arm.”
Again.
“Your head on my shoulder.”
Closer.
“Then my lap.”
The Devil practically stretched inside him.
Home.
Femi glanced down at where she was currently sitting.
Daemon raised an eyebrow.
“Exactly.”
Her shoulders shook.
“You’d do it like…” He frowned. “As if there wasn’t anything strange about wanting to be close to me.”
Femi looked up.
There isn’t.
Daemon went quiet.
The Devil hummed.
There.
Daemon swallowed.
“That.”
Femi frowned.
“That right there.”
Her hands moved.
What?
“You say stuff like that.”
Daemon stared at her.
“Like it’s obvious.”
Femi’s eyes softened.
“To you, maybe it is.”
He looked down at her.
“To me…” His voice became quieter. “It ain’t.”
Femi touched his cheek. Daemon closed his eyes for half a second.
The Devil sighed.
More.
Her thumb moved over his scar.
The Devil practically melted.
Again.
Femi did it again.
Daemon opened his eyes.
“You wanna know what pleases it?”
Femi nodded.
Daemon took her hand.
Placed it flat against his chest.
“This.”
She felt his heartbeat.
“Touch.”
His fingers closed gently over hers.
“Yours.”
Femi watched him.
“Not because I told you to.”
Another beat.
“Because you wanted to.”
The Devil whispered,
Choice.
Daemon glanced down. That was new. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the Devil had simply learned the word recently. Femi had taught it. Her expression changed. Daemon continued.
“When you climb into my lap…”
The Devil purred loudly.
Yes.
Daemon almost rolled his eyes.
“Yeah. That apparently makes it very fucking happy.”
Very.
Femi smiled.
“It likes your hair.”
Love.
Daemon paused.
“All right. It loves your hair.”
Femi looked surprised. Daemon lifted one strand between his fingers.
“Obsessed with it.”
Correct.
Her eyebrows rose.
“Don’t ask me why.”
Femi immediately signed—
Why?
The Devil answered before Daemon.
Pretty.
Daemon gave her a flat look.
She smiled.
“Brat.”
Pretty brat.
Daemon almost choked. Femi stared at him. He shook his head.
“Nothing.”
The Devil was delighted. Daemon let the strand fall.
“Your smell.”
Femi paused.
“My little ghost smells like strawberries.”
Strawberries.
Her cheeks warmed.
The Devil purred again.
“See?”
Femi looked around as though she might somehow hear it.
Daemon laughed.
“You can’t.”
She signed—
I know.
“Then why’d you look?”
Maybe.
Daemon shook his head.
“You’re impossible.”
Perfect.
Daemon’s smile faded slightly. The Devil had said it without hesitation. Not beautiful. Not good. Perfect. Not because Femi had no scars. Not because she never frightened. Not because she didn’t make mistakes. Perfect because she was Femi. Daemon cleared his throat.
“It likes when you laugh.”
Femi became still.
“Especially when I caused it.”
Again.
Her smile faded into something gentler.
“It likes when you get pissed at me too.”
Her brows lifted.
Yes.
“Not too pissed.”
Daemon corrected quickly.
“Apparently there’s a limit.”
There is not.
“Yes, there fucking is.”
Femi’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s that look.”
The Devil purred.
There.
She deliberately maintained it. Daemon smiled.
“Yeah.”
He touched her nose.
“That one.”
Femi swatted his hand away.
The Devil practically rolled in pleasure.
Again.
Daemon laughed.
“Definitely that.”
Femi’s hands moved.
What else?
Daemon stared at her.
“Greedy.”
Give her everything.
She nodded.
Daemon sighed dramatically.
“Fine.”
He thought.
Then his expression became more serious.
“It likes when you eat.”
Femi blinked. The Devil quieted. Daemon nodded.
“When you sit at the table and eat enough.”
Her face changed.
“You’ve gone hungry too many fucking times.”
His jaw tightened. The Devil remembered those nights differently. Not because it had been there. Because Daemon had learned them through Femi. Every time she hoarded food. Every time she claimed she wasn’t hungry. Every time she tried to give somebody else the larger portion. Every time she ate slowly as though the meal needed to last beyond the plate.
Feed her.
“So when you’re in my kitchen…” A pause. “Eating whatever the hell you want…”
His voice roughened.
“The Devil likes that.”
Full.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
Warm.
Another.
Safe.
Femi’s eyes filled slightly. Daemon continued before she could become emotional.
“It likes your books everywhere.”
She smiled through it.
“Even though I complain.”
Her hands moved.
You complain a lot.
“That’s because they’re everywhere.”
Leave them.
Daemon frowned.
Femi noticed.
“What?”
He shook his head.
“Apparently the Devil is on your side.”
Her smile grew.
Smart Devil.
The creature inside him became insufferably pleased.
She likes me.
“Don’t encourage it.”
Femi’s shoulders shook. More signing.
Two books.
“In my bedroom.”
A pointed look. Femi shrugged. Daemon grunted.
“Two today.”
There will be more.
Daemon ignored it.
He looked at her.
“It likes knowing you’ll come back.”
That stopped her. The Devil became still. Daemon felt his chest tighten. He hadn’t meant to say that one. But it was true.
“When you leave…”
He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.
“It notices.”
Door.
Femi watched him.
“When the door opens again and it’s you…”
His shoulders loosened.
The Devil whispered—
Home.
Daemon swallowed.
“It settles.”
Her fingers moved slowly.
Because I came back?
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Because you chose to.”
The Devil whispered,
She always comes back.
Femi stared.
Daemon looked directly into her eyes.
“That matters.”
She became quiet. Daemon continued.
“The Devil has spent most of my life expecting things to leave.”
His mother. His father. Caemon. Any safety he had ever managed to touch. Every room eventually became dangerous. Every person eventually disappeared. Every quiet eventually broke.
“You come back.”
His voice became rougher.
“So it likes doors opening.”
Femi’s eyes filled.
“When you’re on the other side.”
Little ghost.
Her fingers curled into his shirt.
Daemon leaned closer.
“It likes when you say my name.”
Femi blinked. Then frowned. She couldn’t. Daemon immediately understood her confusion.
“Not with your voice.”
Her expression softened.
“When you sign it.”
His thumb brushed her cheek.
“When you point at me.”
Another.
“When you look for me.”
His eyes darkened with something gentler than violence.
“When I walk into Helix and your eyes find me.”
The Devil purred.
There you are.
Daemon smiled faintly.
“That makes it damn near unbearable.”
Femi’s cheeks turned pink.
Her hands moved.
Why?
“Because you look happy.”
Femi froze.
Daemon’s voice dropped.
“To see me.”
Something in her face broke open.
Daemon continued.
“That ain’t happened much in my life.”
Her hand touched his jaw.
“I’ve had people happy because I brought money.”
A pause.
“Because I solved a problem.”
Another.
“Because I scared somebody.”
The Devil hummed.
“Because I killed somebody.”
The Devil became more attentive. Daemon leaned into her touch.
“You’re happy because I’m there.”
Femi nodded. Simple. Immediate. Yes. Daemon’s eyes closed. The Devil softened into something almost unbearably quiet.
She wants us.
Daemon opened his eyes.
“That’s what pleases it most.”
Femi frowned.
“What?”
He looked at her.
“You want me around.”
Her lips parted. Daemon’s expression turned almost embarrassed.
“Not the shit I can do.”
A pause.
“Not what I can give you.”
Another.
“Me.”
Femi’s eyes filled completely. Daemon’s voice dropped.
“That fucks it up.”
The Devil muttered,
Fucking Accurate.
Her shoulders moved with silent laughter through tears. He gave her a crooked smile.
“Fucks me up too.”
Femi leaned forward. Rested her forehead against his. Daemon closed his eyes. The Devil purred.
Femi’s hands moved between them.
Anything else?
Daemon opened one eye.
“Jesus Christ.”
The Devil laughed.
She wants to know us.
Daemon’s amusement faded. That was exactly what she was doing. Not tolerating the Devil. Not asking how to make it disappear. Not asking whether Daemon could control it. She wanted to know it. The Devil understood too.
It became strangely quiet.
Femi smiled.
“You want the complete list?”
Femi nodded.
The Devil answered instantly.
Yes.
Daemon laughed.
“Fine.”
His arms tightened around her.
“It likes when you fall asleep on me.”
Safe enough to sleep.
Another.
“When you steal my shirts.”
She smells like us.
Daemon paused.
That was possessive as hell.
He continued.
“When you bring me coffee before I ask.”
She remembers.
Another.
“When you tell me to be careful.”
Someone wants us alive.
Another.
“When you touch my scar like it ain’t ugly.”
She kisses it.
Femi immediately frowned.
It isn’t ugly.
Daemon smiled.
“Exactly.”
Again.
He kissed her forehead.
“It likes when you worry.”
Her hands moved.
You don’t like when I worry.
“I don’t.”
A pause.
“The Devil does.”
Very much.
Femi signed—
Why?
“Because apparently being worried about me means somebody gives a shit whether I come home.”
The Devil whispered,
She waits for us.
Femi looked sad.
Daemon shook his head.
“No sadness.”
Her brow rose.
“I’m making rules now.”
She will ignore them.
Femi gave him the look. Daemon laughed.
“Yeah, yeah.”
He touched her cheek.
“It likes when you trust me.”
His expression sobered. The Devil did too.
“That one scares the fuck out of both of us.”
Femi stared.
“Because I know what I am.”
Her fingers moved immediately.
I know too.
The Devil went perfectly still. Daemon looked at her. Femi held his gaze.
I still trust you.
The Devil made a sound deep inside him. Wounded. Pleased. Reverent.
Little ghost.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
“Yeah.”
His thumb moved beneath her eye.
“That.”
Femi leaned into him. Daemon rested his forehead against hers again.
For several seconds, neither moved. Then Femi’s fingers moved.
Does blood please him?
Daemon froze.
The Devil woke. Instantly. Not angry. Interested.
Yes.
Daemon leaned back enough to see her face. Femi wasn’t frightened. Just curious. That somehow made answering harder.
“Yes.”
The Devil purred.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
“Too much.”
Not too much.
“Yes. Too fucking much.”
Femi’s brows lifted.
The Devil laughed. Daemon sighed.
“It likes blood.”
Femi watched him. Daemon searched for a way to explain something that had never needed words before.
“The smell.”
The Devil stirred.
Metal.
“The heat.”
Warm.
“The sight of it.”
Red.
Daemon’s mouth tightened.
“It likes knowing somebody can bleed.”
Femi frowned.
“Not because blood itself is…”
He stopped.
The Devil corrected him.
Beautiful.
Daemon’s expression hardened.
“No.”
Sometimes.
“No.”
Femi watched the argument happen across his face.
Her fingers moved.
He thinks blood is beautiful?
Daemon sighed.
“Sometimes.”
The Devil purred.
Honesty.
Femi’s eyes remained curious. Not horrified. Daemon continued carefully.
“Blood means something happened.”
His voice lowered.
“Something real.”
The Devil whispered,
No lies.
Daemon nodded slightly.
“People lie with words.”
A pause.
“Faces.”
Another.
“Promises.”
His father saying he was calm. Caemon saying he came back because he loved him. The Silent Order calling murder duty. People could make anything sound clean. Blood couldn’t.
“When somebody bleeds…”
Daemon looked down.
“They’re hurt.” A beat. “Or dying.”
Another.
“Or already dead.”
The Devil stirred.
Truth.
“There’s no pretending after that.”
Femi’s eyes softened with understanding. Daemon frowned.
“You shouldn’t understand that.”
Her eyebrow rose. He remembered who he was talking to.
A woman stabbed seven times as a child. Shot. Left beside murdered parents. Homeless. Abused. Hunted. Daemon sighed.
“Never mind.”
The Devil muttered,
Idiot.
Femi almost smiled.
Then signed—
Does he like your blood?
The Devil went silent.
Daemon did too. That question was different.
“No.”
Immediate. Absolute.
The Devil snarled.
No.
Daemon looked at her.
“He hates mine.”
Femi’s brows furrowed.
“Seeing it.”
Another.
“Smelling it.”
The Devil was already pacing.
“Knowing I’m losing it.”
Stop the bleeding.
Daemon’s hand unconsciously touched an old scar along his side.
“The Devil likes blood when it means we’re winning.”
His gaze held hers.
“Mine means we’re not.”
The Devil corrected him.
Danger.
Daemon nodded.
“Mine means danger.”
Femi’s fingers moved.
What about mine?
The Devil erupted.
NO.
Daemon’s entire body tightened.
“No.”
Femi blinked.
“Absolutely fucking not.”
The Devil was pacing now.
Fast.
Violent.
Never.
Daemon’s arms tightened around her before he consciously decided to move.
Femi noticed.
“Your blood…”
He stopped.
His jaw flexed.
The Devil supplied the word.
Wrong.
Daemon swallowed.
“Feels wrong.”
Femi stared at him.
“I’ve seen a lot of blood.”
Too much. Pools of it. Walls sprayed with it. His hands coated in it. Boots leaving red prints across concrete. Men drowning in their own. He had walked through rooms that smelled so heavily of iron he could taste it. The Devil had liked those rooms. Understood them. Thrived inside them.
But Femi—
“The first time I saw yours…”
Daemon’s voice changed. The Devil stopped pacing. Memory. Femi hurt. Femi bleeding. Femi too pale. The Devil losing its fucking mind.
“It wasn’t…”
Daemon swallowed.
The Devil whispered,
No.
“It wasn’t pleasing.”
His arms tightened.
“It was the closest I’ve ever come to losing control completely.”
The Devil growled.
Someone damaged our little ghost.
Femi’s hand touched his chest.
Daemon looked down.
The Devil immediately softened beneath her palm.
“That.”
He covered her hand.
“That right there is fucked up too.”
Femi frowned.
“Somebody else’s blood?”
He shrugged.
“The Devil can walk through it.”
The creature hummed.
“Yours?”
Daemon shook his head.
“It panics.”
Protect.
“It wants everything dead.”
Everything.
“Even shit that had nothing to do with it.”
Precaution.
Daemon gave a humorless laugh.
“See what I deal with?”
Femi’s mouth twitched.
The Devil grumbled.
She understands me.
“Unfortunately.”
Her shoulders moved.
Then her hands did.
Firefights?
The Devil practically lifted its head.
Yes.
Daemon stared at her.
“You’re really going down the list.”
Femi nodded.
The Devil sounded delighted.
She wants to know.
Daemon sighed.
“Yeah.”
His expression changed.
“Firefights please it.”
The Devil purred.
Very much.
Femi waited.
Daemon’s gaze moved somewhere distant.
“A firefight is…” He frowned. “Simple.”
Her brows drew together.
“No guessing.”
A pause.
“No wondering whether somebody is dangerous.”
Another.
“If they’re shooting at you…”
His mouth curved without humor.
“They’ve answered the question.”
The Devil whispered,
Threat.
Daemon nodded.
“And everything slows down.”
Femi watched him.
“Not actually.”
His fingers moved absently against her hip.
“But it feels like it.”
Gunfire. Muzzle flashes. Concrete exploding. Men shouting. The acrid smell of burned powder. The metallic click of an empty magazine. The brief fraction of a second where someone realizes they have to reload.
The Devil loved that fraction.
Move.
“You hear everything.”
A casing hitting concrete.
Left.
A weapon being raised.
Down.
A breath behind cover.
Three.
Footsteps.
Two coming.
A safety clicking off.
Behind.
Daemon’s eyes had gone distant.
“The Devil gets…”
He stopped.
The creature supplied it.
Happy.
Daemon grimaced.
“Focused.”
Happy.
“Focused.”
Both.
Daemon sighed.
“Both.”
Femi’s mouth twitched.
“It likes the noise.”
Gunfire.
“The heat.”
Powder.
“The movement.”
Hunt.
“The blood.”
Truth.
Daemon looked at Femi.
“But mostly…”
His voice lowered.
“It likes knowing what to do.”
That wiped the amusement from her face.
Daemon looked down at their hands.
“Firefight starts?” A shrug. “Everything makes sense.”
The Devil whispered—
Protect.
“Find cover.”
Move.
“Count rounds.”
Listen.
“Find the shooter.”
Kill.
“End the threat.”
Survive.
Daemon became quiet. The Devil did too.
“You understand?”
Femi stared at him. Then nodded slowly. Daemon’s mouth twisted.
“My whole life was people doing shit I didn’t understand.”
His father raging. His mother crying. Caemon leaving. Caemon returning. Leto. The Order. People lying. Manipulating. Using him.
“But bullets?”
Daemon shrugged.
“Bullets are honest.”
The Devil purred.
Very.
“If somebody shoots at me, I know what they want.”
Femi’s expression became sad.
Daemon caught it.
“Don’t.”
She signed—
That’s why he likes it.
Daemon looked at her.
Because he knows what to do.
The Devil went still. Daemon stared. Femi’s hands continued.
Like when you were little.
Silence. The Devil disappeared so completely Daemon almost couldn’t feel it. Femi looked toward his temple. Then back at him.
Hide.
Daemon swallowed.
Run.
His jaw tightened.
Listen.
The Devil returned.
Very quietly.
Little ghost.
Femi continued.
Survive.
Daemon closed his eyes.
“Yeah.”
Fuck. She understood it. Of course she did. The Devil didn’t love firefights because it loved guns. Not entirely. It loved certainty. The frightened thing born during his father’s alcoholic rages had learned that uncertainty got Daemon hurt.
Where was Father?
How drunk?
What mood?
Was that footstep coming closer?
Was Mother safe?
Should he hide?
Run?
Stay?
Speak?
Silence could mean safety. Or it could mean his father was waiting. But gunfire— gunfire announced itself. The Devil knew exactly what to do with gunfire. Femi touched Daemon’s cheek. His eyes opened.
The Devil whispered,
She understands us.
Daemon leaned into her hand.
“Yeah.”
Then Femi signed—
Would he rather be in a firefight than here?
The Devil’s response was immediate.
NO.
Daemon laughed. Actually laughed. Femi’s brows lifted.
“No.”
The Devil sounded offended.
Absolutely not.
“Not even fucking close.”
Femi smiled. Daemon shifted her more securely across his lap.
“The Devil likes firefights.”
Yes.
“It likes blood.”
Yes.
“It likes violence.”
Very much.
“It likes winning.”
Obviously.
Daemon’s mouth curved.
“But all of that…” His hand moved slowly through her hair. “That’s what it knows.”
The Devil quieted. Daemon looked at her.
“You’re what it wants.”
Silence.
Femi stopped breathing. The Devil did too. Daemon hadn’t known the distinction until he said it. Blood was familiar. Violence was familiar. Gunfire was familiar. Fear was familiar. Survival was familiar. Femi was none of those things. Femi was warm. Soft. Stubborn. Strawberries. Books left in his bedroom. Coffee placed directly into his hand. A woman climbing into his lap because she wanted to be there. A tiny hand against his scar. A door opening. Someone coming back.
Daemon swallowed.
“Blood pleases it.”
The Devil stirred.
“Firefights excite it.”
Another pause.
“Violence gives it something to do.”
The Devil whispered,
Purpose.
Daemon nodded.
“Purpose.”
His eyes held hers.
“But you…” The Devil became utterly still. “You give it something none of those things ever did.”
Femi’s hands moved slowly.
What?
Daemon knew now.
“A reason to survive them.”
The Devil broke.
Little ghost.
Femi’s eyes filled.
Daemon brushed his thumb beneath one.
“Before you, surviving was just…” He shrugged. “Surviving.”
Another day. Another job. Another body. Another bullet missed. Another room exited alive.
“Now?”
His hand slid around the back of her neck.
“There’s somewhere I want to get back to.”
The Devil whispered,
Her.
“Someone.”
Her.
“Something waiting on the other side of all that noise.”
Home.
Femi stared at him. Daemon’s voice became rough.
“So yeah.”
He gave her a crooked smile.
“The Devil likes firefights.”
The creature purred.
“It likes blood.”
Another purr.
“It fucking loves violence.”
Very much.
Daemon almost rolled his eyes.
“But put you in the same room?”
The Devil went completely still. Daemon’s smile disappeared.
“Everything changes.”
Femi watched him.
“If bullets start flying and you’re there, it ain’t having fun anymore.”
The Devil growled.
Protect.
“It doesn’t care about winning.”
Her.
“Doesn’t care about blood.”
Her.
“Doesn’t care who dies.”
FUCKING HER.
Daemon’s arms tightened around Femi.
“It wants you down.”
Cover.
“Safe.”
Behind us.
“Breathing.”
Little ghost.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
“And God help whoever made you bleed.”
The Devil whispered—
No.
Cold.
Absolute.
God helps no one.
Daemon almost smiled.
“See?”
Femi’s eyes were wide.
“The bastard gets dramatic.”
I am correct.
Her shoulders shook.
Daemon laughed softly.
Then Femi’s hand moved.
Would he die for me?
Daemon stopped.
The Devil answered before thought existed.
Yes.
Daemon’s expression hardened.
“No.”
Femi frowned.
The Devil did too.
Yes.
“No.”
Daemon.
“No.”
Femi watched him arguing with himself.
Her fingers moved.
Why no?
Daemon looked at her.
“Because dying is easy.”
The Devil became quiet.
“I’ve been willing to die since I was a kid.”
His hand touched her cheek.
“That ain’t love.”
Femi stared.
“Coming home is harder.”
The Devil stirred.
“Living with what I’ve done.”
Another.
“Letting you see me.”
Another.
“Learning how to be…”
He gestured vaguely around them.
“This.”
Femi’s mouth twitched.
Daemon’s eyes softened.
“Staying.”
The Devil whispered—
Stay.
Daemon nodded.
“That’s harder.”
Femi’s eyes filled.
“So no.”
He kissed her forehead.
“The Devil doesn’t get to die for you.”
The creature growled.
I object.
“It gets to live for you.”
Silence.
Absolute.
Deep.
The Devil had no answer.
Femi did.
She wrapped both arms around Daemon’s neck.
He held her.
The Devil remained stunned somewhere beneath his ribs.
Then, very quietly—
Live.
Daemon closed his eyes.
Yeah.
Come home.
Yeah.
Femi settled against his chest.
The Devil curled around the feeling.
Warm.
Quiet.
Content.
And Daemon finally understood the impossible thing Femi had done to it. Blood could still make the Devil smile. Gunfire could still wake something ancient and delighted inside it. A fight could still turn the world beautifully simple. The Devil would always understand violence. Probably always enjoy it. That was part of what it was. But Femi had changed the purpose of survival. Once, the Devil had kept Daemon alive because dying meant losing.
Now it kept him alive because somewhere beyond the blood—
Femi might be waiting.
The Devil whispered,
Little ghost.
Femi’s fingers played with the edge of Daemon’s shirt again.
The creature purred.
Everything.
Daemon smiled into her hair.
“Yeah.”
Femi pulled back enough to look at him.
He touched her cheek.
“You do everything, my little ghost.”
The Devil corrected him softly.
She is everything.
Daemon looked into her green eyes.
For once, he didn’t argue.
“No.”
His thumb moved beneath her eye.
“She is.”
Mercer’s Outfitters sold everything from motorcycle gloves to hunting knives.
The front half of the store held clothing. Work boots stood in neat rows beneath the windows. Shirts hung according to size and color. Leather jackets occupied the rear wall beneath a sign promising they were made to survive weather, pavement, and poor decisions.
Femi had been looking at shirts for twenty minutes.
Daemon had been watching her for nineteen.
The Devil had been watching her for twenty.
Little ghost.
She moved slowly along the display, touching fabrics and examining seams. Every few minutes, she selected something, held it against him, then returned it to the rack when his expression failed to satisfy her.
The Devil found the entire process fascinating. Not the shirts. Femi deciding what Daemon should wear.
She is dressing us.
Daemon ignored it.
The first shirt was white.
Daemon looked at it.
Then at her.
“No.”
The Devil agreed.
Blood.
Femi raised an eyebrow.
“I would destroy it before we reached Helix.”
Definitely blood.
She returned it to the rack and selected a pale gray one.
“No.”
Her hands moved.
You wear gray.
“My eyes are gray.”
Pretty eyes.
Daemon’s mouth tightened. Femi signed—
That is not clothing.
“I also own a gray shirt.”
Femi pointed toward him. Daemon glanced down at the black shirt he wore.
“It is being washed.”
Lie.
“It will be washed.”
Eventually.
Daemon nearly sighed.
Femi folded her arms.
“Eventually.”
The Devil laughed. Femi shook her head and continued searching. Daemon followed. He did not care what she chose. If Femi wanted him in blue, he would wear blue.
Yes.
If she wanted him in white—
No.
Daemon’s mouth twitched. He would learn not to bleed upon it.
The Devil considered this.
Difficult.
Merely enjoyed watching her decide what should cover him. The Devil enjoyed it for a different reason.
She chooses.
Daemon looked at Femi. Her fingers moved through several shirts.
Yeah.
She looks at something and thinks of us.
That quieted him. Because that was exactly what she was doing. She wasn’t shopping for herself. She was walking through a store, touching fabric, examining colors, considering sizes—and thinking about Daemon.
The Devil purred.
Ours.
Daemon immediately corrected it.
Hers.
The Devil went silent.
Then—
Hers.
Daemon looked toward Femi. The correction pleased him more than it should have.
Two weeks had passed since she slid the black box across a table in front of everyone at Helix. Daemon remembered every second. So did the Devil. The clubhouse had been loud until Femi approached his corner. Then Malone noticed the box. Marta noticed Malone staring. Within moments, half the room had become suspiciously quiet. Femi placed the box beneath Daemon’s hand. The Devil had immediately become interested.
What is it?
Daemon looked at her.
She pointed toward it.
Open it.
Daemon almost smiled.
You’re impatient.
Open it.
He did.
A silver men’s ring rested inside.
One word had been engraved across its surface.
Mine.
Daemon stared at it. The Devil became silent. Not ordinary silence. Not watchful silence. Not the stillness before violence. Nothing. For several seconds, the creature that could walk through gunfire laughing had absolutely nothing to say.
Daemon stared at the word.
Mine.
Femi’s face had turned crimson, but she did not flee.
Her hands rose while the whole of Helix watched.
If you want it.
The Devil returned so violently that Daemon almost flinched.
FUCKING YES.
Daemon removed the ring from the box. His fingers were strangely careful.
“Does this mean I am yours?”
Femi’s blush deepened. She nodded. The Devil nearly tore through his skin.
HERS.
Daemon’s pulse jumped.
Hers.
Another surge.
HERS.
Easy.
She claimed us.
Daemon couldn’t breathe properly.
She chose us.
That was the part that mattered. Not the word. Not the metal. Not possession. Choice. Femi had looked at everything Daemon was. Everything she knew.The violence. The scars. The Devil. The bodies. The nightmares. And she had still placed a ring in front of him. Mine. The Devil had spent most of its existence believing possession meant something very different.
His father possessed his mother. Caemon possessed whatever he could control. The Silent Order claimed men by turning them into weapons. Possession meant chains. Orders. Blood. Obedience.
Then Femi had quietly slid a silver ring across a table.
If you want it.
Daemon’s chest tightened even remembering it.
There had been a difference. If. Choice.
The Devil understood.
She asked.
Yeah.
She did not take.
No.
She let us choose her.
Daemon looked toward Femi now. She was examining another shirt. His throat tightened.
Yeah.
The Devil purred.
Hers.
Daemon could not wear the ring on his finger. His hands encountered too many weapons, engines, and people’s faces. The Devil had objected when he first removed it.
Put it back.
“I’ll break it.”
Do not.
“Very helpful.”
He found a silver chain. Placed the ring upon it. Fastened it around his neck. The Devil immediately approved.
Heart.
Daemon had paused. The ring rested against his chest. Directly over it.
Better.
It had remained there ever since. Against his skin. Beneath his shirt. Femi’s claim carried directly over his heart. Daemon touched it whenever she entered a room. The Devil noticed that too.
Little ghost.
Whenever someone looked at her too long.
Eyes.
Whenever she left Helix.
She will come back.
Whenever she returned.
Home.
Whenever the darkness inside him whispered that nothing gentle could ever belong to him. His fingers found the ring. Mine. The answer came every time.
We belong to something gentle.
Daemon’s throat would tighten.
Yes.
And she chose something terrible.
Daemon always corrected that one. Something dangerous. The Devil would consider.
Fine.
A pause.
Something dangerous.
Another.
Hers.
Daemon had never been so pleased to belong to anyone. Neither had the Devil.
Now, inside Mercer’s Outfitters, something silver caught his attention. Daemon stopped. The Devil stopped with him. A small display stood beside the belt counter. HIS AND HERS, the sign read. Two bracelets rested upon black velvet. Both had black leather bands and polished silver plates.
The larger bracelet read:
ALL YOURS
The smaller:
ALL MINE
Daemon stared.
The Devil lifted its head.
Oh.
Daemon didn’t move.
The Devil stared through his eyes.
Oh.
Don’t start.
Buy them.
Daemon glanced toward Femi. She stood several racks away, examining a dark blue shirt. Her midnight hair fell over one shoulder as she studied the buttons.
Daemon looked back at the bracelets.
Buy them.
He had never wanted to buy jewelry for a woman. Not rings. Not necklaces. Not bracelets. He had watched men enter stores and agonize over gold, diamonds, and promises they had no intention of keeping. Daemon never understood it. Jewelry was decoration. Metal assigned meaning because someone paid too much for it.
Buy them.
Then Femi gave him a silver ring with one word engraved upon it— and Daemon understood perfectly. He pulled the chain from beneath his shirt. The ring caught the light. His thumb moved over the engraving. Mine.
The Devil purred.
Hers.
Daemon’s gaze dropped to the bracelets again.
ALL YOURS.
His.
The Devil became very still.
Yes.
ALL MINE.
Hers.
The Devil’s pleasure sharpened.
Yes.
Daemon stared. There was something dangerously satisfying about the symmetry. Femi had claimed him first. Not privately. Not shyly. In front of Helix. She had given him the choice to belong to her.
And now—
Answer her.
Daemon’s chest tightened. That was exactly what this felt like. An answer. Not ownership. Not a chain. A response. You made me yours. Now let me tell you what you are to me.
The Devil purred.
Ours.
Daemon’s eyes narrowed. The creature paused. Then corrected itself.
If she chooses.
Daemon froze. That mattered. The Devil had learned. Not perfectly. Probably never perfectly. But it had learned. Daemon looked toward Femi again.
Gods above, I love you, little ghost.
The thought came easily now.
Too easily.
The Devil answered immediately.
Tell her.
Daemon released the ring.
No.
Coward.
Fuck you.
You have been shot.
Not relevant.
Stabbed.
Shut up.
Set on fire.
Barely.
Men have tried to cut your throat.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
But three words frighten you.
They do not frighten me.
The Devil laughed.
Coward.
Daemon ignored it. The words themselves remained trapped somewhere behind his ribs. He had tried to say them twice. The first time, Femi had been asleep in the chair across from him, her book open upon her stomach. Daemon watched her breathe and nearly whispered them.
The Devil had practically begged.
Tell her.
She was asleep.
Good. Practice.
Daemon had opened his mouth. Femi shifted. He lost his courage. The Devil had been disgusted.
Pathetic.
The second time, she stood in the kitchen with flour on her cheek. She smiled when he wiped it away.
Now.
I love you.
Say it.
The words reached his throat.
Nothing emerged.
Daemon.
Nothing.
DAEMON.
Femi looked toward him. Her eyes narrowed when she found him staring. Daemon Pallid had faced guns without flinching. He had walked into rooms filled with men who wanted him dead. He had pulled knives from his own body and continued fighting. Three words defeated him.
The Devil had not let him forget it.
Coward.
Femi looked toward him now. Her eyes narrowed when she found him standing beside the jewelry display. Her hands moved from across the aisle.
What are you doing?
Daemon released the ring.
“Nothing.”
The Devil laughed.
Liar.
Her gaze shifted toward the display. Daemon stepped in front of it.
Femi became suspicious.
She knows.
“Did you choose a shirt?”
She held up the dark blue one. Daemon looked at it.
“That one.”
The Devil considered.
Pretty.
She studied his black clothing.
Then the shirt.
You will wear it?
“If you want me to.”
Anything you want.
Her lips curved. Daemon’s chest tightened. The Devil sighed.
There.
Femi turned toward the fitting rooms.
The moment her back faced him—
NOW.
Daemon took both bracelets from the display and carried them to the register.
The Devil was practically vibrating.
Faster.
She’s twenty feet away.
Exactly.
The cashier smiled.
“Gift?”
Daemon looked toward Femi.
She held the blue shirt against him from a distance, apparently reconsidering its size.
“Yes.”
Claim.
Daemon ignored that.
“Anniversary?”
“No.”
“Birthday?”
“No.”
The cashier waited.
Daemon offered no further explanation.
The Devil did.
Because she is ours.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
If she chooses.
A pause.
Then—
Because we are hers.
Better.
The woman placed the bracelets inside a black box.
“Would you like them wrapped?”
“No.”
No.
“Gift receipt?”
“No.”
Absolutely not.
The woman glanced toward Femi and lowered her voice.
“Are you certain she’ll like them?”
Daemon looked at the smaller silver plate.
ALL MINE.
The Devil answered first.
Yes.
Daemon’s mouth curved.
“Yes.”
He paid cash and slipped the box into the inside pocket of his leather jacket before Femi returned.
The Devil immediately became obsessed with its location.
Still there?
Yes.
Three steps later—
Still there?
Daemon nearly sighed.
Yes.
Femi placed the blue shirt upon the counter. Then added a black one.
Daemon looked at her.
“I have black shirts.”
Her hands moved.
This one is new.
“An important distinction.”
Femi nodded solemnly.
The Devil approved.
Little ghost understands black.
Daemon purchased both.
The ride back to Helix took less than twenty minutes. Femi sat behind Daemon with her arms around his waist.
The Devil was in heaven.
Closer.
She is literally pressed against us.
Closer.
Impossible.
Try.
Daemon ignored it.
The shopping bag had been secured inside one of the motorcycle’s saddlebags. The small black box remained against his chest. Opposite the ring resting beneath his shirt. Daemon felt both throughout the ride. Femi’s claim. His answer. The Devil felt them differently.
Hers.
The ring.
Ours.
The bracelet.
Then, after a moment—
If she wants it.
Daemon smiled into the wind.
You’re learning.
Do not become sentimental.
You started it.
I will deny that.
Femi tightened her arms as Daemon took a curve.
The Devil immediately forgot the argument.
Little ghost.
Daemon’s hand briefly touched her fingers at his waist.
The Devil purred.
Home.
When Helix came into view, motorcycles already lined half the street. Music escaped through the brick walls, and several bikers stood near the front entrance smoking beneath the afternoon sun. Daemon parked near the garage. Femi released him and climbed down. The loss of her arms left him colder than it should have.
The Devil objected immediately.
Put her back.
Daemon nearly laughed.
She removed her helmet, shook her hair free, and turned toward the saddlebag.
Pretty.
Daemon watched her. Yeah. Femi retrieved the shopping bag and started toward the clubhouse. Daemon remained seated for a moment. The Devil had become restless. Impatient. Vibrating beneath his skin.
Now.
Daemon dismounted.
Femi continued walking.
Call her.
He did.
“My little ghost.”
Femi continued two more paces before realizing he had not followed. She turned. Daemon stood beside his motorcycle. His pale hair moved across his scar in the warm breeze. One hand rested inside his jacket. Femi looked toward Helix. Then back at him. Her hands moved.
What happened?
“Nothing.”
Liar.
She frowned.
Daemon withdrew the black box. The Devil went completely still. Femi’s gaze dropped to it. Her steps slowed as she returned.
She is coming.
Daemon’s pulse increased.
She is choosing closer.
Femi stopped in front of him. Daemon had rehearsed this differently during the ride. He intended to tell her he saw the bracelets and thought of the ring. He intended to explain that no one had ever claimed him before without making ownership feel like a cage. His father had treated people like possessions. Caemon had treated loyalty like debt. The Silent Order had treated his body like equipment. Everyone who had ever claimed Daemon before Femi had meant—
Obey.
Kill.
Bleed.
Stay because I said so.
Femi’s claim meant—
If you want it.
The Devil remembered.
It always remembered. Daemon intended to tell her that being hers felt like freedom.
The words abandoned him.
Coward.
Not helping. Femi’s eyes moved between the box and his face. Daemon held it toward her.
“I saw something.”
Terrible.
“I wanted you to have it.”
Better.
Femi shifted the shopping bag to her other hand. She did not accept the box immediately.
Her fingers moved.
Why?
Daemon looked at her. Because she had made him hers. Because he woke each morning searching for the sound of her footsteps. Because she placed food before him and trusted him with the key to her silence. Because she touched his scar. Because she came back. Because the Devil had spent its entire existence believing possession meant blood, control, and ruin until Femi gave him a ring and made belonging feel sacred. Because the thing inside him that once screamed mine as a warning now whispered hers like a prayer.
Tell her.
Because I love you.
His throat tightened.
Tell her.
“I thought of you.”
The Devil groaned.
Coward.
Femi’s expression softened. She accepted the box. Daemon watched her fingers find the edge of the lid. His pulse struck hard beneath the ring. The Devil became impossibly still.
Open it, little ghost.
Femi opened it. Her eyes widened. The two bracelets rested together against the black velvet. She read the smaller one first.
ALL MINE.
The Devil purred.
You.
Then the larger.
ALL YOURS.
The Devil shuddered.
Us.
Femi looked up. Color warmed her cheeks.
Daemon’s confidence deserted him.
Do not retreat.
“If you do not like them—”
Do not retreat.
Femi caught his sleeve before he could.
The Devil surged.
She caught us.
Daemon stopped. Her gaze returned to the box. Her fingertips touched the smaller bracelet. Then her hands moved.
Which one is mine?
Daemon stared at her.
The Devil laughed inside him.
Brat.
“You know which one.”
Femi lifted the larger bracelet.
ALL YOURS.
Her eyebrow rose.
The Devil was delighted.
Very funny, little ghost.
Daemon almost smiled.
“That one describes me.”
Her blush deepened.
“And the smaller one—”
His voice descended.
“Describes you.”
If she wants.
Daemon’s amusement disappeared.
Yes.
He needed her to understand that.
“I want you to wear it.”
Femi’s fingers became still.
The Devil immediately corrected him.
Ask.
Daemon continued.
“But only if you choose to.”
The Devil settled.
Good.
Her green eyes lifted. Daemon did not reach for her. Did not take the bracelet from the box. Did not fasten it around her wrist before she answered.
The Devil wanted the bracelet there.
God, it wanted it.
Little ghost wearing our words.
But it waited.
That mattered now.
“You gave me the ring.”
Daemon pulled the silver chain from beneath his shirt. The ring emerged into the sunlight. Femi’s gaze settled upon the engraving. Daemon held it between two fingers.
“You made me yours in front of everyone.”
The Devil purred.
Hers.
Her cheeks turned crimson.
“I have worn it every day.”
Every Fucking day.
Femi touched the ring.
Daemon stopped breathing. So did the Devil. Her fingertip traced the word she had chosen.
Mine.
The Devil trembled.
She claimed me.
The whisper was different now. Not feral. Not demanding.
Wonder.
She claimed us.
It had whispered those words every day for two weeks. Sometimes when Daemon woke. Sometimes during a fight. Sometimes with blood on his hands. Sometimes when he stood alone in the shower and touched the ring through steam.
She claimed us.
Sometimes it sounded disbelieving. Sometimes smug. Sometimes almost reverent.
The Devil understood blood. It understood weapons. It understood men screaming. It understood what it meant to take something.
Femi had taught it something far more dangerous. What it meant to be given something. Daemon closed his fingers around the ring and Femi’s fingertip.
“You claimed me,” he said.
Femi looked at their joined hands.
Her fingers moved carefully within his.
You were already mine.
The Devil lost its fucking mind.
HERS.
Daemon’s breath caught.
HERS.
Something between a groan and a growl gathered in his chest.
ALL HERS.
Too rough to be human. Too pleased to remain hidden. Daemon swallowed it. Hard. The Devil pressed against his skin, vibrating with such violent delight that Daemon wondered if Femi could feel it through his hand.
Tell her.
She looked at him curiously.
Tell her we were hers before the ring.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
The Devil continued.
Before she knew.
His throat tightened.
Before you knew.
Daemon stared at Femi. That was probably true. He released her before the sound escaped. Then nodded toward the bracelet.
“I wanted to answer.”
Femi’s eyes shone. She removed the smaller bracelet from the box. The Devil immediately surged forward.
She chose it.
Daemon extended his hand.
Then stopped.
Ask.
“May I?”
Femi looked at him. Slowly— she offered her wrist. The Devil went silent. Trust. Given again. Not taken. Not demanded. Given. Daemon accepted her wrist as though she had placed something breakable inside his hands. His fingers circled it. Her pulse fluttered beneath his thumb. The Devil felt that pulse.
Alive.
Daemon’s expression softened.
Yeah.
Ours.
Daemon paused.
The Devil corrected itself before he could.
Hers.
Then—
Choosing us.
Daemon swallowed.
The bracelet’s black leather rested against her olive skin. Daemon fastened the clasp carefully, ensuring it did not catch or pinch. Then he turned the silver plate upward.
ALL MINE.
The world narrowed. Helix disappeared behind her. The motorcycles. The men near the entrance. Traffic moving along the street. Daemon saw only Femi. Femi wearing his claim. The Devil saw something else.
A promise.
Protect.
Daemon’s thumb moved over the plate.
Come back.
Another pass.
Stay.
Another.
Choose us tomorrow.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
That one.
Not mine forever because I said so. Not mine because I took you. Choose us tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow. As long as she wanted. The sight moved through him more powerfully than whiskey ever had. Better than the first swallow of Jack after a long night. Better than the burn spreading through his chest. Better than intoxication. Alcohol dulled the Devil. This awakened it. His thumb moved over the silver plate. Femi watched his face. Daemon wanted to say the words.
They pressed upward.
I love you.
The Devil immediately whispered—
Tell her.
His mouth opened. Nothing came.
Daemon.
He swallowed.
Tell our little ghost.
His throat worked around the confession and failed.
The Devil clawed at his ribs.
Coward.
Femi’s expression softened as if she heard it anyway. Her free hand touched the chain at his throat. The Devil instantly forgot its irritation.
Mine.
Daemon almost corrected it. Then realized the Devil meant the ring. Femi’s claim.
Hers.
Yes. She looked toward the box. The larger bracelet remained inside. She lifted it. The Devil became still. Daemon stared. Femi held out her hand. He gave her his wrist without being asked. The Devil whispered—
Yes.
She wrapped the black leather around it. Daemon watched her work the clasp. Her head bent. Her midnight hair fell forward, hiding part of her face. Her fingers brushed the inside of his wrist. His pulse leaped beneath them.
The Devil purred.
She is putting her claim on us.
Femi noticed his pulse. Her eyes lifted briefly. Daemon said nothing.
The Devil had plenty to say.
Hers.
She finished fastening the bracelet. Then turned the silver plate upward.
ALL YOURS.
Daemon forgot the street. Forgot the people near Helix. Forgot every year he spent belonging to no one. The Devil forgot too. For one impossible moment, there was no father. No Caemon. No Leto. No Silent Order. No orders. No blood.No rooms full of men deciding what Daemon was useful for. Only Femi. And two words.
ALL YOURS.
The Devil whispered—
Safe.
Daemon’s chest tightened violently. That wasn’t what he’d expected. Possession. Pleasure. Claim. Those he understood. But safe?
The Devil repeated it.
Hers.
A pause.
Safe.
Femi touched the words.
Her hands moved.
All yours.
Daemon looked at her.
“Yes.”
His voice emerged rough.
“Every part.”
The Devil stirred. Daemon raised the wrist wearing her claim. Then touched the ring hanging over his heart.
“This.”
The Devil whispered,
The man.
He held up the bracelet.
“This.”
The monster.
His eyes held hers.
“All of me.”
The Devil went very quiet.
Then—
The frightened boy too.
Daemon stopped breathing. Femi watched him. The Devil repeated it.
Give her that part too.
Daemon’s throat tightened. He couldn’t say it. Not yet. But he didn’t argue. Femi blinked quickly. Daemon reached for her hand. He paused before touching it. Femi closed the distance herself. Her fingers slipped into his.
The Devil shuddered.
She chose us again.
The two bracelets rested beside each other.
Black leather.
Silver plates.
ALL YOURS.
ALL MINE.
The Devil vibrated with pleasure. A sound rose inside Daemon again. Deeper this time. Dangerously close to escaping. He clenched his jaw. Femi tilted her head.
Her fingers moved against his palm.
Are you all right?
“No.”
Concern entered her face. The Devil laughed. Daemon lifted her wrist. He stared at the silver words against her skin.
“I am attempting not to make an undignified sound in the street.”
The Devil objected.
Let it out.
Absolutely not.
Growl.
No.
Little ghost would like it.
You don’t know that.
The Devil considered.
Ask her.
Daemon nearly laughed. Femi’s eyes widened. Her blush spread from her cheeks to the tops of her ears.
The Devil purred.
Pretty.
Daemon’s crooked smile appeared.
“You are wearing my claim.”
The Devil whispered—
By choice.
Daemon’s smile softened. That made it infinitely better. Femi looked down at the bracelet.
Then at his.
You are wearing mine.
“I know.”
Hers.
The sound threatened him again.
Daemon closed his eyes.
“Gods above.”
Femi’s shoulders moved with silent laughter. The Devil sighed happily.
She is laughing.
The sight destroyed what remained of Daemon’s restraint. He brought her wrist to his mouth. Then stopped.
The Devil immediately whispered—
Ask.
Daemon looked at Femi. Femi did not pull away. Her eyes softened. Permission. His lips touched the silver plate.
ALL MINE.
The Devil went utterly still. The kiss was slow. Reverent. Not ownership. Devotion. Femi’s laughter disappeared. Her pulse raced beneath his fingers. The Devil felt every beat.
Little ghost.
Daemon opened his eyes. Found her watching him. Heat entered her green gaze. The Devil became very still.
Then pleased itself nearly senseless.
Again.
Daemon lowered her wrist before the urge to pull her against him overcame his patience.
The Devil objected.
Why?
Because we’re standing in the street.
And?
People are watching.
Good.
Daemon nearly rolled his eyes. Femi stared at the place his mouth had touched. Her fingers rose.
Do you like it?
The Devil was offended.
What kind of question is that?
Daemon looked at her as though she had asked whether he enjoyed breathing.
“I have never wanted jewelry.”
She glanced at the ring.
“Until you.”
The Devil whispered,
Because metal meant nothing.
Her eyes returned to his.
“I have never wanted to belong to anyone.”
Femi became motionless. The Devil went quiet. Daemon touched the bracelet around his wrist.
“Until you.”
The Devil whispered—
Because belonging used to hurt.
Daemon froze. There it was. His father’s house. Caemon. The Order. Every person who had ever told him where he belonged had meant where he was useful. Where he was controlled. Where he was owned. Femi had never told him where to belong.
She had offered him a ring.
If you want it.
Daemon looked at her. The Devil understood.
She opened the door.
Yeah.
We walked through.
Yeah.
And she never locked it behind us.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
No.
The words he wanted remained trapped.
I love you.
The Devil whispered—
Tell her.
He could not release them. Not yet. Instead, he tightened his fingers around hers. Femi squeezed back.
The Devil purred.
She knows.
Maybe.
She knows.
Perhaps that was enough for today.
Behind them, Helix’s front door opened.
The Devil noticed first.
Malone.
Daemon didn’t turn. Malone stepped outside. He looked first at Femi. Then Daemon. His gaze dropped to their joined hands. The matching bracelets caught the sunlight. Malone read the silver plates. His expression changed.
The Devil became smug.
Yes. Read them.
Marta appeared behind him.
“What are you staring at?”
Malone stepped aside. Marta saw the bracelets. Her eyes moved toward Daemon. Then Femi. A slow smile spread across her face.
“Oh,” she said.
The Devil immediately purred.
She understands.
Femi attempted to pull her hand free. Daemon held on. Not tightly. Only enough to ask.
The Devil wanted to hold harder.
Keep her.
Daemon refused. She chooses. The Devil quieted. Femi looked at him. Daemon wanted everyone to see. Just as she had placed the ring before him in a crowded room and claimed him without shame. But this wasn’t his decision alone. His fingers loosened. An opening. A choice. Femi could withdraw. The Devil waited. Femi looked down at their hands.
Then at Malone. Then Marta. Then Daemon. She stopped retreating. The Devil shuddered.
She stayed.
Daemon’s thumb moved over her knuckles.
Yeah. She did.
Malone folded his arms.
“You took her shopping for shirts.”
“We purchased shirts,” Daemon said.
“And apparently exchanged ownership of your souls in the parking lot.”
The Devil considered.
Accurate.
Daemon almost laughed. Marta looked at the bracelets again.
“Productive afternoon.”
I like Marta.
Femi covered her face with one hand. Daemon remained beside her, openly pleased.
The Devil was worse.
Show them again.
No.
Hold her wrist up.
Absolutely not.
Coward.
She wore his claim. He wore hers. And when Femi lowered her hand, her fingers remained intertwined with his. The Devil quieted. Daemon looked at her bracelet once more.
ALL MINE.
The creature whispered—
She chose it.
His gaze moved to his own.
ALL YOURS.
We chose it.
Something deep inside Daemon settled. Better than whiskey. Better than worship. Better than freedom. Because Femi had not chained him. She had chosen him. And Daemon had finally understood that belonging did not have to mean captivity.
The Devil understood something even more profound. It had spent its entire existence screaming mine at anything it feared losing.
Mine meant protect.
Mine meant keep.
Mine meant destroy whatever reached for it.
Mine had always been fear wearing possession’s face.
But Femi had changed the word.
When she gave Daemon the ring, Mine became—
I choose you.
When she allowed him to fasten the bracelet around her wrist, All Mine became—
I choose you too.
And when she fastened ALL YOURS around Daemon’s wrist— the Devil finally understood what it had wanted all along. Not ownership. Not obedience. Not a cage. To belong somewhere it would not have to fight to remain.
The words remained locked inside Daemon’s chest.
Gods above, I love you, little ghost.
The Devil sighed.
Tell her soon.
Daemon looked at Femi. Her fingers remained woven through his. Soon.
The Devil considered.
Tomorrow.
Daemon almost smiled.
We’ll see.
Coward.
Femi glanced at him as though she sensed the argument.
Daemon lifted their joined hands.
The silver plates caught the afternoon light.
ALL MINE.
ALL YOURS.
The Devil purred.
Hers.
Daemon looked at Femi. Then at the bracelet around her wrist.
The old instinct rose.
Mine. It felt different now. Softer. No less possessive. No less fierce. But no longer a command. A promise.
Mine to protect if she wants me.
Daemon’s thumb brushed her knuckles.
The Devil corrected itself one final time.
Hers to leave.
A pause.
The hardest truth.
Then—
Ours because she stays.
Daemon’s chest tightened. Femi smiled at him. The Devil settled beneath his ribs. Warm. Claimed. Chosen. Safe.
All hers.
Daemon touched the ring over his heart.
“Yeah.”
Femi raised an eyebrow. Daemon gave her a crooked smile.
“Not you.”
The Devil laughed. Femi rolled her eyes.
And kept holding his hand.
Because Femi had not chained him. She had chosen him. And she had allowed the Devil to choose her in return. The words remained locked inside Daemon’s chest. Gods above, I love you, little ghost. For now, the silver spoke for him.
All mine.
All yours.
Mine.
Word spread through Wolfwater before midnight. The Devil had been claimed. Not by one of the women who had spent years attempting to earn a place in his bed. Not by a club queen dressed in leather. Not by anyone beautiful, experienced, or dangerous enough to suit the legend. Malone’s daughter had claimed him.
The little ghost. Stories multiplied as they traveled. Some said Femi presented Daemon with a ring before a silent Helix and made him kneel to accept it. Others claimed the Devil placed a bracelet around her wrist beneath the blue glow of Helix’s lights, kissed the silver plate, and warned every man in Wolfwater that she belonged to him.
The truth mattered less than the image.
Matching black leather.
Silver claims.
All mine.
All yours.
The Devil and the little ghost had chosen one another.
By morning, Wolfwater spoke of it as though a marriage had taken place beneath the streetlights. Lily heard the news from a girl outside a liquor store. She almost killed her.
“You should have seen them,” the girl said. “Daemon stood there looking at her like—”
Lily caught her by the throat. The girl struck the brick wall behind her. Her smile vanished.
“What did you say?”
Lily’s fingers tightened. The girl clawed at her wrist.
“Daemon and Femi.”
“Do not put their names together.”
“They have matching bracelets.”
Lily slammed her into the wall again. The girl’s head struck brick.
“Lily—”
“What bracelets?”
“Black leather. Silver plates.”
The girl’s voice became strained.
“He wore his inside Helix all night. Everyone saw it.”
Lily’s nails pressed into her skin.
“What did his say?”
The girl hesitated.
Lily tightened her grip.
“Answer me.”
“His said All yours.”
Rage whitened Lily’s vision.
“And hers?”
“All mine.”
Lily imagined the words wrapped around Femi’s wrist. Daemon’s claim upon her skin. She imagined Femi fastening the larger bracelet around him while he watched her with that unbearable reverence. The same look Lily had spent weeks trying to steal. It belonged to Femi now. Not merely his attention. Not merely his protection. The Devil himself. Claimed before all of Wolfwater. Lily squeezed. The girl’s face darkened.
Her struggles weakened. A car horn sounded from the street. Lily blinked. She released her. The girl collapsed against the wall, coughing and dragging air into her lungs. Lily stared down at her.
“If you repeat that story near me again, I will finish what I started.”
The girl scrambled away.
Lily watched her disappear around the corner. Her hands shook. It should have been her. She was the woman who looked right beside Daemon. She could match his darkness. She understood desire. She understood men.
Femi knew how to cook stew and fold towels. That was not enough to claim the Devil. It should not have been enough. But Daemon had worn the bracelet. He had allowed Femi to mark him. Lily pressed both hands against her face. There had to be a way to undo it. Claims could be broken. Women could be replaced. And Femi could be removed.
A sleek black town car pulled alongside the curb. The windows were dark enough to reflect Lily’s furious face back at her. She lowered her hands. The rear window descended several inches. Darkness waited inside. Lily could not see the man seated beyond the glass. She did not need to.
“What do you have for me?” a male voice asked.
Dark.
Clipped.
Impatient.
Lily stepped toward the car.
“Good morning to you too.”
Silence answered. Her attempt at charm died quickly. She looked along the street. No one appeared to be watching.
“The Devil has claimed her.”
The darkness inside the town car did not move.
“What does that mean?”
“Bracelets.” Lily nearly spat the word.
“Matching ones. He wears hers. She wears his.”
“Where is she?”
No jealousy. No surprise. Only the question. Femi. Always Femi. Lily’s mouth tightened.
“Still at Helix.”
“Then why are you standing here?”
“She is protected.”
“So you told me.”
“Malone watches the doors. Marta watches everyone. Daemon barely lets her cross a room without following her with his eyes.”
The man inside the car remained silent. Lily hurried to fill it.
“But I can bring her out.”
“How?”
“She still believes people can be saved.” A bitter laugh escaped Lily. “It is the most irritating thing about her.”
“Use it.”
“I intend to.”
An envelope appeared through the narrow opening. Lily took it. The weight pleased her. She opened one corner and saw bound currency inside. More than Steven received. More than enough to leave Wolfwater for several weeks if Daemon began searching for her. Lily smiled.
“You always did know how to make a woman feel appreciated.”
The window remained open. No answer came. Lily slipped the envelope into her purse.
“Forget about Femi.”
The words left her before good judgment could stop them. Silence filled the car. Lily leaned closer to the opening.
“Take me to your bed again.” She softened her voice. Made it low and intimate. The voice men remembered. “I can make you forget her.”
The darkness shifted. Lily caught the faint outline of a hand resting against one knee. Nothing more.
“You could not make me forget her when you wore her clothes.”
Humiliation struck Lily hot and deep. She preserved her smile.
“You touched me.”
“I was drunk.”
“You enjoyed it.”
“I closed my eyes.”
Her smile faltered. The voice inside the car became colder.
“Bring Femi to me, Lily.”
She tightened her grip around the purse.
“Or?”
“Your debt comes due.”
The words held no anger. That made them worse. Lily knew what Carr Booth did when debts came due. People lost homes. Businesses burned. Men disappeared from comfortable beds and surfaced in the river days later without their teeth. Women who believed beauty protected them learned how temporary beauty could be. Lily had stolen things but Carr offered it easily.
Hotels.
Clothes.
Drugs for her and Marco when keeping him pliable became expensive. A car she wrecked before making the second payment. Carr recorded every dollar. Then he added interest. He never forgot.
“I will bring her,” Lily said.
“When?”
“Soon.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I need time.”
“You have had time.”
“I was inside Helix until they threw me out.”
“For failing.”
Lily’s face heated.
“I got close to Daemon.”
“Daemon is irrelevant.”
“He is the reason reaching her is difficult.”
“He is the reason you want to hurt her.” The accusation landed too precisely. Lily said nothing. Carr continued. “Do not confuse my objective with your jealousy.”
“You don’t know anything about what happened.”
“I know the Devil chose her while you were offering yourself to him.”
Lily recoiled from the window. Carr knew. Of course he knew. Carr always knew the details that hurt most.
“I can get her away from him.”
“Then do it.”
“And afterward?”
“Afterward, your debt is settled.”
Lily looked down at the envelope inside her purse.
“And Femi?”
The darkness seemed to deepen.
“She belongs to me.”
The window rose. Lily stepped closer.
“Carr.”
The glass sealed before she could finish. The town car pulled away from the curb. Its tinted windows returned nothing but reflections as it disappeared into traffic. Lily remained on the pavement. Her anger followed the car. Carr Booth had been obsessed with Femi for as long as Lily could remember. He knew the quiet ways Femi moved. The clothes she wore. The soap she used. Once, Lily found one of Femi’s old shirts mixed among the laundry.
She kept it. Not from affection. Femi received attention without trying. Lily wanted to know whether some part of it lived inside the fabric. Months later, Carr summoned Lily to a hotel. He was drunk when she arrived. Not pleasantly drunk.
The expensive, controlled drunkenness of a man who had spent the evening drinking alone and resenting the fact that the person he wanted remained elsewhere. Lily wore Femi’s shirt beneath her coat. She had washed her hair with Femi’s strawberry shampoo. Carr noticed the scent immediately. His eyes closed when Lily approached. She understood then. He would touch her if she became someone else. Lily allowed it. She slipped out of her coat and stood before him in Femi’s clothing, smelling like Femi’s hair. Carr pulled her closer.
“Femi.”
Lily should have corrected him. She did not. That night, he called her Femi more than once. Lily answered every time. Carr had been an extraordinary lover. Attentive. Controlled. Devastating when that control finally broke. But none of it belonged to Lily. His hands moved over her while he imagined another woman beneath them. He kissed Lily with his eyes closed.
When she said his name, he whispered Femi’s. Lily hated her through every moment of it. She hated Femi for occupying the bed without being there. Hated her for receiving a man’s obsession while Lily received only what spilled from it. For a few hours, Lily pretended the desire belonged to her. Morning corrected the fantasy. Carr woke sober. He looked at Lily lying in his bed. Then at Femi’s shirt upon the floor.
Disgust entered his face. Not guilt. Not confusion. Disgust that Lily remained when the illusion did not.
“Get her out.”
Lily sat up.
“Carr—”
Two guards entered.
She laughed because humiliation became easier when treated like a joke.
“You didn’t complain last night.”
Carr climbed from the bed and pulled on his trousers. He never looked at her again. The guards gathered Lily’s clothes and escorted her into the hall. Barefoot. Half-dressed. Still smelling like the woman Carr wished she had been. By noon, money appeared in Lily’s account.
Enough to transform humiliation into employment. That was how it continued. Carr paid. Lily listened. He asked where Femi worked. Who protected her. When she left Helix alone. Whether she still wore strawberry lip gloss. Lily answered everything she knew.
She told herself it did not matter. Femi had taken Marco. Femi had Malone and Marta. Now she had the Devil. Let Carr take something from her. Lily opened the envelope and counted the money.
He paid well. He always had. And she did not care what happened to Femi once Carr closed the doors behind her. Perhaps he would keep her. Perhaps Daemon would search until the failure hollowed him out. Perhaps the bracelet engraved All mine would remain inside Helix while Femi belonged to someone else. The thought made Lily smile.
Daemon had claimed Femi beneath Helix’s lights. Carr had claimed her in the dark years ago. He simply had not collected her yet. Lily tucked the envelope deeper into her purse. Femi still believed Lily could be wounded. That she could be frightened. That somewhere beneath the cruelty lived a woman worth saving. Lily would use that. A desperate note. A threat. Blood if necessary. Whatever brought the little ghost beyond Helix’s protection. Carr could have Femi. The money would clear Lily’s debt. And when the Devil found himself alone, wearing a bracelet from a woman he could no longer reach, perhaps he would finally understand that Femi had never been worth choosing.
Lily began walking.
She had a little ghost to lure from her graveyard. While Lily counted Carr Booth’s money, the black town car took the long route out of Wolfwater. It passed Helix once. The driver slowed without being told. Blue light spilled across the pavement. Motorcycles lined the street, and men gathered around the entrance beneath the glowing sign. Carr watched from behind tinted glass.
He could not see Femi. Only the building that sheltered her. The men who guarded its doors. And Daemon’s motorcycle parked beneath her bedroom window. Carr’s gaze remained upon Helix until the car turned the corner.
“Soon,” he said.
The driver did not answer.
Inside Helix, the story had already arrived. Femi noticed the staring first. Customers looked at Daemon’s wrist when he lifted his whiskey. Then at hers when she placed drinks upon their tables. Some smiled. Others whispered. A few men offered Daemon solemn nods usually reserved for funerals, marriages, and court sentences.
Femi did not understand until an older biker caught her hand while she collected his empty glass. He turned her wrist carefully enough not to frighten her. The silver plate reflected the light.
ALL MINE.
“Well,” he said. “Never thought I’d live to see this.”
Femi pulled her hand free. Her fingers moved.
See what?
The biker did not know enough sign language to understand. Marta did. She stood behind him with a tray balanced against one hip.
“He means the Devil wearing another person’s claim.”
Femi looked toward Daemon’s corner. He sat with one arm stretched across the back of his chair. The larger bracelet circled his wrist.
ALL YOURS.
Daemon caught her looking. His expression softened. The biker followed her gaze.
“Malone’s girl claimed the Devil.”
Several men at the table laughed. Femi’s face warmed. The biker lifted his drink toward Daemon.
“And the Devil claimed her right back.”
Daemon raised his glass. Not in denial. In acknowledgment. Femi fled toward the bar. Marta watched her go. Then looked at Daemon.
“You appear pleased with yourself.”
“I am.”
“She may hide in the pantry.”
“I know where it is.”
Marta shook her head and returned to work. The whispering continued. By nine, everyone inside Helix seemed to know. The little ghost had put a ring over the Devil’s heart. The Devil had fastened his answer around her wrist. They belonged to one another. Femi tried to ignore it. She took orders. Delivered drinks. Carried baskets
ALL MINE.
The words had felt private outside Helix. Even with Malone and Marta watching. Now strangers read them. They looked at Femi as though the bracelet meant she understood something she did not. As though accepting Daemon’s claim made her experienced. Certain. Ready. Femi knew only that the bracelet warmed whenever she remembered his lips touching the silver plate. That she liked seeing the larger one around his wrist. That some frightened part of her kept waiting for him to remove it.
Near ten, she carried a fresh bottle of Jack Daniel’s toward his table. Two men stood beside him. One was telling a story about a police chase that grew less believable with every sentence. The other noticed Femi approaching.
He smiled.
“So it’s true.”
Femi slowed.
Daemon’s attention left both men and settled upon her.
The Devil had noticed her long before Daemon looked.
It always did.
Little ghost.
“What is true?” he asked.
“You’ve been claimed.”
Daemon touched the ring beneath his shirt.
The Devil immediately stirred.
Mine.
Daemon ignored it.
“Yes.”
The answer came without hesitation. Femi’s pulse quickened. The man looked toward her bracelet.
“And you finally caught the little ghost.”
Daemon’s expression changed.
So did the Devil.
Caught?
“I did not catch her.”
The biker’s smile faded. Daemon held out his hand. Femi placed the bottle in it. He did not release her fingers. The Devil became suddenly, intensely attentive.
There.
“She chose me.”
His thumb moved once across her knuckles.
The Devil went still.
Not mine. Not caught. Not taken. Chosen.
Daemon looked at Femi.
“And I chose her.”
Something almost triumphant moved through the Devil.
She chose us.
Me.
Us.
Daemon didn’t have the energy for the argument. The two men found somewhere else to be. Femi looked at their joined hands. Daemon released her when she pulled gently.
The Devil objected.
No.
She wants her hand back.
We like her hand.
That is irrelevant.
Disagree.
Femi returned to the bar, but the words followed.
She chose me.
I chose her.
Choice should have comforted her. Instead, it frightened her in a new way. People changed their minds. They wanted something until they possessed it. Marco had wanted her once. Then Lily smiled at him, and his promises became insults. Foster families promised permanence until Femi became inconvenient. Caseworkers told her she was safe until the next placement arrived. Everything ended. Homes. Families. Promises. Why should Daemon be different? Why should she believe silver words could make anything last?
Femi touched the bracelet.
Across the room, Daemon watched.
The Devil noticed immediately.
Wrong.
Daemon frowned.
What?
Her face.
The celebration had left it. He saw that too. Of course he did.
The Devil became restless.
Fix it.
I don’t know what’s wrong.
Find out.
Daemon watched her return behind the bar. She did not look at him.
The Devil disliked that.
Little ghost.
She can’t hear you.
She should.
Daemon almost smiled. God help them both if that ever happened.
The dinner crowd thinned after eleven. Malone sent one waitress home. Marta began stacking chairs along the far wall while threatening anyone who attempted to occupy them again. Femi carried empty bottles toward the storage corridor.
When she turned from the shelves, Daemon stood in the doorway. She nearly dropped the crate.
“You have been avoiding me.”
Femi shook her head.
Liar.
Daemon agreed. He looked toward the barroom. Then back at her.
“You served everyone on my side of the room except me.”
Her hands moved.
You had a drink.
“Malone brought it.”
You were not thirsty afterward.
“That is not the point.”
Exactly.
Daemon nearly sighed. Femi attempted to pass him. Daemon stepped aside immediately. He never blocked her path. The Devil had learned that rule too. It did not always like it. But it understood.
She stays because she can leave.
Daemon stilled for half a heartbeat.
That was unusually insightful.
I know things.
Occasionally. Femi reached the hallway before he spoke again.
“Do you regret it?”
She stopped. Her fingers touched the bracelet. Daemon’s gaze dropped to the movement.
The Devil became absolutely still.
“The bracelet.”
She shook her head quickly. Relief passed through Daemon’s face. He concealed it almost at once.
The Devil did not bother.
Good.
“Then what is wrong?”
Femi looked toward the crowded barroom.
Her hands moved.
Everyone is talking.
“Let them.”
They think I belong to you.
Daemon became still.
The Devil did not.
You do.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
Not like that.
Ask her.
“Do you object?”
Femi looked at the silver plate. Slowly, she shook her head. The Devil smiled inside him. Not metaphorically.
Daemon felt the dark pleasure of it spreading beneath his ribs.
Mine.
Careful.
She said no.
She said she doesn’t object.
Exactly.
Daemon remained careful.
“And they think I belong to you.”
Femi met his eyes. Her fingers moved with greater certainty.
You do.
Daemon stopped.
The Devil— vanished. For one impossible second, there was nothing. No whisper. No hunger. No possessive growl. Nothing.
Then—
What?
Femi was still looking at him. Daemon could barely breathe.
The Devil sounded almost stunned.
Again.
She cannot hear you.
Make her say it again.
She didn’t say anything.
You know what I mean.
Daemon’s mouth threatened to curve.
“Yes.”
The answer came low. Immediate.
The Devil surged back through him.
HERS.
Daemon pulled the silver chain from beneath his shirt.
The ring rested against his palm.
Mine.
“I do.”
Femi’s face warmed. He released the ring and allowed it to settle over his heart again. She touched the bracelet on his wrist.
ALL YOURS.
Daemon stopped breathing. The Devil lost whatever remained of its mind.
ALL HERS.
Femi traced one edge of the silver plate. The touch was barely anything. One fingertip. Silver. Leather. His skin beneath.
The Devil reacted as though she had put her hand directly around its heart.
Again.
Then her hands moved.
What happens when you change your mind?
Everything inside Daemon changed.
The Devil’s pleasure disappeared.
“What?”
Femi looked at their bracelets.
You might.
“No.”
Never.
People do.
We don’t.
Daemon studied her. Not jealousy. Not regret. Fear. The quiet certainty of someone who had learned that everything given could be withdrawn without warning. The Devil understood fear. But this— This offended it. Not because Femi doubted them.
Because someone had taught her to.
Who?
Daemon already suspected.
His voice softened.
“This is not Julian.”
Femi flinched.
The Devil rose.
Julian.
“I am not him.”
She looked away. Daemon did not touch her.
The Devil wanted him to.
Hold her.
No.
She is afraid.
That’s why we don’t. The Devil went silent. It didn’t like the answer. But it accepted it.
“What did he do?”
Femi’s fingers remained at her sides.
“Did he promise you something?”
Her hands moved reluctantly.
He said I mattered.
Daemon waited.
Then the money came.
Understanding entered his face. The Devil understood something else.
He had her and looked elsewhere.
Yes.
Stupid man.
Very.
Femi looked down at the smaller bracelet.
People want things until they have them.
Daemon’s scar pulled tight.
The Devil recoiled from the sentence.
No.
“You believe I wanted to claim you because I could not have you.”
She did not answer.
“Now that you wear the bracelet, you think the wanting will end.”
Femi’s eyes filled with uncertainty. She did not deny it.
The Devil became almost frantic.
Tell her.
Daemon reached for her hand. Stopped before touching her.
Tell her.
Femi looked at his waiting fingers. Then placed her hand inside them.
The Devil settled instantly.
There.
Daemon closed his grip carefully.
“The bracelet is not a prize.”
His thumb moved over the silver plate.
“You are not something I chased so I could say I caught you.”
Never.
Femi’s gaze lifted.
“I wanted you when you were hiding behind the bar.”
The Devil remembered. The first glimpses. Green eyes watching from safe distances. Small hands. Quiet footsteps. Strawberries. Food left near him without explanation.
Little ghost.
His voice lowered.
“I wanted you when you could barely look at me.”
Her breath caught.
“I wanted you when you put a blanket over me and thought I was asleep.”
Femi’s eyes widened. Daemon’s crooked smile appeared briefly.
“Yes. I knew.”
Her cheeks flushed.
The Devil delighted in that.
Pretty.
Daemon ignored it.
“I wanted you before you touched me.”
His amusement faded.
“Before you kissed me.”
The Devil immediately supplied the memory.
Her mouth. Her hesitation.
The unbearable realization that she was touching them because she wanted to.
Again.
The memory moved between them. Femi’s pulse fluttered beneath his thumb.
“You choosing me did not end anything.”
Daemon lifted the hand wearing his bracelet.
“It began something.”
Femi looked at the matching black leather around their wrists.
Her fingers moved.
What?
Daemon stared at her. The answer rose inside him.
A life.
A home.
Every morning he had never expected to deserve.
The Devil had its own answer.
Everything.
The word hit him harder than expected. He gave her the truth he could manage.
“Whatever you are willing to build with me.”
The Devil corrected softly—
Whatever she wants.
Femi swallowed.
And if I am slow?
“I will be patient.”
We will wait.
If I become afraid?
“I will stop.”
The Devil hesitated.
Then—
We stop.
If I am never what you expect?
Daemon stared at her.
“You already exceed everything I expected.”
Everything.
Her eyes began to shine. Femi looked toward their joined hands.
Then she signed the question that frightened her most.
Is this temporary?
Daemon’s expression became fierce.
The Devil answered before him.
NO.
He tightened his fingers around hers.
“Nothing with you is temporary, little ghost. I need you to understand that.”
Never temporary.
Daemon lifted her hand and kissed her fingers slowly.
One by one.
The Devil practically vibrated beneath his skin.
Ours.
Hers.
He kissed another finger.
Ours.
Hers.
Another.
Fine. Hers. Kiss her again.
Femi shivered. His gaze sharpened immediately.
So did the Devil.
Cold?
“Are you cold?”
She shook her head.
No.
Daemon watched her.
The Devil watched her.
Then understood before he did.
Oh.
Daemon’s eyes narrowed slightly.
What?
The Devil’s pleasure spread.
Us.
Daemon looked at Femi. Her flushed cheeks. The pulse moving in her throat. The way she refused to meet his eyes.
Oh.
That smile appeared. Crooked. Knowing.
Femi saw it.
And fled into the barroom.
The Devil laughed.
Little ghost runs.
Daemon followed at a much more reasonable pace.
Catch her.
No.
Slowly?
No.
She likes being chased.
You don’t know that.
A pause.
We could ask.
Daemon almost laughed aloud.
Daemon walked into Helix as though he had not just unsettled every quiet thing inside her. He crossed the crowded barroom and claimed his usual corner table, stretching one arm across the back of the chair. Then he stared at her. Openly.
The Devil had abandoned subtlety completely.
Look at us.
Femi tried to ignore him. She took orders. Delivered drinks. Collected empty glasses. Every time she turned, his eyes were still there.
Waiting.
Little ghost.
She looked everywhere except at him.
Little ghost.
Daemon lifted his whiskey.
Stop.
She is pretending.
I know.
She knows we are watching.
Yes.
She likes it.
Daemon took a drink.
You are becoming insufferable.
She touched ALL YOURS.
Apparently the Devil intended to mention that until the end of time. When she finally carried his Jack on the rocks to his table, Daemon leaned forward.
The Devil surged eagerly toward her.
“Do I scare you, little ghost?”
His mouth was near her ear. Too near. His breath moved warmly over her skin. Another shiver raced down her neck before spreading beneath her shirt.
The Devil nearly purred.
Again.
Daemon noticed. Of course he noticed. His gaze followed the reaction across her skin with a new intensity.
He inhaled slowly.
“Strawberries and cream,” he murmured. “That’s what you smell like today.”
The Devil approved.
Ours smells good.
Daemon nearly choked. Femi tightened her fingers around the tray.
“Stop flirting and let the girl work, Daemon,” Malone called from behind the bar.
The Devil became offended.
Go away, Malone.
Daemon frowned across the room. Malone stared back, unimpressed.
We tolerated you.
Daemon leaned away from Femi. The Devil grumbled.
Interfering old man.
Femi escaped. The Devil watched her go.
She shivered.
Yes.
Because of us.
Apparently.
Again.
Daemon took a long drink.
Femi returned to work, but the confusion followed her. Her stomach kept turning over, fluttering strangely whenever she remembered the warmth of his breath against her skin. Something was wrong with her. Perhaps she was becoming sick. That had to be it. She needed air. When the crowd finally thinned, Femi slipped through the back door and stepped into the cool night.
The alley was quiet. Faint music pulsed through the brick walls behind her, softened by distance. She pressed her back against the building and drew in a deep breath. Then she shivered again. But this one was different. It was not the shiver that came when Daemon touched her. Or kissed her fingers. Or leaned close enough for his voice to move over her skin. That realization made her open her eyes.
She had noticed the difference. She noticed everything now. The way his eyes followed her through Helix. The way his voice changed when he called her his little ghost. The way he looked at her tonight. No man had ever looked at Femi that way.
The weight of it frightened her—not because it felt dangerous, but because it felt like hunger.
Deep.
Heavy.
Barely restrained.
And somehow, she felt it all the way down to her soul. Malone said Daemon was flirting with her. Femi did not know what she was supposed to do with that. The shadows around her shifted. She looked up. Daemon filled the doorway. The light from Helix burned behind him, outlining his broad shoulders and turning the loose strands of his blond hair to pale gold.
His gaze found her immediately.
The Devil had found her before the door finished opening.
There.
Femi looked away.
She ran from us.
She needed air.
We are air.
Daemon almost stumbled.
That may be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.
Go to her.
That part he agreed with. He stepped into the alley and allowed the door to close behind him. Silence settled around them. Daemon stopped in front of her. Close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. Not so close that she could not move. The Devil noticed the distance.
Closer.
No.
Want.
I know.
Her.
I know.
Ask.
That silenced Daemon. The Devil had once told him to take. Break. Kill. Claim. It had never told him to ask. Daemon placed one hand against the brick beside her head and leaned down.
“Can I kiss you tonight, little ghost?”
The Devil became utterly still. Waiting.
His voice was deep. Raspy. Femi’s stomach clenched. Her heart pounded so loudly she could hear it in her ears. Daemon rested his forehead against the hand braced beside her face. His other hand lifted slowly, giving her every opportunity to turn away before he caught a lock of her hair between his fingers. He watched the dark strands slide across his skin.
The Devil nearly groaned.
Soft.
Femi swallowed.
What’s wrong?
Her hands trembled slightly.
Daemon’s eyes dropped to them.
“Do you know what you do to me, little ghost?”
The Devil answered.
Everything.
Daemon whispered the question against her ear.
Femi shook her head.
No.
A tremor passed through him. It was faint. But she felt it. The Devil was clawing through him.
Kiss her.
She hasn’t answered.
Ask again.
Her fear vanished beneath sudden concern.
Are you all right?
Daemon caught both her hands in one of his larger ones and held them against his chest.
His heart was racing. Faster than hers.
The Devil was almost incoherent now.
Her hands.
Her hands.
She chose us.
ALL YOURS.
“ No,” he whispered.
The answer came in a tone she had never heard from him before. Not angry. Not cold. Not commanding. He sounded undone. Because he was. The Devil had spent years appearing only for blood.
For danger.
For survival.
And somehow this tiny woman standing in an alley had reduced both of them to trembling because she might kiss him.
Femi lifted her gaze. Daemon’s face was inches from hers. His pale eyes moved over her slowly, as if he were fighting something inside himself.
He was.
The Devil whispered—
Please.
Daemon froze. The word had not been his. Not at first. The Devil had never pleaded for anything. Not mercy. Not survival. Not blood. Nothing.
But now—
Please.
Daemon’s voice came rough.
“Kiss me, little ghost.”
His fingers tightened gently around hers.
“Please.”
The word decided it. Daemon—who frightened armed men into silence merely by entering a room—was asking her. Not taking. Not assuming. Asking. Femi freed her hands.
The Devil panicked.
No—
Then she placed them against his face. Everything stopped. Daemon went completely still. The Devil disappeared into stunned silence. Femi held him carefully. One palm against his unscarred cheek. The other over the pale line hidden beneath his hair. His eyes closed for half a second at her touch.
The Devil whispered—
Ours.
Daemon did not correct it. Not then. Then Femi rose onto her toes. And kissed him. Slowly. Uncertainly. Daemon made a low sound against her mouth.
Inside him, the Devil shattered.
YES.
His hand moved to the back of her head, cradling rather than gripping. He gave her time to pull away.
The Devil screamed at him not to.
Stay.
But Daemon would let her. Even now. Especially now. Femi did not pull away.
The Devil went wild.
She stayed.
Femi’s fingers slipped into his hair.
She stayed.
Daemon deepened the kiss.
SHE CHOSE US.
The world tilted.
His body moved closer, surrounding her with warmth without pinning her to the wall. His thumb stroked the nape of her neck as his mouth moved over hers with a hunger that made her knees weaken. This was what she had felt in his stare.
This was what Malone had seen. Daemon wanted her. The Devil wanted her. But neither wanted what she did not freely give. The realization sent heat rushing through her so quickly that she trembled against him.
Daemon immediately softened the kiss. The Devil objected for half a heartbeat.
Then it felt the tremor.
Careful.
Daemon slowed further.
Femi stayed.
Again.
His mouth brushed hers.
Again.
Another kiss.
Again.
And another.
The Devil was nearly drunk on her. Her fingers in his hair. Her mouth against his. Her body choosing closer instead of away.
Little ghost.
Then—
“Femi!”
Malone’s voice thundered through the back door.
The Devil’s reaction was immediate.
NO.
They tore apart.
Femi stared up at Daemon, breathless.
He stared back at her as though he had forgotten where they were.
The Devil had forgotten too.
“Femi!”
Daemon closed his eyes.
His jaw tightened.
I hate Malone.
No, you don’t.
Tonight I do.
“Go,” he rasped.
Femi did not move.
The Devil immediately changed allegiance.
She doesn’t want to go.
Daemon opened his eyes and looked at her. The hunger remained. But something gentler lived beneath it now. Something almost reverent.
“Go, little ghost.”
Stay.
Daemon ignored it.
Malone called her name a third time.
The Devil snarled.
Old man.
Daemon turned away and planted both hands against the brick wall, bowing his head between them.
Femi slipped through the back door.
The instant it closed, the Devil exploded.
WHY DID YOU SEND HER AWAY?
Because Malone was calling her.
Ignore Malone.
She works for Malone.
Buy Helix.
Daemon actually laughed once against the brick.
Quiet.
Disbelieving.
You are fucking insane.
She kissed us.
Daemon closed his eyes.
Yes.
The memory replayed instantly. Her palms against his face. Her fingers in his hair. Her mouth. The tiny movement when she chose to stay.
The Devil became unbearably pleased.
Again.
Not tonight.
Again.
No.
Tomorrow.
If she wants.
A pause.
The Devil had learned.
If she wants.
Daemon pushed away from the wall.
Good.
She will.
Do not get cocky.
She touched ALL YOURS.
Daemon scrubbed a hand over his face. This was going to be a problem.
Femi returned behind the bar, struggling to calm her breathing.
Malone shoved a tray toward her without looking up.
“Table six needs another round.”
Femi took the tray.
Her hands were still trembling.
Malone glanced at her face, frowned, and pointed toward a stool.
“Actually, you need to sit down.”
She shook her head quickly.
“I wasn’t asking.”
Femi sat.
A moment later, Daemon emerged from the hallway and returned to his corner table as though nothing had happened.
Inside him, the Devil was behaving as though everything had happened.
She kissed us.
Daemon settled into his chair.
She kissed us.
He stretched one arm across its back.
She put her hands in our hair.
Malone carried over his whiskey.
She chose us.
Daemon accepted the glass.
Please shut up.
No.
Malone took the chair opposite him. The two men drank in silence. Femi watched from behind the bar. Daemon did not look at her. Not immediately.
The Devil objected.
Look.
No.
Little ghost.
She needs a minute.
We need a minute.
Exactly.
A pause.
Minute finished.
Daemon almost smiled into his whiskey. His glass touched the table. His eyes lifted. They found her. The Devil went quiet. Femi felt that stare move through her all over again. But it was not the same as before. Before, his gaze had been heavy with a question.
Now it carried the memory of her answer.
And inside Daemon, something dark and ancient curled around that answer with almost unbearable satisfaction.
The Devil whispered—
She chose us.
Daemon watched Femi touch her lips. His pulse kicked. The Devil noticed. Of course it did. Then Femi looked directly at him. She did not look away.
The Devil’s pleasure became almost tender.
Our little ghost.
Daemon touched the ring hidden beneath his shirt.
Mine.
The Devil corrected him.
Hers.
Daemon went still.
Across the room, Femi’s fingers settled over the silver plate around her wrist.
ALL MINE.
His mouth curved.
Yeah.
Hers. from the kitchen. Every time she reached across a table, silver caught the light.
Carr sat in his private study and watched the recording of the night he made love to his queen. The night he finally made her his. Carr leaned forward and touched the screen right over Femi’s face. “You are so beautiful, my queen. Forgive me for getting too busy to see about you. But I am back now.” Carr said to the screen.
Carr Booth remembered the first time Femi interested him.
It was not because she was beautiful.
Not then.
Beauty was common.
Carr had spent enough of his life around expensive women, purchased women, ambitious women, and women who understood exactly how much their faces and bodies could acquire for them.
Femi did not appear to understand that she possessed either.
She was eighteen.
Small.
Too thin.
Her clothes were too large and layered in a way Carr associated immediately with poverty. Her trousers gathered awkwardly around her waist. Her shirts swallowed her shoulders. Her shoes were cheap and worn nearly smooth at the soles.
Nothing about her should have held his attention.
Then one afternoon Carr watched an armed guard retreat from her.
Femi was on break behind the building.
She sat on the concrete retaining wall with a sandwich in one hand and a book balanced against her knee. She was halfway through eating when one of Carr’s security men walked past.
The man was six feet two inches tall.
More than two hundred and fifty pounds.
Armed. Carr could not remember what he said to her. Something rude. Something intended to remind a tiny cleaning woman where she belonged in the hierarchy of the building.
Femi stopped reading. She lifted her eyes. That was all. No argument. No threat. No raised voice. Nothing. She simply looked at him. The guard stopped. His hand dropped away from his weapon. Then the grown man took one step backward.
Carr leaned closer to the security monitor. Femi continued staring. The guard walked away. She watched him go. Then returned to her sandwich and turned the page. Carr stared at the screen.
“What the hell?”
That evening, he called the hiring manager.
“Who is she?”
“Who?”
“The new cleaner.”
There were twelve new cleaners. Carr made him find the correct one. Her name was Femi. Eighteen years old. She spoke to no one. Carr frowned.
“No one?”
“No one.”
“She has friends here?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
“Boyfriend?”
“I don’t know.”
“Family?”
“I don’t know.”
Carr’s irritation increased with every answer.
“What do you know?”
The hiring manager hesitated.
“She cleans.”
Carr waited.
“That is your answer?”
“She cleans like it’s personal.”
Carr sat back. The manager continued.
“She worked her own section last night and covered three other people. One didn’t show up. One left sick. Another walked out because the work was too hard.”
Carr glanced toward the monitor. Femi was pushing a cleaning cart down the fourth-floor corridor. One girl. Four people’s work.
“She finished?”
“Everything.”
“On time?”
“Early.”
Carr watched her disappear around a corner.
“Interesting.”
That was the beginning.
Voss found out the rest. Femi worked wherever someone would pay her. Sometimes restaurants. Sometimes warehouses. Sometimes private cleaning jobs. She unloaded trucks. Washed dishes. Cleaned offices. Did laundry. Whatever she could find. Sometimes she traded labor for food. She often worked two jobs before arriving to clean Carr’s building at night. She lived beneath Wolfwater Bridge. Carr looked up from the report.
“Where?”
“The homeless camp.”
Carr stared at Voss.
“She is eighteen.”
“Yes.”
“Family?”
“None that I can find.”
“Apartment?”
“No.”
“Shelter?”
“She avoids them.”
Carr looked toward the monitor. Femi was cleaning a conference room. She lifted each chair rather than dragging it so the legs would not scratch the floor.
“Why?”
“I haven’t found out yet.”
Carr’s eyes remained on the screen.
“Find out.”
For six months, Carr watched her.
He told himself it was curiosity. At first, perhaps it was. He had her security clearance increased. Femi never knew. The first increase allowed her onto the executive floors. The second gave her access to offices where confidential documents were occasionally left unsecured.
Carr wanted to know what she would do. So he tested her. Three thousand dollars. Cash. A gold money clip. A designer watch. He left them inside the vice president’s office. Femi entered shortly after eleven. Carr watched from his office. She emptied the trash. Dusted the shelves. Vacuumed. Wiped fingerprints from the glass table. Her hand passed within inches of the money.
Nothing.
She moved the watch once. Carr leaned toward the monitor. Femi cleaned beneath it. Then returned it precisely where she had found it. The next morning everything remained. Carr left the items again. And again. Night after night. Three thousand dollars could have changed several months of her life. She lived beneath a bridge. She sometimes worked for food. Her shoes had holes beginning along the edges. The money remained untouched. The watch remained untouched.
By the third month, Carr had seen enough. He increased her clearance again. Femi began cleaning his office.
That was when watching stopped being enough.
He encountered her outside his office one night.
Deliberately.
Femi pushed her cart into the corridor. She saw him. Stopped. Carr smiled.
“Femi.”
Her expression changed. Not recognition. Alarm. Carr noticed that immediately.
“You know who I am?”
She nodded.
“Good.”
She attempted to move around him. Carr stepped sideways. Not threateningly. At least he did not believe so.
“I wanted to ask you something.”
Femi looked toward the elevator. Carr followed her gaze.
“I’m not keeping you.”
She gripped the cart handle.
“You’ve worked here several months.”
Nothing.
“You’re very good.”
Nothing.
“Do you like working nights?”
Nothing.
Carr frowned.
“Can you answer me?”
Femi backed away.
“I’m speaking to you.”
She abandoned the cart. And fled. Carr stood alone in the corridor. He stared after her. Something unpleasant moved through him. He had only wanted her to speak. One word.
He had watched her for months. He knew how she took her coffee. Knew which vending machine she used. Knew she read during every break. Knew she tucked her hair into her shirt when she cleaned bathrooms. Knew she saved half of whatever she ate some nights and carried it home. He knew all of that.
She had run from him as though he were a stranger. Carr did not like it. The following morning, he personally called the hiring manager.
“I frightened Femi last night.”
Silence. Carr’s eyes narrowed.
“I want to apologize.”
Another silence.
Then:
“Sir… Femi can’t speak. She is mute.”
Carr stopped.
“What?”
“She doesn’t talk.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Carr disconnected.
“Voss.”
Voss appeared in the doorway several minutes later.
“Find out.”
The answer arrived that evening. Carr wished it had not. Femi had been six. Her parents had been murdered. She had been stabbed repeatedly. Shot. Left alive. Afterward, she stopped speaking. Foster homes followed. Then the system ended. At eighteen, so did the roof over her head.
Carr looked through the report twice.
“When is her birthday?”
Voss checked.
“April ninth.”
Carr looked toward the monitors. Femi was cleaning the twenty-second floor.
“Adjust her pay.”
Voss looked at him.
“By how much?”
Carr named a figure.
“That is considerably above what the others make.”
“I know.”
“She may notice.”
“She should.”
“Do you want her told why?”
“No.”
Voss studied him. Carr looked back at the screen.
“Call it a performance increase.”
It was an apology. Femi never knew that.
Carr preferred it that way.
Her nineteenth birthday fell during the fifth month.
She came to work.
Carr did not understand that.
If anyone had earned one night without labor, surely it was the girl who seemed determined to work herself into the ground. But there she was. Carr noticed immediately that she had dressed differently.
Her obsidian hair was pulled into a high ponytail reaching nearly to her lower back. Sensible work trousers fit her properly for once. A plain black button-up shirt replaced the oversized layers she normally wore.
Work boots. Nothing expensive. Nothing revealing. On her, it was devastating. Carr watched her cross the lobby. His meeting ran late that evening. Executives ordered enough food to feed twice their number. Carr looked at what remained after the meeting.
“Don’t throw that away.”
His assistant paused.
“Sir?”
“Send it downstairs.”
“To security?”
“The cleaning staff.”
The assistant nodded.
Carr added, “Femi chooses first.”
The man looked at him. Carr’s eyes lifted.
“Problem?”
“No, sir.”
Femi ate well that night. Carr watched her choose carefully. Not greedily. Enough for herself. Then she wrapped some of the remaining food. For later, Carr assumed. Or someone else. He did not yet know about Marco. He did not yet know about Lily.
By the sixth month, Femi had gained weight. Not much. Enough. Her face was fuller. Her clothing fit differently. Carr noticed. He noticed too much.One night he remained in his office on a telephone call long after midnight while Femi cleaned the adjoining conference room.
Carr barely heard the man speaking into his ear. Femi reached across the table. Her ponytail slid over one shoulder.
Carr watched.
At nineteen, she was magnificent.
And she had absolutely no idea.
Then Femi brought Lily into his building. Carr disliked Lily the first night. Voss disliked her within twenty minutes. Lily stole before her first shift ended. Cash from one office. A bracelet from another. Medication from a desk drawer. A watch. Two credit cards. Voss recorded everything.
Carr told him not to interfere.
“Why?”
“I want to know how far she goes.”
Farther than either expected. Lily stole from every floor she entered. She disappeared into stairwells with guards. Into storage rooms. Into an empty executive office. Voss recorded men emerging afterward, fastening belts and fixing clothing.
“Charming,” Voss muttered.
Carr’s interest was elsewhere.
“How does Femi know her?”
Voss found out. Lily lived beneath Wolfwater Bridge too. Sex for money, drugs, food, favors—whatever kept her supplied. There was a boyfriend. Marco. Carr began watching more closely.
What he saw made him angry. Femi worked. Femi brought home food. Femi handed over money. Femi repaired their clothing. Femi accepted jobs Lily refused. Femi worked until exhaustion hollowed the space beneath her eyes.
And Lily and Marco treated her as though she contributed nothing. As though she were stupid. As though she were inconvenient. Disposable. Carr found himself increasingly unable to tolerate it.
Femi did not complain.
That somehow made it worse.
At the end of Lily’s second month, Carr made certain Femi had gone home.
He checked himself.
Only after confirmation came did he have Lily brought upstairs. Two armed guards escorted her into the security office on the highest floor. The door locked behind her. Carr sat at the end of a polished table. Voss stood beside a wall of sleeping monitors. Two armed men remained near the door.
Lily tried charm first. Of course she did. She crossed her legs. Leaned forward. Smiled at Carr as though they were negotiating over drinks.
“What’s this about?”
Carr said nothing. Voss activated the first recording. Lily appeared on-screen taking cash. Her smile faded.
The second recording showed her slipping a watch into her pocket.
The third showed her emptying a wallet in the stairwell.
Lily straightened.
“That’s fake.”
Voss almost smiled.
“Is it?”
“Obviously.”
Another recording. Another theft.
“Femi told me to take that.”
Carr’s eyes lifted. Lily noticed. It was the first reaction she had gotten from him. So she continued.
“Actually, Femi steals more than I do.”
Carr remained expressionless.
“She’s really good at it. Nobody suspects her because of the whole mute thing.”
Voss looked toward Carr. Carr’s finger tapped once against the table. Voss understood. He did not ask Lily another question about the thefts.
Instead:
“What does Femi like to eat?”
Lily blinked.
“What?”
“What does she like to eat?”
“What does that have to do with—”
“Answer.”
Lily shrugged.
Voss continued.
“Where does she sleep?”
She answered.
“Does she have family?”
Answered.
“Boyfriend?”
Answered.
“What frightens her?”
Answered.
“What makes her trust someone?”
Answered.
“Can she read lips?”
Answered.
“Why doesn’t she speak?”
Answered.
Sometimes Lily responded before Voss finished the question. Carr listened. Every answer became another piece. When the interview ended, Carr slid a sheet of paper across the table. Lily looked down. An itemized list filled the page. At the bottom was a number circled twice in red.
$200,000.
Lily stared.
“What is this?”
“What you owe me,” Carr said.
They were the first words he had spoken directly to her. Her face drained.
“The cash and watch weren’t worth this much.”
“Interest.”
“This is insane.”
Carr said nothing. Lily looked toward the armed men. Neither moved. Finally, she looked back at him.
“What do you want?”
Carr smiled.
“The girl.”
Lily blinked. Then laughed.
“Everyone wants that stupid fucking mute. Why?”
Carr’s eyes became cold. Beside her, a pistol hammer clicked. The sneer disappeared from Lily’s face.
“I’m just saying,” she rushed. “I’m more than she’ll ever be. I mean, look at me. I’m beautiful. I’m sexy. Men want me.”
Voss laughed.
Lily looked at him. He picked up the remote. One monitor illuminated. A recording from two hours earlier began playing. Lily appeared in the alley on her knees behind the building with one of Carr’s guards while another stood nearby. Voss paused the recording before it progressed further.
“Look at you.”
Lily’s face burned crimson. A second monitor came alive. Femi. She was cleaning the downstairs rest area. Her face shone with a thin layer of sweat. Strands of black hair clung to her cheeks as she wiped tables and straightened chairs. She found a wallet beneath a discarded napkin. Several bills protruded from it. Femi lifted her head. Looked around. Waited. No one returned. She cleaned around the wallet. Then placed it upright against the napkin dispenser where its owner could easily find it. And moved to the next table.
“Now,” Voss said, “look at her.”
Carr did. His expression did not change. His attention never left the screen. Voss turned back to Lily.
“How many times have you stolen from this building since she brought you here?”
Lily said nothing. Voss pressed another button. The entire wall awakened. Every monitor showed Lily.
Different nights.
Different floors.
Different offices.
Different victims.
Theft after theft after theft.
Carr touched one finger to the number on the paper. Two hundred thousand dollars. Lily looked at Femi’s image.
“So you want Femi. Fine. Just take her. I couldn’t care less about her. She’s just some dumb fucking mute. What do I care?”
The pistol barrel touched her temple. Lily froze.
“Say that again,” Carr growled.
Voss looked toward him. It was the first emotion he had heard from Carr all night. Lily swallowed.
“You want her,” she said quickly. “So what do I care? That’s all I’m saying.”
“You will bring her to this address when I tell you.”
Carr slid another piece of paper across the table.
“She will come willingly.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
Voss answered.
“Then your boyfriend will be looking for a new girlfriend.”
Lily looked at him. Voss smiled.
“You owe my boss a great deal of money. You pay, or you pay. One way or another, the debt gets settled.”
Lily looked at the address.
“How am I supposed to convince her?”
Carr’s gaze returned to Femi.
“That is your problem.”
Voss leaned over the table.
“You have one week.”
His smile disappeared.
“Convince your friend to save you.”
The Sunrise Motel stood near the edge of Wolfwater.
Carr could have chosen somewhere better. Much better. That was precisely why he had not. Femi would distrust marble. She would distrust private elevators, servants, penthouses, expensive restaurants, and every polished declaration of wealth Carr could place before her.
His queen was timid. Money would overwhelm her. So Carr chose the Sunrise.
Small.
Quiet.
Hardwood floors. Tacky yellow curtains. A room that did not announce what Carr possessed. He wanted one night close to her. Nothing more. Not yet. He wanted her to eat. To sit with him. To realize she did not need to run.
Lily brought her. Carr knew they had arrived before the knock. He had men outside. Men across the street. A man watching the rear exit.
He heard Lily’s voice through the door.
“He only wants dinner.”
Silence. Then Lily again.
“Oh, grow up, Femi.”
Carr’s jaw tightened. He opened the door. And forgot every prepared word.
Femi wore white.
A fitted sundress.
Simple.
Soft.
Carr had given Lily money and ordered her to buy Femi something nice. For once, Lily had obeyed. Femi’s black hair fell down her back. Her green eyes moved immediately over the room.
Door. Window. Carr. Lily. Exit. Always the exits. Carr knew that about her. He knew far too much about her. Femi knew almost nothing about him. She stood uncertainly in the doorway.
Carr smiled.
“Hello, Femi.”
Her eyes sharpened. Recognition. She remembered him. The man from outside his office. Carr felt absurdly pleased. Lily pushed lightly at Femi’s back.
“Go inside.”
Femi immediately stepped away from her hand. Carr’s smile vanished.
“Don’t touch her.”
Lily stared at him. Femi stared too. Carr moved away from the doorway. Giving Femi space. Giving her a choice. At least that was what he told himself.
“Come in.”
Femi looked down the motel walkway. Carr waited. His queen was frightened. He could be patient. He had already watched her for six months. He could wait another minute. Another hour. Another night. Lily pushed her across the threshold. Carr’s attention followed her.
Nineteen years old. White dress. Obsidian hair. Green eyes that had once sent a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound armed man retreating without a word.
Beautiful.
Honest.
Silent.
His.
The thought arrived so naturally that Carr did not question it. Not yet.
Lily pushed Femi farther into the room again.Then closed and locked the door behind her.
Their night together was beautiful. But after seeing the blood, he understood. His queen had been pure; of course, she was scared. She had run. He would collect her soon, he thought that night. Give her time to come around. But work kept him busy. When he looked around for her again, she was gone. No longer under Wolfwater Bridge.
Carr was angry with himself that he had lost his Queen. Lily abandoned her. Carr searched for months with no leads, only to find Lily again.
Femi spent a week in the Ravenside library learning how to flirt.
She approached the task the same way she approached everything unfamiliar.
Quietly.
Methodically.
With three books, a notebook, and enough determination to make the librarian stop asking whether she needed help.
The first book explained body language.
Eye contact.
Proximity.
Touch.
The direction of the feet.
The angle of the body.
According to the author, attraction could be communicated without speaking.
That appealed to Femi.
The second book warned against sending mixed signals.
Someone who desired greater intimacy should communicate interest clearly while maintaining boundaries. Fear and desire could exist at the same time. Wanting one kind of touch did not grant permission for another.
Femi copied that paragraph into her notebook.
Then she underlined it twice.
The third book was less educational.
It contained photographs of smiling couples and advice about laughing at jokes, playing with one’s hair, and leaning forward to display interest.
Femi stared at the page.
Daemon rarely told jokes.
When he did, most people did not recognize them as jokes until someone began bleeding.
She returned that book to the shelf.
Her doctor had encouraged the reading.
During Femi’s previous appointment, she had attempted to explain the ache that sometimes formed low inside her body when Daemon looked at her.
The wanting came first.
Then fear.
Then shame because she had wanted anything at all.
The doctor listened without interrupting.
“What you are feeling is natural.”
Femi had looked doubtful.
“Desire is not dangerous simply because dangerous people used desire as an excuse to hurt you.”
Femi stared at her hands.
“Your body learned that intimacy leads to pain. It may react to something wanted as if it is a threat.”
Her fingers moved.
How do I stop it?
“You do not punish yourself for it.”
The doctor leaned forward.
“You learn what makes you feel safe. You ask questions. You communicate boundaries. You stop when you need to stop.”
Femi looked toward the window.
What if he becomes tired of stopping?
“Then he does not deserve permission to continue.”
Daemon always stopped.
Sometimes before Femi asked.
The doctor gave her a list of books about trauma, consent, and rebuilding intimacy after violence.
“Read what helps. Ignore what does not.”
Femi took the list.
“And talk to Daemon.”
Her expression closed.
“You cannot learn everything about the man you want from a library.”
Femi’s face warmed.
“I did not say his name.”
Femi glared at her.
The doctor smiled.
“You did not have to.”
For seven days, Femi studied.
On the eighth, she began her experiment.
Daemon sat in his usual corner at Helix.
His pale hair concealed part of his scar. One arm rested along the back of the chair while his other hand held a glass of Jack Daniel’s.
The Devil was bored.
Too loud.
Daemon drank.
Man by the door has a knife.
I know.
Woman at the bar is lying.
Don’t care.
Two men near the stairs are going to fight.
Let Malone deal with it.
The Devil grumbled.Then Femi approached. Everything inside Daemon changed.
Little ghost.
The Devil immediately forgot the knife. The liar. The impending fight. Femi carried a tray. She placed his drink beside him.
Usually, she would turn and leave.
This time— she looked at him. Held his gaze.
The Devil went still.
What is she doing?
Daemon didn’t know. Femi turned her head slowly as she walked away. Then looked back over her shoulder. The book recommended two seconds. Femi gave him three.
Daemon stopped with the glass halfway to his mouth.
The Devil rose.
Oh.
Femi faced forward before she walked into a table. Daemon lowered the whiskey. His eyes narrowed.
The Devil watched her.
Again.
Femi crossed the clubhouse with an extra movement in her hips. Not much. She had practiced in front of the mirror and felt ridiculous. Daemon noticed immediately. So did the Devil.
What is that?
Daemon’s gaze followed her.
I don’t know.
She does not usually walk like that.
I know.
The Devil became fascinated.
Is she injured?
No.
Then why is she—
Femi looked over her shoulder again.
The Devil stopped.
Oh.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
Yeah.
OH.
Femi reached the bar. Marta looked from Femi to Daemon. Then back again.
“What was that?”
Femi picked up an order slip.
Her hands moved.
Walking.
“No.”
Daemon watched from across the room.
The Devil was delighted.
Liar.
Femi frowned. Marta pointed toward her hips.
“That was not your usual walk.”
Femi collected three bottles of beer.
I have several ways of walking.
The Devil laughed so hard Daemon nearly smiled.
“I have known you for two years.”
Femi placed the beers on her tray.
Marta leaned against the bar.
“Did you injure yourself?”
Femi glared at her.
Across the room, Daemon continued staring.
The Devil whispered—
Do it again, little ghost.
Marta followed his gaze.
Understanding arrived.
“Oh.”
Femi fled with the drinks.
The Devil immediately objected.
Come back.
Daemon lifted his whiskey. His mouth curved around the glass.
What the hell was she doing?
The Devil already knew what it hoped.
Us.
Daemon’s pulse jumped.
Don’t start.
She is doing it for us.
You don’t know that.
The Devil watched Femi glance back again.
Yes, I fucking do.
She tried again the following night. Daemon entered at nine. The room quieted as it always did. Femi watched him cross Helix.
He wore black jeans and the dark blue shirt she chose at Mercer’s. The sleeves had been rolled to his elbows, exposing the snake tattoo winding along his forearm.
The bracelet circled his wrist.
ALL YOURS.
The Devil loved that bracelet.
It noticed it constantly.
Whenever Daemon reached for his whiskey.
Hers.
Whenever he opened a door.
Hers.
Whenever his hand closed around a wrench.
Hers.
Whenever blood dried across his knuckles.
Still hers.
Daemon had stopped arguing.
Femi had put that bracelet around his wrist herself. Fastened the clasp. Touched the silver plate.
ALL YOURS.
The Devil had been insufferable ever since. Daemon claimed his usual table.
Femi waited five minutes before approaching. She delivered his whiskey. Then remained beside him. Daemon looked at the glass. Then at her.
“Did I order something?”
She shook her head.
“Is something wrong?”
Another shake.
The Devil whispered—
Something is happening.
Daemon’s eyes moved slowly over her. Femi’s courage trembled. The book recommended proximity. She stepped between his knees. Daemon became still. The Devil stopped breathing with him.
Little ghost.
Femi placed one hand upon his shoulder.
The Devil shuddered.
Touch.
Then she lowered herself onto his lap. Daemon’s free hand tightened around the edge of the table.
The Devil nearly screamed.
OURS.
Daemon immediately corrected it.
Hers.
HERS.
The Devil was perfectly willing to accept that tonight.
Femi had sat upon his lap before. Once when every chair was taken. Once when she injured her ankle and he carried her downstairs. Once when a man Daemon did not trust entered Helix and Daemon wanted her within reach.
Those moments lasted seconds. This one was different. Femi had chosen it.
The Devil understood the distinction immediately.
She chose us.
Daemon did not touch her. Not immediately. His hands remained visible. One held the whiskey. The other rested upon the table.
The Devil was losing its fucking mind.
Touch her.
Not yet.
She is in our lap.
I noticed.
Her ass is literally—
Behave.
I am behaving.
Barely.
“Little ghost.”
Femi looked at him.
“Are you comfortable?”
She nodded.
The Devil purred.
“Do you want to sit here?”
Another nod.
The Devil vibrated.
YES.
Daemon placed his whiskey down carefully. Only then did one hand settle at her waist. His palm remained over her shirt. Warm. Steady.
The Devil sighed.
There.
Femi stayed for thirty seconds.
Perhaps forty.
The Devil counted every one.
Thirty-one.
Daemon’s thumb moved once.
Thirty-two.
Femi’s body softened slightly.
Thirty-three.
Stop counting.
No.
Femi shifted.
The Devil practically purred itself senseless. Then her courage failed. She rose. Daemon’s hand left her immediately.
The Devil howled.
NO.
Femi walked away without looking back.
Come back.
Daemon watched the movement of her hips. He licked his lips. The Devil was thirsty. Not for blood. Not tonight. It wanted Femi. Every glance. Every chosen touch. Every second she remained within his arms before retreating.
Again.
It could not get enough.
The following night, Femi stayed for a full minute.
The Devil counted.
Every.
Single.
Second.
Fifty-seven.
Daemon ignored it.
Fifty-eight.
Femi shifted against him. Daemon’s jaw tightened.
Fifty-nine.
Her hand rested against his chest.
Sixty.
She rose.
The Devil immediately complained.
One minute is insufficient.
Daemon agreed. That was the problem.
On Friday, she remained long enough to take one sip from his whiskey.
The Devil watched her mouth touch the rim of his glass.
Our glass.
Daemon’s eyes narrowed. Femi swallowed. The taste made her grimace.
The Devil laughed.
Daemon’s crooked smile appeared.
“You dislike it.”
Femi nodded.
“Yet you keep drinking mine.”
Her hands moved.
I wanted to know why you like it.
The Devil perked up.
“And?”
She considered.
It tastes like anger.
Daemon stared at her.
The Devil became deeply offended.
It does not.
Then considered.
Actually.
Daemon laughed. Low. Rough. The sound moved through Femi’s body. She shifted in his lap. The Devil noticed.
She felt that.
Daemon’s laughter stopped. Femi’s eyes widened.
Again.
No.
Do it again.
Absolutely not.
Femi stayed upon his lap until the sensation became too strong. Then she escaped. The Devil watched her go.
We are going to die.
Daemon lifted his whiskey.
Probably.
Worth it.
Yeah.
By Saturday, Daemon understood she was flirting.
The Devil had understood Tuesday.
Slow.
You thought she injured herself.
For approximately four seconds.
Daemon did not know why she had begun. The Devil did not care. Neither, if he was honest, did Daemon. He accepted each offering with the reverence of a starving creature receiving food by hand. The Devil was worse.
Femi held his gaze longer.
Again.
Her fingers brushed his when she delivered his drinks.
Again.
She stood closer when she signed.
Closer.
Whenever she walked away, she looked over her shoulder.
Little ghost.
That look became his ruin.
It promised something Femi refused to name.
The Devil wanted to follow every time.
Go.
Daemon stayed seated.
Catch her.
No.
Turn her around.
No.
Ask her what that fucking look means.
She’ll tell us when she wants.
The Devil growled.
I hate patience.
You’re learning.
I hate learning.
Daemon’s mouth twitched. He remained in his chair. He waited for Femi to choose the distance between them. The Devil hated every second. But it waited too. That was new.
She will come back.
Daemon glanced toward Femi.
Yeah.
She always comes back.
The restraint was slowly killing both of them.
Saturday night, Helix was packed. Music shook the walls. People crowded every table and stood three deep around the bar. The air smelled of whiskey, food, leather, and too many bodies gathered beneath old lights. Daemon watched Femi move among them. So did the Devil.
Her black button-up shirt followed the curve of her waist. The sleeves were rolled to her elbows. Her midnight hair had been gathered into a loose tail that brushed her hips as she walked. And around her wrist— the bracelet.
The Devil noticed it every time.
ALL MINE.
Silver flashed beneath the lights as Femi lifted her tray.
The Devil shuddered.
Mine.
Daemon didn’t correct it immediately. Femi had chosen the bracelet. She wore it openly. Not hidden beneath a sleeve. Not tucked away. Displayed.
She is wearing us.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
Not us.
Our words.
That was true.
The Devil watched the silver flash again.
She chose them.
Yeah.
She let us put them on her.
Yeah.
She still wears them.
Daemon’s pulse increased.
Yeah.
The Devil practically preened.
Everyone can see.
That pleased it far too much.
Good.
At ten thirty, Femi approached his table.
The Devil immediately straightened.
Little ghost.
Daemon leaned back. One arm stretched across the chair. His gray eyes moved over her without concealment. Femi stopped between his knees. She placed his drink upon the table. Then looked at him. Not shyly. Not accidentally. Her green eyes held his. The Devil went silent. Daemon’s heart struck his ribs hard enough to hurt.
Femi stepped closer. The scent of strawberries surrounded him.The Devil inhaled with him.
Strawberries.
Cream lived beneath it tonight. Sweet. Warm. Entirely her.
Ours.
Daemon almost corrected it. Then Femi lifted the wrist wearing ALL MINE and placed that hand upon his shoulder. The Devil nearly came apart.
She is touching us with it.
Daemon’s breathing deepened. Femi settled onto his lap. Daemon’s arm moved around her waist. Slowly. Giving her time to object. She did not. Instead, she leaned back against his chest. The Devil became impossibly still.
She chose this.
Daemon’s mouth moved near her ear.
“Mmm.”
The sound vibrated through her.
“Sexy little ghost.”
His voice emerged low. More growl than speech. Femi shivered.
The Devil exploded with delight.
AGAIN.
Daemon’s eyes sharpened immediately. Femi turned her head. Their gazes met. She did not look away. Not this time. The Devil stared through Daemon’s eyes.
She wants us.
Daemon’s pulse thundered beneath her palm. His attention moved over her face. Searching for fear. He found desire instead.
The Devil made a sound inside him that was almost obscene in its satisfaction.
There.
The discovery changed him. His hand tightened slightly at her waist. Femi’s stomach clenched. The ache began again. Low. Deep. Desire tangled with the old expectation of pain. Her breath caught. Daemon noticed. The Devil did too.
Its pleasure disappeared instantly.
Slow.
Daemon’s expression became questioning. Femi looked away before he could see too much. She was not ready. Not for everything his eyes asked. Not for him to see where the heat went when his voice descended like that. She reminded herself of the doctor’s words. Fear did not erase desire. Desire did not erase boundaries. She could want this and stop before she became frightened. She could ask questions. She could choose. Femi rose from his lap. Daemon released her immediately.
The Devil’s disappointment was immense.
No.
Daemon concealed it.
Come back.
“Are you all right?”
Femi nodded.
The Devil watched carefully.
She is all right.
Daemon’s shoulders loosened. Femi placed the tray upon the table. Then removed her notepad from her apron. Daemon watched her write.
The Devil leaned forward with him.
In the alley. Fifteen minutes. Kisses.
Daemon read it. The Devil stopped functioning. Daemon read it again.
The Devil recovered.
WHAT?
His gaze lifted. Femi smiled. Not the small, shy smile he had grown accustomed to. Something warmer. Secretive. A smile that set fire to his blood.
The Devil went wild.
FIFTEEN MINUTES?
Daemon stared.
OF KISSES?
Yes.
WITH HER?
Who the fuck else?
GO NOW.
She said fifteen minutes.
She will forgive us.
No.
Fourteen.
It has been three seconds.
Too long.
Femi leaned closer. Her finger touched the snake tattoo upon his forearm. The Devil stopped shouting. Daemon stopped breathing. Femi traced the dark ink slowly. From his wrist. Along the silver bracelet.
ALL YOURS.
The Devil shuddered.
She touched it.
Her fingertip traveled over the words.
Again.
Up the snake’s narrow body.
Little ghost.
Her fingertip ended near the bend of his elbow. Then she turned and disappeared into the gathered people. The music covered the inhuman sound that left Daemon.
The Devil was responsible for most of it.
FOLLOW.
Daemon’s hand closed around the note. The Devil became too quiet. Too still. It wanted to hunt. Not blood. Not violence. Her.
Find her.
Not to frighten her. Not to take what had not been offered.
She offered kisses.
Yes.
Fifteen minutes.
I can read.
She wants us.
Daemon’s pulse hammered. The Devil wanted to follow the trail of strawberries through Helix. To find Femi beneath the rain and discover what she had hidden inside that final look. Daemon checked the clock.
Fourteen minutes.
Cruel.
He lifted his whiskey and emptied it in one swallow.
Thirteen.
This is torture.
Daemon raised two fingers. Mary saw him from behind the bar. She poured another Jack and placed it on Femi’s tray. Femi approached.
Twelve minutes. The Devil vibrated.
She is coming back.
Daemon watched her cross the room. His arm slid across the back of the chair as he leaned farther into the darkness. Femi stopped beside his table. She placed the glass in front of him. Her eyes dropped to the note still held between his fingers. Then she looked at the clock.
Ten minutes.
Her eyebrow rose. The Devil snarled.
She knows.
Daemon’s voice descended.
“You are cruel.”
Femi’s lips curved.
She knows.
She walked away.
Daemon’s gaze followed.
Nine minutes.
Little menace.
Eight.
Beautiful little fucking menace.
Femi delivered drinks to a table near the kitchen.
Seven.
Seven minutes until she kisses us.
She collected empty plates.
Six.
Six.
She vanished through the service door.
Five minutes remained.
The Devil stood.
Enough.
Daemon stayed seated.
Get up.
Four minutes and—
GET. the . fuck. UP.
Daemon rose.
The Devil surged with pure, unbearable excitement.
YES.
Two men standing in the aisle moved before he reached them. The crowd opened. People did not understand why Daemon was crossing Helix with murder in his posture and hunger in his eyes.
The Devil found that funny.
Not murder.
No.
Better.
Daemon passed the bar.
Malone looked up.
“Where are you going?”
Daemon continued walking.
“Air.”
The Devil laughed.
Liar.
Malone watched him enter the kitchen.
“You know we have a front door.”
Daemon did not answer. The kitchen was hot and bright. Pans hissed. Ovens released waves of heat. Daemon’s eyes searched. Femi was not there. The Devil immediately found the open back door.
There.
Rain fell beyond it so heavily that the alley had disappeared behind a silver curtain. Daemon stepped outside. Cold water struck his hair and shoulders. His shirt darkened immediately. He could see nothing beyond several feet. Then the rain shifted. Femi stood against the brick wall. Waiting.
The Devil stopped. Everything stopped. Her black shirt clung to her body. Water ran over her face and down the column of her throat. Her midnight hair had come loose and lay against her shoulders in wet strands.
The bracelet flashed at her wrist.
ALL MINE.
The Devil made a broken sound inside him.
She wore it.
Of course she wore it.
For this.
Daemon didn’t know that.
The Devil didn’t care.
Mine.
Femi turned her head. Looked at him. Then crooked one finger. Beckoning him closer. The Devil nearly tore itself out of Daemon’s body.
GO.
Daemon crossed the alley.
FASTER.
He stopped before her. Only inches remained between them. Rain moved over both of them. His hands remained at his sides.
The Devil was vibrating so violently he could feel it in his fingertips.
She called us here.
Daemon stared down at her.
She waited for us.
Her green eyes held his.
She is wearing our claim.
Her lips parted.
And she wants to kiss us.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
“What have I told you about that look, little ghost?”
The Devil practically breathed the question against her lips with him.
Femi’s hands rose between them.
It does something to you.
The Devil laughed.
Everything.
“Yes.”
Her fingers caught the lapels of his shirt. Daemon’s breath stopped.
The Devil screamed—
YES.
Femi pulled him down.
Her mouth met his.
The Devil ceased being coherent.
LITTLE GHOST.
The kiss was slow. Hungry. Filled with every week she had denied herself this. Daemon’s arms slid around her waist. The Devil surged through every point of contact.
She kissed us.
Daemon pulled her close.
She kissed us.
Femi rose onto her toes and deepened the kiss.
AGAIN.
Rain ceased to matter. So did Helix. The music. The people beyond the brick wall. The danger waiting elsewhere in Wolfwater. The Devil had spent years understanding pleasure through terrible things. Blood. The instant a threat fell. Gunfire echoing through enclosed rooms. The clean clarity of violence. Winning. Surviving. None of it felt like this.
Femi’s mouth moved against Daemon’s. And the Devil was ecstatic.
She chose this.
Another kiss.
She chose us.
Her fingers tightened in his shirt.
She wants us.
Daemon’s arms tightened.
Careful.
I know.
That answer startled him.
The Devil was nearly delirious— and still remembered.
Choice.
Permission.
Her.
For several breathless moments, nothing existed beyond Femi’s mouth and Daemon’s arms. They separated only when breathing became necessary. Daemon rested his forehead against hers. His chest rose heavily.
The Devil begged—
Again.
Femi stared up at him. Then a tiny sound escaped her. Soft. Kittenish. Almost a purr.
The Devil’s eyes snapped open with Daemon’s.
WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?
The sound went directly to his head.
“What was that?”
Femi’s face turned crimson. She shook her head. The Devil was immediately obsessed.
Again.
Daemon’s gaze sharpened.
“Do it again.”
Her eyes widened.
PLEASE.
“Please.”
The Devil froze. Daemon had said it aloud. Femi caught his shirt and kissed him instead. The Devil accepted the substitution enthusiastically.
YES.
Daemon’s mouth claimed hers as his hands lifted her from the ground.
Femi’s legs wrapped around his waist.
The Devil trembled.
She is around us.
Daemon held her against him. One arm beneath her while the other braced beside her head. Femi’s fingers entered his wet hair. She tugged. Another low sound tore from him. The Devil was delighted.
She likes our sounds.
The kiss deepened. Rain moved over their joined bodies. Femi forgot the books. The instructions. Every sentence she had memorized about eye contact and mixed signals. She knew only that Daemon wanted her. And that she wanted to remain here. His hand reached the hem of her black shirt. Daemon paused.
The Devil slammed into the restraint with him.
Wait.
Daemon almost couldn’t believe it.
Even now?
WAIT.
Femi opened her eyes. She understood the question. Her fingers tightened around his shoulders. She nodded.
The Devil shuddered.
She said yes.
Daemon’s hand moved beneath the wet fabric. His palm settled against the bare skin of her waist. Warm despite the rain.
The Devil nearly dissolved.
Skin.
Daemon’s fingers flexed once.
Her skin.
Femi made a deeper sound. A purr this time.
The Devil lost its fucking mind.
THERE FUCK.
Daemon’s forehead dropped against her shoulder.
“Gods above.”
Again.
Femi’s mouth moved along his jaw.
The Devil shivered with him.
She is kissing us.
His hand traveled slowly over her lower back, never rising beyond the permission she had given.
She said yes.
The Devil kept repeating it. Not because it needed reminding.
Because the permission itself pleased it.
She said yes.
The roughness of his palm against her skin sent a tremor through her. She pulled her mouth from his. Her head fell back into his large hand. Daemon supported her carefully. His other palm flattened against the brick behind her. His lips moved along her jaw.
The Devil purred.
Ours.
Down her throat.
Little ghost.
Femi shivered.
Again.
“Femi!”
Malone’s voice thundered from the kitchen. The Devil stopped. Daemon stopped. Femi looked toward the open door. The Devil’s pleasure became murderous irritation.
No.
“Femi!”
NO.
Femi sighed.
Then unwrapped her legs.
The Devil was appalled.
WHAT IS SHE DOING?
Going inside.
No.
Daemon lowered her slowly. Femi made certain nearly every inch of her slid against him on the way down.
The Devil stopped functioning.
Oh.
Daemon’s entire body shook.
Oh, little ghost.
He planted both hands against the brick wall. Bowed his head between them. The Devil was no help.
It was still replaying the descent.
Again.
“Go, little ghost.”
His voice emerged low. Deep. Pained. Almost animal.
“I will see you inside.”
Femi did not move. Concern replaced the heat in her face. She ducked beneath one of his arms and stood before him. Daemon opened his eyes. They had gone hard. Steel-gray. Femi looked up.
Her hands moved quickly.
Did I hurt you?
“Yes.”
The Devil purred. Femi’s face paled.
Wrong answer.
Daemon bent toward her immediately. His breath moved hotly across her ear despite the cold rain.
“You kiss me as though you want to consume me.”
The Devil whispered against her with him—
Please do.
Femi stared.
A tremor passed through Daemon.
“I love it.”
The Devil surged.
WE fucking love it.
Her body betrayed her. She shivered. That small purring sound escaped again before she could stop it.
The Devil nearly collapsed.
THERE.
Daemon’s eyes closed.
“Mmm.”
Again.
His arm circled her waist. Pulled her close.
“Again, little ghost.”
The Devil begged with him.
Again.
His mouth hovered beside her ear.
“Please. Again.”
Please.
Femi’s lips parted.
Their mouths nearly met.
“Femi!”
Malone’s voice came from the kitchen again. The Devil looked toward the doorway with murder in its eyes.
Malone.
Daemon’s jaw clenched.
No.
Just a little.
No.
He has interrupted twice.
He’s allowed.
Why?
Because he loves her.
The Devil considered.
Fine.
A beat.
I remain displeased.
Femi’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.
The Devil immediately forgot Malone.
She is laughing.
Daemon touched his lips to the column of her throat.
“Later,” he breathed.
His mouth moved once against her pulse.
The Devil felt it.
The bracelet rested near Daemon’s shoulder.
ALL MINE.
His mouth against her pulse. Her claim around his wrist.
ALL YOURS.
The Devil became dizzy with it. Femi made the sound again. Soft. Helpless. Exactly what he had begged for. Daemon’s knees threatened to weaken.
The Devil whispered—
She gave it to us.
Daemon lowered her fully to the ground. Released her. Then placed both hands against the wall before he did something foolish. Like pull her back into his arms. The Devil saw nothing foolish about that.
Do it.
No.
One more kiss.
No.
Half a kiss.
What the fuck is half a kiss?
Find out.
Daemon nearly laughed. Femi retreated toward the kitchen. The Devil immediately became unhappy.
No.
At the doorway, she stopped. The Devil went still. Femi looked over her shoulder. That look. Longer now. Knowing. Daemon’s breath caught. The Devil surged.
There.
Femi’s wrist rested briefly against the doorframe. Silver flashed.
ALL MINE.
The Devil shuddered.
Mine.
Then it felt the bracelet around Daemon’s wrist.
ALL YOURS.
And corrected itself with delirious pleasure.
Hers.
Femi disappeared inside. Daemon remained against the brick.
The Devil whispered—
Follow.
No.
She wants us to.
Not yet.
Hunt.
Daemon closed his eyes. It remembered the softness of her waist beneath his hand. The strength of her legs around him. The way she kissed when she stopped denying herself. The sound. Gods above, that sound.
The Devil drank every memory.
She kissed us.
Yeah.
She pulled us down.
Yeah.
She put her hands in our hair.
Yeah.
She wore our claim while she did it.
Daemon’s head dropped.
Yeah.
The Devil nearly purred itself senseless.
Our little ghost claimed us and then kissed us.
Daemon laughed once beneath his breath.
You sound drunk.
Better.
The Devil was right. Blood had never done this. Whiskey had never done this. Winning a fight had never done this. Femi had kissed him because she wanted to. The Devil understood the enormity of that.
Again.
Daemon adored that woman. The realization struck through hunger, restraint, and rain. Not merely wanted. Not merely claimed. Adored.
The Devil answered immediately.
Love.
Daemon went still.
We love her.
Yeah.
Tell her.
Daemon pushed wet hair from his face.
Soon.
Coward.
Fuck you.
She kissed me.
Daemon stopped.
Me?
The Devil went quiet. Then, almost defensively—
Us.
Daemon’s expression changed. The Devil had never separated itself like that around Femi. Not really. Femi touched Daemon. Kissed Daemon. Loved— perhaps— Daemon. But somewhere inside the creature was a new and almost childlike wonder. Femi knew it was there. She knew about the voice. She knew what it wanted. She knew where it had come from. And she had not rejected it. She had thanked it for keeping Daemon alive. She had accepted its claim. And tonight— in the Devil’s understanding— Femi had kissed all of him. The man. The monster. The frightened boy. The voice that had survived with him. The Devil whispered again.
Smaller now.
She kissed me.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
Yeah.
A long silence.
Then the creature practically exploded with happiness again.
SHE KISSED ME.
Daemon laughed into the rain.
“Yeah.”
OUR LITTLE GHOST KISSED ME.
“You’re fucking insufferable.”
AGAIN.
“Inside.”
Find her.
“We are not hunting Femi through Helix.”
She invited us.
“She invited us to fifteen minutes of kisses.”
The Devil paused.
Then—
We have not received fifteen minutes.
Daemon stopped.
Fuck.
The Devil became triumphant.
WE ARE OWED KISSES.
“We are not owed anything.”
The correction came automatically. The Devil quieted. Daemon pushed away from the wall. Femi chooses. A pause.
Then the Devil corrected itself.
She offered fifteen minutes.
Better.
We should respectfully inquire about the remaining balance.
Daemon stared toward the kitchen.
“You are unbelievable.”
The Devil purred.
She kissed me.
Daemon couldn’t argue with that.
He returned to his corner several minutes later. His hair was wet. His shirt clung to his chest. His gray eyes burned. The Devil was radiant. There was no other word for it. Daemon did not attempt to hide the heat in his eyes.
Femi worked behind the bar. She avoided looking toward him for almost three minutes.
The Devil complained the entire time.
Look at us.
Daemon lifted his whiskey.
Little ghost.
He drank.
Look.
Femi reached for a bottle.
Femi.
Daemon almost smiled.
She finally looked. Their eyes met. The Devil purred.
There.
Daemon saw the memory of the alley move across her face. Her cheeks warmed. She turned away.
She remembers.
Daemon’s mind replayed the kiss.
Her hands in his hair.
Again.
Her legs around his waist.
Again.
Her mouth against his.
Again.
The purr.
The Devil nearly died.
AGAIN.
Daemon drank. It didn’t help. The Devil drank each memory and remained thirsty. Not for blood. Not for violence. Not for the hunt it had understood its entire existence. Femi. Only Femi.
At eleven, Daemon raised two fingers. Femi poured his Jack herself. The Devil immediately noticed.
She is coming.
She carried the glass across Helix. The crowd parted for her. Daemon watched her approach.
The Devil watched the bracelet.
ALL MINE.
Pretty.
Femi placed the drink upon his table. Then laid a folded note beside it. The Devil snapped its attention toward the paper.
Open it.
Femi collected his empty glass.
Before leaving, she allowed one finger to slide over the bracelet on his wrist.
ALL YOURS.
Daemon stopped breathing. The Devil nearly screamed.
She touched our claim.
Femi walked away.
Daemon looked at the note.
OPEN IT.
He unfolded the paper.
Three words waited inside.
You pleased me!
Daemon read them once. The Devil went silent. Then—
What?
Daemon read them again.
Again.
He did.
You pleased me!
The Devil stood. Not metaphorically. Daemon felt the thing rise inside him with such overwhelming, delighted force that his head dropped forward. A smile spread across his face like a wild bloom.
The Devil was beside itself.
WE PLEASED HER.
Daemon’s chest shook once.
WE PLEASED OUR LITTLE GHOST.
Yeah.
She wanted us.
Yeah.
She chose us.
Yeah.
She kissed us.
Yeah.
She liked it.
Daemon’s smile widened.
Apparently.
The Devil became feral with joy.
FIND HER.
Daemon was already halfway across the room when his eyes found Femi. She stood near the kitchen door. Waiting. Her gaze moved over him. Then she smiled. That smile. A promise. A challenge. An invitation.
The Devil shuddered.
She wants us to follow.
Femi turned.
The bracelet flashed.
ALL MINE.
Then she disappeared into the crowd. This time, she was not fleeing because she was afraid. She wanted him to follow. The Devil understood. Not prey. Never prey. Not something being chased against her will. His little ghost had looked directly at the monster— smiled— and invited it to come find her.
The Devil nearly laughed.
Hunt.
Daemon followed.
She claimed us.
His pace quickened.
She kissed us.
People moved from his path.
She pleased us.
His eyes found the direction Femi had disappeared. Then the Devil purred the words that mattered most.
We pleased her.
Daemon’s crooked smile appeared.
Yeah.
That was the one.
The Devil surged beneath his skin. Wild. Ecstatic. Claimed. Wanted. And completely, hopelessly in love with the little ghost who had finally learned that she could run from the Devil— not because she feared being caught— but because she wanted him to chase her.
Find our little ghost.
Daemon entered the crowd.
And the Devil went hunting.
Femi had the night off.
Malone attempted to convince her that this meant she was not allowed to cook dinner, wash glasses, reorganize his office, or appear behind the bar because someone looked overwhelmed.
Femi disagreed.
Malone locked the kitchen.
She found the spare key.
Marta took it from her.
Femi went upstairs and returned with another.
Malone stared at the key in her hand.
“How many copies exist?”
Femi shrugged.
“That is not an answer.”
Her fingers moved.
It is the only answer you are getting.
The Devil laughed.
Little menace.
Malone looked toward Marta.
“She has become defiant.”
“She has always been defiant,” Marta said. “She merely does it quietly.”
Correct.
Femi headed toward the kitchen.
Daemon caught her around the waist before she reached the door.
The Devil immediately purred.
Caught you.
Femi looked up at him.
“You are leaving.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“Malone said you have the night off.”
Femi pointed toward Malone.
Then signed.
Malone says many things.
“Most of them useless,” Daemon agreed. “This one appears reasonable.”
Malone folded his arms.
“I am standing here.”
No one acknowledged him. The Devil found that extremely funny. Daemon took the key from Femi’s fingers and placed it upon the bar.
“You are not working.”
She stared at him.
The Devil recognized the look.
She is considering biting us.
She has never bitten us.
There is a first time for everything.
Daemon almost smiled.
“I brought your helmet.”
Her expression changed.
So did the Devil.
There.
Daemon lifted the second helmet from the chair behind him. Femi looked toward the crowded bar.
Marta waved her away.
“Go.”
Femi hesitated.
Malone pointed toward the front door.
“If I find you washing so much as a spoon tonight, I will change every lock in this building.”
Femi narrowed her eyes.
Malone narrowed his.
The Devil whispered—
She has more keys.
Almost certainly.
Daemon placed the helmet in her hands.
“Come, little ghost.”
She looked at him.
Then at the helmet. Her lips curved. The Devil became pleased.
She wants to come with us.
Daemon’s chest warmed.
Yeah.
Take her.
That was the plan.
They rode toward Riverward.
The summer air remained warm after sunset, but the worst of the day’s heat had faded.
Femi sat behind Daemon with her arms around his waist and her cheek resting between his shoulders.
The Devil settled almost immediately.
Little ghost.
Daemon took the longer route.
The Devil approved.
Longer.
He turned toward the river.
Longer.
He could have ridden beyond the city if Femi allowed it. Through every district. Across every road. Anywhere her arms remained around him.
The Devil understood completely.
Keep riding.
Daemon smiled faintly into the wind.
Eventually.
Femi’s arms tightened when he leaned into a curve.
The Devil purred.
Again.
Daemon took the next turn slightly slower.
The Devil objected.
Coward.
She’s not cargo.
She likes it.
You don’t know that.
Femi squeezed him again when they curved around the lake road.
The Devil became smug.
I know everything.
Daemon ignored it. They stopped near a park overlooking one of Ravenside’s smaller lakes. Families still occupied the playground. Children ran between climbing structures while parents called warnings no one obeyed. Couples walked the illuminated paths. Music drifted from someone’s portable radio near the water.
Daemon parked beneath a row of old trees. The Devil looked around automatically. Two entrances. Parking lot to the east. Lake to the west. Tree line along the southern path. Several benches. Families. Couples. No obvious threat. One man near the water carrying something long beneath his arm.
Fishing pole. Two teenagers arguing near the playground. Harmless. Woman walking alone near the far path. Dog leash.
Nothing.
Clear.
Daemon relaxed slightly.
Femi removed her helmet.
Her midnight hair had tangled in the wind.
The Devil immediately forgot the perimeter.
Hair.
Daemon reached toward it.
Stopped before touching her.
“May I?”
Femi nodded.
The Devil purred.
Yes.
His fingers moved carefully through the dark strands, freeing one section caught beneath the helmet strap. The task should have taken seconds. Daemon took longer.
The Devil encouraged this.
More.
Femi watched him.
Her bracelet caught the remaining sunlight.
ALL MINE.
The Devil practically preened.
There.
Daemon’s thumb moved over a strand of her hair.
The silver flashed again.
Ours.
Hers.
The Devil considered.
Hers.
Then, smugly—
Who chose us.
Daemon couldn’t argue with that. When he finished, he allowed one lock of hair to slide slowly between his fingers.
“What would you like to do?”
Femi looked toward the lake. Then the playground. Then the winding paths disappearing among the trees.
Her hands moved.
Play.
Daemon glanced toward the children.
“You wish to use the swings?”
Femi considered.
Then shook her head.
Hide-and-seek.
Daemon stared at her.
The Devil became interested.
What?
“With me?”
She nodded.
The Devil went quiet.
“In a public park.”
Another nod.
She wants us to hunt her.
Daemon almost choked.
It’s hide-and-seek.
Yes.
“Surrounded by children.”
Femi tilted her head. Daemon looked around. No one appeared interested in the tall, scarred man dressed in black. Several parents had already noticed him and were quietly guiding their children in the opposite direction.
The Devil approved.
Smart.
“You understand I am very good at finding people.”
Femi folded her arms. The Devil stirred. Daemon thought of every man he had tracked across Wolfwater. Every locked room he had entered. Every body he had found after its owner believed distance offered safety. The Devil knew hunting. It knew footprints. Broken branches. Breathing behind doors. The scrape of fabric against concrete. The faint smell of blood.
The difference between someone running from fear and someone running because they thought they were clever.
The Devil smiled.
She wants to hide from us.
Hide-and-seek seemed almost unfair. Femi pointed toward a tree. Then covered her eyes and began counting upon her fingers. Daemon realized she expected him to hide first. The Devil was appalled.
We are prey?
“You want me to hide?”
She nodded without uncovering her eyes.
Absolutely not.
“I am six feet two inches tall.”
Femi continued counting.
“My hair is almost white.”
Seven.
“I am dressed entirely in black.”
Eight.
Femi pointed blindly toward the trees.
The Devil grumbled.
This is beneath us.
“Very well.”
Daemon walked away.
I object.
Noted.
He reached a hedge thick enough to conceal most of him and stepped behind it. His pale hair remained visible above the leaves.
The Devil immediately noticed.
This is a terrible hiding place.
I know.
She will find us.
That’s the point. The Devil went quiet. Femi finished counting. She opened her eyes. Her gaze moved once across the park. Then settled directly upon the top of his head.
Femi began laughing.
Silently.
Her shoulders shook as she approached. The Devil watched her coming. Something unexpected happened. It became excited. Not the cold anticipation before violence. Not bloodlust. Not the sharpening that came before a kill.
Something lighter.
She found us.
Daemon remained behind the hedge. Femi stopped on the other side.
Her hands moved.
I found you.
“I was concealed.”
The Devil disagreed.
Poorly.
Femi pointed toward his hair.
Daemon touched it.
“That is not my fault.”
It is absolutely your fault. She pointed toward his black boots beneath the hedge. He looked down.
“The shrub is poorly designed.”
The Devil laughed. Actually laughed. Not the cruel sound it made when someone underestimated Daemon. Not the dark amusement that accompanied broken bones. Simple amusement. Femi laughed harder.
The Devil forgot to be offended.
Again.
Daemon stepped around the hedge.
“You have found me.”
Femi nodded.
“What do you receive?”
She had not considered that.
The Devil immediately offered suggestions.
Us.
No.
A kiss.
Daemon paused. That one wasn’t terrible. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. Femi became still. The Devil purred.
Prize.
His mouth remained near her ear.
“I believe the winner should be rewarded.”
Color warmed her face.
The Devil became delighted.
She likes prizes.
Daemon straightened.
“Your turn.”
Femi’s eyes brightened. Then she ran.
The Devil stared.
Oh.
Daemon watched blue fabric disappear behind the trees.
The creature inside him rose.
OH.
Something ancient recognized the movement. Prey fleeing. Distance opening. A body disappearing behind cover. The instinct to follow exploded through him. Then Femi peeked around the tree. Smiling. The Devil stopped. This wasn’t prey. She wasn’t frightened. She wanted him to come.
Little ghost wants us to hunt her.
Daemon’s mouth curved.
Apparently.
The Devil’s excitement became almost unbearable.
GO.
Femi was worse at hiding. She chose a tree much narrower than her body. Her blue dress remained visible on both sides. Daemon saw her immediately.
So did the Devil.
There.
Daemon continued walking.
The Devil was confused.
There.
I know.
She is behind the tree.
I know.
Then catch her.
No.
Daemon searched behind a bench.
The Devil became impatient.
Wrong.
He examined the empty bandstand.
Daemon.
He looked beneath a picnic table.
DAEMON.
Femi’s silent laughter made the leaves tremble behind her.
The Devil stopped complaining.
She is laughing.
Daemon’s mouth twitched.
Yeah.
The Devil listened. Her laughter had no sound. Yet somehow Daemon heard it anyway. In the movement of leaves. The faint scuff of her sandal. The quick little breath when he approached too close.
The Devil listened differently.
Not hunting for danger. Hunting for joy. That was new.
“Little ghost?”
Her shoulders shook.
The Devil purred.
Again.
“I cannot find you.”
She covered her mouth.
She thinks we don’t know.
Daemon walked past the tree.
Femi leaned out to see where he went.
The Devil practically shouted—
NOW.
Daemon turned.
“Found you.”
Her eyes widened. She ran. The Devil gave chase. Pure instinct. Pure delight.
RUN, LITTLE GHOST.
Femi darted between two trees and crossed the grass toward the lake. Her sandals struck the earth. Her midnight hair streamed behind her. The Devil could have caught her in seconds. Daemon could have caught her in two strides. Neither did. That was new too. The Devil understood hunting as ending the distance.
Close.
Catch.
Finish.
But Femi’s laughter grew every second the distance remained.
So the Devil did something it had never done before.
It prolonged the hunt.
Not yet.
Daemon almost stumbled.
What?
Let her run.
Daemon smiled.
The Devil watched her.
Closer.
He accelerated slightly. Femi glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes were bright. Her mouth open with silent laughter.
Not yet.
Daemon remained several steps behind. Close enough for Femi to hear him. Far enough to let her believe escape remained possible.
The Devil loved it.
Again, little ghost.
Femi looked over her shoulder. That look. The one she had practiced. The one that awakened every predatory thing inside him.
The Devil surged.
NOW.
Daemon accelerated. Femi’s silent laughter grew.
The Devil laughed with her.
RUN.
Daemon closed the distance.
RUN.
Three steps.
Two.
OURS.
Daemon corrected it even while reaching.
Hers.
The Devil laughed.
HERS.
He caught her near a stone fountain. His arms closed around her waist and lifted her from the ground. Femi kicked her feet.
The Devil roared with triumph.
CAUGHT YOU.
Daemon turned once with her held against his chest.
“Terrible hiding place.”
She pointed back toward the tree.
You cheated.
“I walked around it.”
Too soon.
“You looked at me.”
Her cheeks warmed.
The Devil noticed.
Prize.
Daemon lowered her.
Then bent to her ear.
“You should know what that look does by now.”
Femi shivered. The Devil adored the reaction.
Again.
Daemon kissed the curve of her cheek.
“Hide again.”
Femi fled.
The Devil nearly shouted with joy.
GO.
Daemon laughed. Actually laughed. Then followed.
They played until the park lights came on. The Devil had never experienced anything like it. It knew parks. It knew how to use trees as cover. How to disappear behind structures. How sound traveled differently near water. How to watch reflections in windows. How gravel betrayed footsteps. How shadows could reveal someone before the body appeared. It had used places like this to track men.
To watch targets. To find exits. Tonight, every instinct remained. But the purpose had changed.
Blue dress.
Femi disappeared behind the bandstand.
Daemon deliberately turned the wrong direction.
Left.
I know.
She went left.
I know.
Then why are we going right?
Listen. The Devil did. Femi peeked around the corner. Silent laughter.
The Devil immediately understood.
Oh.
Daemon smiled.
Again.
He walked farther away. Femi became bolder. She slipped from behind the bandstand and ran toward the playground.
Now?
Not yet.
Now?
No.
She ducked beneath a slide. One sandal remained visible.
The Devil laughed.
Terrible.
Daemon walked past.
She left a foot.
I see it.
Little ghost is very bad at this.
She’s having fun. The Devil quieted. Then—
So are we.
Daemon stopped. The realization was strange enough that even the Devil seemed startled by it. Fun. Not satisfaction. Not victory. Not relief after surviving. Fun. The Devil was having fun. Hunting Femi through their park. Their park. The phrase came without thought.
Daemon noticed. Our park? The Devil watched Femi’s sandal disappear beneath the slide when she realized it was visible.
Yes.
Daemon’s mouth curved.
We have been here twenty minutes.
Our park.
Femi peeked out.
The Devil purred.
Our little ghost.
Daemon pretended to look behind a trash bin.
The Devil practically vibrated.
She thinks we are stupid.
Femi crawled from beneath the slide.
NOW.
Daemon turned. She ran. The Devil laughed.
And chased.
Daemon hid behind statues too narrow to conceal him.
Femi found him every time.
She is very good at hunting us.
The Devil sounded proud. Femi caught him behind a tree when a pale strand of hair betrayed him again. Her eyes brightened.
Prize, the Devil reminded him.
Femi apparently had the same thought. She rose onto her toes. Kissed his scar. The Devil stopped. Daemon stopped. Everything stopped. Femi smiled. Then ran. Neither moved.
The Devil whispered—
She kissed me.
Daemon closed his eyes.
Yeah.
On the scar.
Yeah.
Our little ghost found us and kissed me.
Daemon opened his eyes.
Femi was already twenty feet away.
The Devil suddenly surged.
GET HER.
Daemon went after her. Femi glanced back. Saw him coming. Her shoulders shook.
The Devil was laughing too.
RUN, LITTLE GHOST.
Daemon caught her beside the bandstand. His arms wrapped around her. She twisted, trying to escape.
The Devil was delighted.
Caught.
Femi pointed accusingly toward him.
Your legs are longer.
“An unfortunate disadvantage.”
Cheater.
“I was born this way.”
The Devil found this hysterical. Every time Daemon caught her, he claimed something small.
A kiss upon her cheek.
Again.
A whisper beside her ear.
Closer.
His mouth briefly against her fingers.
Mine.
Hers.
Hers.
Once, he caught her near the lake and asked what reward he had earned. Femi looked around to ensure no one watched.
The Devil waited eagerly.
What do we get?
Then she rose onto her toes. Kissed the corner of his mouth. The Devil froze. Daemon froze. Femi smiled. And ran.
The Devil remained stunned.
She—
Daemon watched her disappear behind a tree.
She kissed us.
Yeah.
And then ran.
Yeah.
The Devil’s astonishment transformed into wild delight.
She wants us to chase her after kissing us.
Daemon smiled.
Looks that way.
This is the greatest game humans have ever invented.
Daemon laughed. Then gave chase. It did not mind losing. That was perhaps the strangest thing of all. The Devil had always hated losing. Losing meant pain. Losing meant blood. Losing meant someone stronger had control. Losing meant his father won. Caemon won. The Order won.
Losing meant Daemon did not come home.
But here—
Femi found him. Kissed him. Ran. And the Devil happily lost every fucking time. Because Femi was laughing. Not merely smiling. Not hiding her face. Not worrying about the people who looked at Daemon and crossed to the opposite side of the path.
She ran through the park with her hair unbound and joy transforming every movement.
The Devil watched her.
Again.
Daemon slowed deliberately.
Femi gained distance.
More.
He let her reach the next tree.
She looked back.
The Devil purred.
There.
The bloodthirsty creature inside Daemon would have allowed the entire city to escape if it meant seeing that look once more.
The Devil loved hunting their woman. More than that— it loved being found by her.
Femi was crossing the grass near the lake when she saw Lily. Her steps slowed. The Devil noticed before Daemon understood why.
Wrong.
Femi’s laughter ended. Everything inside the Devil changed. Instantly. Play vanished. The park became terrain again. Entrances. Exits. Distances. Bodies. Hands. Weapons. Threats. Daemon followed Femi’s gaze. Lily stood near a distant park entrance.
A red silk blouse glowed beneath the lights. Dark trousers clung to her hips. A purse hung from one shoulder. She had been watching.
The Devil sharpened.
Her.
Daemon noted the entrance behind her. Black purse. Phone loosely held in her right hand. No visible weapon. No one beside her. The Devil searched farther. Sedan beyond the entrance? Too many vehicles. Man near the gate? Walking away. Couple near the bench. No immediate movement toward Femi.
Watch.
Lily met Daemon’s eyes.
For a moment, she remained where she was. Then she turned and walked away.
The Devil surged.
Follow.
Daemon watched her disappear behind a row of trees.
Follow her.
Why?
She was watching our little ghost.
Could be coincidence.
No.
Daemon agreed.
But coincidence was not impossible. The Devil wanted to discover why she was there. Whether she had followed them from Helix. Whether someone waited beyond the park entrance.
Find out.
Daemon took one step. Femi touched his wrist. The Devil stopped with him. Her fingers rested across the bracelet.
ALL YOURS.
The creature’s aggression broke around the touch.
Little ghost.
Daemon looked down. Concern had replaced her laughter. The Devil hated that more than Lily’s presence. Her hands moved.
Is she allowed near Helix?
“No.”
Did she follow us?
“I do not know.”
Femi glanced toward the trees.
Daemon placed himself between her and the path Lily had taken.
The Devil approved.
Behind us.
“We should leave.”
Disappointment crossed Femi’s face before she concealed it.
The Devil saw.
Something inside it went very still.
No.
Daemon glanced down. This was her night. Her first evening away from work in weeks. The first time Daemon had heard her laugh without restraint. Lily had already taken enough from her. The Devil stared toward the trees.
She does not get this too.
Daemon’s eyes narrowed.
No.
She does not get our park.
Something about that almost made him smile.
Our park again?
Yes.
The Devil was adamant.
Little ghost laughed here.
Apparently that established ownership.
Correct.
Daemon studied the park. People remained along the paths. Families occupied the playground. His motorcycle stood within sight. Lily was gone. For now. The Devil remained watchful.
East entrance.
Clear.
Parking lot.
No movement.
Lake path.
Couple walking away.
Behind us.
Family with stroller. Nothing immediate. Daemon touched Femi’s hand.
“One more turn.”
Her eyes questioned him.
The Devil perked up.
Yes.
“Hide.”
She looked toward the entrance. Daemon lowered his voice.
“I will find you.”
The Devil went quiet. The promise held more than the game. Wherever she went. However frightened. However lost. Whatever waited. He would find her. The Devil whispered—
Always.
Femi understood.
Her fingers moved.
No cheating.
The Devil almost laughed.
“I have never cheated.”
She stared at him.
Daemon’s scar shifted.
“Not successfully.”
Femi’s smile returned. Small at first. Then warm.
The Devil relaxed by a fraction.
There.
She covered her eyes and pointed toward the nearest tree. Daemon obeyed. When he looked back, she had begun counting. The Devil remained alert. It tracked every movement near the park entrances. Listened for unfamiliar footsteps. Watched distant benches. Marked every person entering the parking lot. But underneath the vigilance—
something else returned.
Anticipation.
Our turn.
Daemon hid. Badly. On purpose.
The Devil approved.
Let her find us.
Femi was more important than Lily had ever been. Her laughter mattered more than Lily’s schemes. Daemon would not allow that woman to decide when the evening ended.
Neither would the Devil.
This is our park.
Daemon shook his head.
You’re ridiculous.
Our little ghost is playing.
A pause.
We are busy.
Femi hid beneath a weeping willow near the lake. Its massive limbs curved toward the earth, forming a green shelter at the water’s edge. Long branches surrounded her. The fading sunset moved through them in gold and amber threads. Femi settled against the trunk. The grass beneath the willow was cool. Through the branches, she watched Daemon search.
He checked behind a stone wall first. Then near the bandstand. He moved slowly. Deliberately. His pale hair caught the sunset. The Devil knew where she was. Immediately.
Willow.
Daemon kept walking.
She is beneath the willow.
I know.
Go.
Not yet.
The Devil considered.
Then noticed Femi watching through the branches.
She is watching us.
Yeah.
The Devil became delighted again.
Pretend.
Daemon almost laughed.
You are getting good at this.
I am excellent at everything.
Daemon checked behind another tree. The Devil monitored the park while they played.
East entrance.
Clear.
Parking lot.
Clear.
Bench near water.
Occupied by older couple.
Path behind willow.
Clear.
Then back to Femi.
She is still watching.
Daemon deliberately turned away. Femi leaned farther from beneath the branches.
Again.
He moved toward the bandstand. Femi shifted. Waiting. Anticipating. The Devil felt it. This strange game between predator and willing quarry. Except she wasn’t quarry. Never. She was his little ghost. And the Devil had discovered that hunting something did not have to end with blood. Sometimes it ended beneath a willow. Sometimes the thing you hunted wanted to be found. Sometimes it smiled when you arrived. Daemon’s path gradually curved toward the lake.
The Devil practically bounced beneath his skin.
Closer.
Daemon took another step.
Closer.
Femi licked her lips.
The Devil stopped.
Oh.
Daemon saw it too.
His pulse increased.
The Devil immediately forgot patience.
NOW.
Daemon parted the hanging branches. His gray eyes found her immediately. Femi looked up. Golden light moved across her face. Her blue dress spread around her upon the grass. Her midnight hair lay over one shoulder. The smaller bracelet circled her wrist.
ALL MINE.
The Devil purred.
Found you.
Femi watched them. The Devil remembered the rain-dark alley. Her legs around Daemon’s waist. The sound she made when his mouth touched her throat. Her mouth against his.
Little ghost.
Femi crooked one finger.
The Devil nearly laughed with delight.
She called us.
Daemon approached.
“What have I said about that look?”
Her hands moved.
It does something to you.
The Devil answered first.
Everything.
“Yes.”
She smiled. Daemon sat beside her. Femi shifted as though making room.
The Devil immediately objected.
No.
Daemon agreed.
He placed both hands around her waist and pulled her onto his lap instead. She came willingly.
The Devil purred.
Better.
Her back settled against his chest. Daemon wrapped one arm around her middle. The other rested upon her thigh. Femi placed her hand over his. Their bracelets touched.
Black leather.
Silver plates.
ALL MINE.
ALL YOURS.
The Devil shuddered.
There.
Femi’s fingers moved over his bracelet.
The Devil became almost unbearably pleased.
Claimed.
Daemon moved her hair aside. Then kissed the side of her neck. Femi shivered. The Devil felt the small movement against his entire body.
Again.
“Mmm.”
His mouth remained near her skin.
“Found you.”
The Devil whispered—
Mine.
Daemon almost corrected it.
Then the Devil did so itself.
Hers.
A pleased pause.
Who let us find her.
Femi turned her head.
You knew where I was.
“I suspected.”
The Devil laughed.
Immediately.
You took too long.
“I enjoyed watching you wait.”
We did.
Her cheeks warmed. Daemon kissed beneath her ear. The last of the sunlight spread across the lake. Gold became orange. Orange deepened into red. For several quiet minutes, neither moved. Femi rested against him.Daemon held her. The Devil watched the park. Not obsessively. Not enough to destroy the moment. But it watched.
A woman crossed the distant path with a dog.
Clear.
Two children raced toward the parking lot.
Clear.
A couple stood near the lake taking photographs of the sunset.
Clear.
Then—
Her.
Lily appeared again.
She sat upon a bench beyond the trees. Far enough away to believe herself unnoticed. Close enough to watch. The Devil’s pleasure cooled. Daemon said nothing. He did not want Femi’s body to stiffen again. Lily leaned back against the bench. A smirk spread across her face. The Devil watched her.
Phone.
Lily lifted it.
She is taking pictures.
Daemon saw.
One photograph. Then another. The Devil’s first instinct came instantly.
Take it.
No.
Break it.
No.
Her fingers?
No.
The Devil growled.
But it did not move Daemon. That mattered. Because Femi was warm against them. Relaxed. Happy. The Devil looked down at her.
Not tonight.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
Exactly.
Lily could wait. The Devil returned part of its attention to Femi. Lily had seen the Devil chasing a mute waitress through the park. Seen him hide badly because it made her laugh. Seen Daemon hold Femi beneath a weeping willow while the sun disappeared. Lily could not wait to tell Wolfwater. The Devil had gone soft. Men who once lowered their voices when Daemon entered a room would hear how Malone’s daughter made him play children’s games. How he kissed her cheeks when he caught her.
How he sat beneath a tree with her upon his lap and watched the sunset.
The Devil considered this.
Then—
Let them.
Daemon almost smiled.
Lily imagined the laughter. The jokes. The legend weakening with every repetition. The Devil became amused.
Let them laugh.
Daemon looked toward Lily.
The Devil whispered—
They can come test whether the teeth remain.
Daemon’s mouth curved.
There you are.
I never left.
Lily lifted her phone again. Took another photograph. The Devil no longer cared. Because Femi shifted upon Daemon’s lap. Her hand rose. Touched his scar. Everything else vanished.
Little ghost.
Daemon looked at her. The park disappeared from his attention. Femi’s fingers moved.
What do I get for winning?
The Devil immediately became excited.
Prize.
“You did not win.”
She absolutely won.
Femi’s brows rose.
You found me last.
“I still found you.”
She considered.
Then signed—
I want a prize.
The Devil smiled.
Give her anything.
“What would you like?”
Femi looked at his mouth.
The Devil went completely still.
Oh.
Daemon’s heart struck hard once.
Femi placed one hand behind his neck.
The Devil surged.
YES.
She pulled him closer. Daemon stopped before their lips met. The Devil slammed against his restraint— then remembered.
Ask.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
“May I?”
Femi nodded.
The Devil nearly shouted.
YES.
Daemon kissed her beneath the willow. Slowly. The first touch remained gentle. The Devil trembled.
She chose us.
Femi shifted until she faced him. Her knees rested on either side of his thighs. The Devil almost lost the ability to monitor Lily entirely.
Little ghost.
Her fingers entered his pale hair. The kiss deepened. Daemon’s arm tightened around her waist. The Devil forgot Lily. Completely. Not because it believed she was harmless. Not because it had failed to notice her. Because Femi’s mouth moved over Daemon’s, warm and certain— and for the first time in its existence, the Devil decided a possible threat could wait ten fucking seconds.
She is kissing us.
Femi’s fingers tightened.
Again.
Her mouth moved.
Again.
Daemon pulled her closer.
Again.
The Devil had spent years loving blood. Loving pursuit. Loving the instant prey realized there was nowhere left to run. Tonight it had discovered another kind of hunt.A little ghost running through their park. Laughing. Looking back. Wanting to be chased. Wanting to be caught.Finding the Devil in return. Kissing its scar. Claiming it. And now sitting astride Daemon’s lap beneath a willow, kissing him as though being caught had been the prize all along.
The Devil was having fun. Actual fun. It almost didn’t know what to do with the feeling. So it did the only thing it could. It purred.
Again.
Lily watched from the bench. Her smirk hardened.
Femi kissed him as though she had forgotten fear. Daemon held her as though softness were not weakness but worship.
Lily took another photograph. The matching bracelets shone in the final light.
Proof. The Devil had gone soft. Lily did not understand what she was seeing. Softness had not replaced the monster. The monster was still there. Still counting exits. Still remembering Lily’s phone. Still memorizing the bench. Still listening for approaching footsteps even while Femi’s mouth moved against Daemon’s. Still capable of blood. Still capable of terrible things. But tonight— the monster was playing. And God help anyone foolish enough to mistake happiness for weakness.
Femi ended the kiss first. Her forehead rested against Daemon’s. His breathing had deepened.
The Devil immediately begged—
Again.
Femi smiled.
My prize.
The Devil was offended.
Her prize?
Daemon’s crooked smile answered.
“You appear pleased.”
Femi nodded.
She touched his mouth with one fingertip. The Devil watched that finger. Then she signed—
You pleased me.
The Devil stopped. Daemon stopped.
Then the creature exploded.
WE PLEASED HER.
Daemon caught her finger between his lips and kissed it. Femi’s face turned crimson.
The Devil practically laughed.
Again.
From the distant bench, Lily stood. The Devil noticed immediately. It did not stop enjoying Femi. That was another new thing. Before, danger erased everything else. Now the Devil could do both. Love the little ghost. Watch the threat.
Lily slipped the phone into her purse.
Leaving.
She walked toward the park entrance.
East.
Daemon watched her over Femi’s shoulder.
Sedan.
A dark vehicle waited beneath an unlit streetlamp.
Passenger side.
Lily entered.
Driver.
Too dark.
Plate.
Partial.
The car pulled away.
The Devil memorized everything. Direction. Shape. Lights.Speed. The angle of the turn.
Then Femi touched his chest.
The Devil returned to her immediately.
Little ghost.
Daemon’s expression had never changed. Femi followed his gaze. The car had already vanished. Her hands moved.
What is it?
“Nothing for tonight.”
The Devil agreed.
Tonight is hers.
She studied him.
Daemon touched her bracelet.
ALL MINE.
The Devil purred.
“I will tell Malone.”
Femi nodded. He kissed her cheek.
“Now we are leaving.”
Her eyebrow rose.
“Not because Lily appeared.”
Femi waited. Daemon stood with her in his arms. She caught his shoulders in surprise. The Devil laughed.
Caught again.
“The mosquitoes have discovered you.”
Femi looked down. Several insects circled her bare legs. She frowned.
The Devil became offended.
They are biting our little ghost.
They are mosquitoes.
Kill them.
How?
The Devil considered.
Fire.
Absolutely not. Daemon carried her from beneath the willow.
Her hands moved beside his face.
I can walk.
“I know.”
Put me down.
“No.”
The Devil approved.
Caught.
People are looking.
“Let them.”
The Devil agreed.
Let them.
Femi glanced over his shoulder. The park had nearly emptied. Her arms settled around his neck. The Devil purred.
There.
Daemon carried her toward the motorcycle. The creature remained alert. It would speak to Malone. Find the sedan. Learn why Lily followed them. It remembered everything. But not yet. Tonight belonged to Femi. Her laughter. Her kisses. The sunset beneath the willow. The terrible hiding places. The sandal beneath the slide. The blue dress disappearing behind trees.
Her eyes looking back. The Devil found itself hoping she would ask to play again.
The realization almost embarrassed it.
Tomorrow?
Daemon’s mouth twitched.
Maybe.
Tomorrow.
We’ll see.
Our park.
Daemon glanced back toward the trees.
The willow moved gently in the summer wind.
Yeah.
Maybe it was.
Lily would tell Wolfwater the Devil had gone soft.
Let her.
The Devil knew the truth.
It had hunted men through forests. Warehouses. Cities. Across state lines. It had hunted because someone needed to die. Because Daemon needed to survive. Because blood waited at the end.
Tonight, for the first time, the Devil had hunted because it was fun. Because a little ghost in a blue dress kept looking over her shoulder and laughing. Because every time it caught her, she touched them. Kissed them. Smiled at them.
And every time she found Daemon— she kissed his scar as though finding the Devil was a prize too.
The creature settled warmly beneath his ribs.
Our little ghost.
Daemon looked down at Femi in his arms.
Her bracelet caught the park lights.
ALL MINE.
His own rested beside it.
ALL YOURS.
The Devil purred.
She found us.
Yeah.
She claimed us.
Yeah.
She kissed us.
Daemon smiled.
Yeah.
A pause.
Then, with an excitement so unfamiliar it almost sounded young—
Can we play again?
Daemon looked toward the woman in his arms. Femi caught him staring. Her eyebrow rose. His crooked smile appeared.
“Nothing, little ghost.”
The Devil immediately protested.
Tomorrow.
Daemon carried her toward the motorcycle. We’ll ask. The Devil settled. Satisfied. Watchful. Happy. And completely unashamed of it. Lily could tell Wolfwater whatever she wanted. The Devil had not gone soft. It had fallen in love.
And, apparently— it had learned how to play.
The Devil had gone soft.
The Devil had been claimed.
The Devil had a heart.
A small, easy, mute heart that smelled like strawberries and wore his claim around her wrist.
Wolfwater repeated the story until men who should have known better began to believe it.
They heard Daemon had played hide-and-seek beneath the trees. That he allowed Malone’s daughter to sit on his lap. That he kissed her beneath a weeping willow while the sun disappeared over the lake. They heard the Devil wore a bracelet engraved ALL YOURS.
The story changed in the telling. Tenderness became weakness. Devotion became submission. Love became a leash held by a silent girl.
Lily encouraged every version.
“The Devil isn’t what he used to be,” she told anyone willing to listen.
“Femi ruined him.”
“She tells him when he can drink. Makes him come inside for dinner. One touch from her, and he stops.”
Lily smiled when she said it.
“Now is the time to strike.”
Three men believed her.
The first arrived at midnight.
Helix was nearly empty.
Malone stood behind the bar counting receipts. Marta sat near the stairs with a cigarette between her fingers despite Malone’s repeated objections to smoking indoors. Femi worked in the kitchen.
Daemon occupied his usual corner.
The Devil was content.
It had been content often lately, which Daemon found vaguely suspicious.
Femi was twenty feet away. He could hear pans moving in the kitchen. Every few minutes she appeared at the service window, and every few minutes the Devil stirred with the same quiet satisfaction.
Little ghost.
Yes.
Ours.
Hers.
The Devil considered this.
Both.
Daemon drank his whiskey.
Close enough.
The man had spent three hours drinking enough courage to overcome his common sense. Daemon had noticed him an hour ago.
So had the Devil.
He keeps looking.
I know.
The man’s attention had moved between Daemon and the service window often enough to become irritating.
He looks at her too much.
He looks at everyone too much.
Not the same.
Daemon ignored it.
The man finally pushed away from the bar and approached Daemon’s table unsteadily.
The Devil sighed inside him.
Finally.
Daemon lowered his glass slightly.
Do not sound pleased.
I was becoming bored.
The man stopped beside the table.
“You’re Pallid.”
Daemon looked at him. The man swayed.
“They call you the Devil.”
The thing inside him became attentive.
They do.
Daemon lifted his whiskey.
“So I have heard.”
The man glanced toward the service window. Femi appeared long enough to place two plates beneath the heat lamps. His mouth twisted.
“That the little mute who tamed you?”
The whiskey glass stopped halfway to Daemon’s mouth.
The Devil became very still. Not angry. Not yet. Simply— interested.
Little mute?
Daemon placed his glass down. Marta stopped smoking. Malone looked up from the receipts. The man laughed.
“Lily says you’re soft now.”
The Devil’s attention sharpened.
Lily.
Daemon leaned back.
“Does she?”
“She says you don’t have the stomach for blood anymore.”
A dark amusement moved through the Devil.
Show him.
No.
A little.
Daemon looked at the drunk.
“That is not what she said while she was bleeding.”
The man blinked. Then remembered Lily had once been shot by the quiet woman working in the kitchen. The Devil remembered too. Fondly.
Our little ghost shot her.
Yes.
Twice.
I remember.
She was magnificent.
Daemon’s mouth nearly moved. The man’s confidence faltered. The whiskey restored it. He swung. The Devil moved. There was no warning. No argument between them. No separation between thought and violence.
One moment, the man stood beside the table.
The next, Daemon’s fist connected with his jaw.
The sound cracked through Helix. The man hit the floor flat on his back. His eyes remained open. Nothing behind them appeared awake.
Silence.
The Devil settled immediately.
Better.
Daemon picked up his whiskey.
You enjoyed that.
Yes.
He took a drink.
You barely did anything.
The Devil sounded offended.
He is unconscious.
One punch.
Efficiency.
Malone came around the bar and crouched beside the body. He pressed two fingers against the man’s neck.
“Alive.”
Marta exhaled smoke.
“Disappointing.”
I like Marta.
Daemon glanced at her. Marta smiled around her cigarette. Then Femi appeared in the service window.
The Devil abandoned the unconscious man immediately.
Little ghost.
Her gaze moved from the body on the floor to Daemon. Then back to the body. Then to Daemon again.
Her hands rose.
What happened?
“He fell,” Daemon said. The Devil went quiet.
Malone slowly looked at him.
“Onto your fist?”
“Yes.”
Good answer.
It was technically accurate.
Exactly.
Femi stared at him. Daemon lifted his whiskey. Her gaze dropped. Not to the glass. To his hand. The hand wearing her bracelet.
The Devil noticed.
She sees.
The knuckles were reddened. Nothing more. Femi’s eyes narrowed.
Her hands moved.
Ice.
Daemon stared at her.
The Devil perked up.
Yes.
“I am uninjured.”
Femi pointed toward the kitchen. The Devil’s pleasure began immediately.
Go.
Daemon remained seated.
I do not need ice.
She wants to touch us.
That is not what she said.
Ice requires touching.
Not necessarily.
Go.
Daemon looked at Malone.
Malone smiled.
“The ruthless Devil has been summoned for medical attention.”
Marta took another drag from her cigarette.
“Better hurry. She looks serious.”
Daemon looked toward the service window. Femi remained there. Waiting. One eyebrow lifted. The Devil practically purred.
She summoned us.
She pointed toward a kitchen.
Same thing.
Daemon sighed and stood.
The Devil was unbearably pleased.
Good.
This is humiliating.
No.
The unconscious man lay between him and the kitchen.
Daemon stepped over him.
This is excellent.
Femi was waiting beside the prep counter. A dish towel rested beside a small bowl of ice. Daemon stopped. He looked at the bowl.
Then at her.
“You prepared it already.”
Femi nodded.
She knew we would obey.
Daemon frowned internally.
I am not discussing this with you.
Femi held out her hand. Daemon looked at it.
The Devil immediately whispered—
Give it.
Daemon placed his hand in hers.Femi’s fingers closed gently around his wrist. The Devil went silent.
That happened more often now.
For all its violence, all its hunger, all the years it had spent raging inside him, Femi possessed the peculiar ability to quiet it with almost nothing.
A hand.
A look.
Her fingers against his skin. The Devil liked being touched by her. Too much. Femi turned his hand over. She examined his knuckles. Daemon watched her face. The little crease between her eyebrows. The concentration in her green eyes. The careful way she ran her thumb beside the reddened skin rather than over it.
The Devil whispered—
Again.
Daemon ignored it. Femi wrapped several pieces of ice inside the towel.
Then pressed it gently against his knuckles.
“I told you I am uninjured.”
Her eyes lifted.
Quiet.
Daemon nearly frowned.
Excuse me?
Let her.
I don’t need— Femi adjusted the towel. Her fingertips brushed his palm.
The Devil practically melted.
We are gravely injured.
Daemon stared at her.
Traitor.
Possibly dying.
It is red skin.
She should continue treatment.
Daemon had survived bullets with less internal dramatics. Femi studied his hand again.
Then her fingers moved.
Does it hurt?
“No.”
The Devil objected.
Yes.
No.
Terribly.
Stop.
Femi’s eyes narrowed. She pressed lightly against one knuckle. Daemon did not react. Her eyebrow rose.
“See?”
She continued holding the ice against him. Daemon looked down at their hands. Her fingers were small around his wrist.
His bracelet sat immediately above them.
ALL YOURS.
The Devil noticed too. Its amusement disappeared.
Something quieter replaced it.
Hers.
Daemon looked at Femi. She had no idea what she did to the thing inside him. The Devil had endured laboratories. Needles. Blood. Orders. Pain designed specifically to find the places inside a human being that could still break. It had learned violence because violence survived. And now Femi stood in Helix’s kitchen holding ice against a bruise that barely existed.
The Devil treated the gesture like something sacred.
She takes care of us.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
Yes.
Femi glanced up.
She noticed the change in his expression immediately.
What?
“Nothing.”
Her eyes narrowed. The Devil whispered—
Tell her.
No.
Tell her we like this.
Absolutely not.
Coward.
Daemon’s jaw tightened. Femi noticed that too.
Her fingers moved.
Are you angry?
“No.”
At you? Never.
Daemon looked down at her hand around his wrist.
“I was thinking.”
Femi waited. He should have stopped there. Instead—
“I like when you take care of me.”
Femi became still.
The Devil became delighted.
There.
Color entered her cheeks. Daemon immediately regretted giving the Devil ammunition. Femi looked down and adjusted the ice unnecessarily.
Pretty.
Stop.
Kiss her.
No.
Why?
She is working.
So?
Malone is fifteen feet away.
We have kissed her while Malone was fifteen feet away.
And look how that ended.
The Devil remembered.
Interfering old man.
Femi released his hand.
The Devil objected immediately.
No.
Daemon almost reached for her. He stopped himself.
Femi pointed toward the towel.
Five minutes.
“I have had enough.”
Her expression hardened.
Five minutes.
Daemon stared at her. She stared back.
The Devil sided with her without hesitation.
Five.
You are supposed to be me.
She has green eyes.
That is your argument?
Yes.
Daemon leaned one hip against the counter and kept the ice against his knuckles. Femi nodded approvingly.
The Devil practically glowed.
Good.
Daemon closed his eyes briefly.
I hate you.
No, you don’t.
Unfortunately. Femi returned to the stove. Daemon watched her. The Devil watched her.
After several seconds, Femi looked over her shoulder and caught him.
Daemon did not look away.
Neither did the Devil.
Ours.
Hers.
The Devil considered.
She is ours. We are hers.
Daemon’s gaze dropped to ALL YOURS around his wrist.
That arrangement, apparently, pleased it enormously.
Yeah.
Something very close to satisfaction curled through his chest.
Good.
The rumor grew worse by morning. The Devil had struck a man once. Then allowed the little ghost to place ice upon his hand. Wolfwater laughed.
The Devil did not care.
She touched us.
Daemon had heard that approximately fifty times since leaving the kitchen. The first man did not laugh. When he woke, his jaw had been wired shut.
The Devil considered that an acceptable conclusion.
He called her the little mute.
Daemon lifted his whiskey.
I remember.
A satisfied silence followed. Then—
We should have hit him twice.
Daemon looked across Helix. Femi stood behind the bar. She caught his gaze. Then deliberately looked at his hand. Checking. Daemon lifted it so she could see his perfectly functional knuckles. Femi smiled.
The Devil forgot the drunk existed.
Little ghost.
Daemon’s mouth curved.
Yeah.
The Devil settled quietly beneath his ribs.
Ours takes care of us.
Daemon touched the bracelet.
Hers.
This time, the Devil did not argue.
Hers.
The second man arrived three nights later.
He did not enter Helix.
He waited until two in the morning, when the street had emptied and the final motorcycle disappeared around the corner.
Daemon had noticed him forty minutes earlier.
The Devil had noticed him sooner.
Wrong.
Daemon remained in the darkness beside Sully’s garage. The man had passed Helix twice. Never entered. Never looked through the front windows.
Instead, he watched a first floor window.
He keeps looking.
I see him.
Little ghost is there.
Daemon knew.
Femi had gone to her room nearly an hour ago. Her light remained on. She was probably reading. Or lying across the bed with one of the ridiculous mystery novels she consumed faster than Malone could complain about the bookstore receipts.
Safe.
For now.
The stranger disappeared around the side of Helix.
The Devil rose.
No.
Daemon moved. The man carried a bottle of gasoline into the alley. The smell reached Daemon before he saw the container. The Devil understood immediately. For one terrible second, it was somewhere else. Another building. Another fire. Twelve years ago. Smoke. Heat. A warehouse intended to become his grave.
Fire.
Daemon’s breathing changed. The man chose the wall beneath Femi’s room. Everything inside Daemon stopped.
The Devil did not.
Her room.
The man soaked the brick.
Gasoline splashed against the wall.
HER ROOM.
Daemon’s hands curled. The Devil surged against his skin with enough force to make his vision sharpen. The man poured fuel across the rear steps. Above them— Femi’s light remained on. The Devil could see nothing else. Not Helix. Not the alley. Not the man. Only that window.
Little ghost.
Daemon began walking.
The man stuffed a rag into the bottle.
Kill him.
Not yet.
He is going to burn her.
I need to know why.
WE KNOW WHY.
No.
They knew what.
Daemon wanted who. The man reached for a lighter. He never lit it. Daemon stepped from the shadows behind him. The man froze. He had not heard footsteps. Had not heard breathing. Nothing.
Daemon’s voice came quietly from behind him.
“Why this window?”
The man turned.
Saw Daemon.
Then— something in Daemon’s face made recognition change into terror. Because Daemon was no longer entirely alone behind those gray eyes.
The Devil was looking at him.
Answer.
The man’s gaze moved. Femi’s bedroom light glowed above them. That was his mistake. He looked at her window.
The Devil saw him do it.
No.
The bottle slipped from his hand.
Daemon caught it before it struck the pavement. The man ran.
For half a second, Daemon remained beneath Femi’s window with the bottle in his hand.
The Devil watched the man disappear toward the mouth of the alley.
He came to burn our little ghost.
Daemon carefully placed the bottle on the pavement.
He knew where she slept.
The man reached the street.
He poured gasoline beneath her bed.
Daemon started after him.
The Devil whispered one word.
Hunt.
The man reached the end of the alley.
The Devil reached him first.
Femi slept through most of it. That was the only mercy the Devil allowed. The man made the mistake of fighting. Then the considerably larger mistake of reaching for a knife. Daemon took it away.
The Devil took everything else.
“Who sent you?”
“No one.”
One finger.
The scream traveled down the alley.
Again.
“Who sent you?”
“No one! Jesus Christ!”
Daemon twisted the man’s wrist.
“You brought gasoline to a building where people were sleeping.”
“I wasn’t gonna burn the whole building.”
The Devil became still.
Daemon did too.
“What were you going to burn?”
The man said nothing. Daemon looked toward Helix. Toward the illuminated second-floor window.
Femi.
Ask him.
Daemon crouched.
“What were you going to burn?”
The man began shaking.
“Just the room.”
The Devil disappeared. Not retreated. Not quieted. Disappeared. Daemon knew that silence.
He had experienced it only a handful of times.
It meant the Devil had moved beyond rage into something much colder.
“Whose room?”
The man looked at him. Daemon waited.
“Whose room?”
“The mute girl’s.”
The Devil returned.
Take his hands.
Daemon grabbed the man’s shirt.
“Why?”
“She made you weak.”
Daemon stared at him.
“What?”
“Everyone says it.”
“Who?”
The man hesitated. Daemon looked at his fingers. The man’s face drained.
“Lily.”
Of course.
The Devil snarled.
Lily.
“She paid you?”
“No.”
“Ordered you?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
The man’s breathing came quickly.
“She said you wouldn’t do anything.”
Daemon became very still.
“She said the girl made you harmless.”
The Devil laughed.
It was not amused.
Harmless.
The man heard nothing. Daemon did.
“She said you wouldn’t spill blood over her anymore.”
Wrong.
Daemon’s hand tightened.
“She said Pallid doesn’t have the stomach for it since he got himself a woman.”
Wrong.
“I figured—”
Daemon tilted his head. The man stopped.
“You figured what?”
“I could prove it.”
The Devil seemed genuinely fascinated.
He wanted to test us.
Apparently.
With fire.
Yes.
Beneath her bedroom.
Yes.
A long pause. Then—
Can we keep him?
No.
The Devil was offended.
Why?
Because Femi will ask. That gave it pause. It knew she would. The Devil had learned many things about Femi. Among them: She had an irritating attachment to people remaining alive.
Most of him, then.
Daemon looked down at the man’s hands.
That could be negotiated.
By sunrise, Malone had replaced the rear steps. Marta scrubbed blood from the wall. She had been doing it for twenty minutes when she looked at Daemon.
“You couldn’t move him six feet to the left?”
Daemon stood beside Femi.
“No.”
Marta scrubbed harder.
“There was perfectly good pavement six feet to the left.”
“He ran this direction.”
“You caught him.”
“Yes.”
“So move him.”
The Devil found this conversation tedious.
Little ghost is upset.
Daemon looked down. Femi stood in the alley looking at her window. The gasoline had been washed away. The damaged steps were gone. Malone had already replaced them.
But Femi kept staring upward. Her bedroom. Her safe place. Someone had stood beneath it carrying fire.
The Devil’s rage returned.
Quieter now.
Worse.
He knew where she slept.
Daemon remained beside her. Close. Not touching. Waiting. The arsonist had told him Lily spread the rumor. She had not paid him. She had not ordered the fire. She merely said the Devil would do nothing. That Malone’s mute daughter had made him harmless. The man wanted to prove her right.
The Devil remained fascinated by that particular stupidity.
Did he prove it?
Daemon looked toward the blood Marta was scrubbing from the brick.
I think he reached a conclusion.
Good.
Femi’s hands moved.
Where is he?
“Gone.”
Her green eyes shifted immediately to Daemon. The Devil whispered—
Careful.
Daemon kept his expression neutral. Femi’s eyes narrowed.
The Devil sighed.
She knows.
Of course she knows.
She always knows.
“Alive.”
Femi continued staring. Daemon stared back.
The Devil attempted assistance.
Mostly.
Daemon ignored it. Femi folded her arms.
The Devil reconsidered.
Tell her.
No.
She will keep looking.
Daemon knew that too.
He sighed.
“He will retain most of his fingers.”
Femi closed her eyes.
The Devil became defensive.
He tried to burn her.
Daemon nearly answered aloud. Femi opened her eyes again.
Her hands rose.
Most?
Daemon said nothing. One eyebrow lifted.
The Devil whispered—
We like when she does that.
Not now.
Still true.
Femi waited. Daemon looked toward Marta.
Marta immediately raised one hand.
“Don’t involve me. I just clean up after your emotional problems.”
Femi’s attention snapped back to Daemon.
The Devil was offended.
We do not have emotional problems.
Daemon looked at the blood-covered wall.
Debatable.
Femi signed again.
Daemon.
The Devil reacted immediately.
She said our name.
Daemon exhaled.
“He can count to eight.”
Femi stared. Then looked down at her own hands. Ten fingers. Back at Daemon. Her eyes widened.
The Devil helpfully explained—
Eight.
I can count.
Femi’s hands moved sharply.
You cut off two of his fingers?
“No.”
The Devil objected.
One.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
Do not help.
Femi waited.
“One is broken.”
A pause.
“The other…”
Daemon considered the most diplomatic wording.
The Devil offered—
Detached.
Daemon closed his eyes. Femi’s mouth fell open. Marta started laughing.
“Detached?” she repeated.
Daemon looked at her.
Marta leaned against the brick, laughing harder.
“You make it sound like the damn thing resigned.”
The Devil approved.
It did.
Femi covered her face. Daemon watched her. For one uneasy second, he wondered whether she was horrified. Then her shoulders moved. Once. Twice. She was laughing. Silently. Into her hands.
The Devil forgot the arsonist existed.
Again.
Femi lowered her hands and tried to glare at him. It failed because she was still smiling. Daemon’s scar pulled beneath a crooked smile of his own.
The Devil practically basked.
Little ghost.
Femi pointed toward him.
Not funny.
“No.”
Very funny.
Her eyebrow rose.
Daemon corrected himself.
“Not remotely.”
Marta snorted. Femi looked toward her window again. The smile disappeared. So did Daemon’s. The Devil quieted. After a moment, Femi’s hands moved.
He could have burned everyone.
“Yes.”
Malone.
“Yes.”
Marta.
“Yes.”
You.
Daemon looked at her. The Devil did too. There. Not herself. Femi had listed everyone except the woman whose bedroom had been soaked in gasoline.
Little ghost.
Daemon’s voice lowered.
“And you.”
Femi’s hands stopped.
“You were the room he chose.”
Her eyes dropped. Daemon stepped closer. Still he did not touch her.
“He wasn’t burning Helix to get to me.”
The Devil stirred.
“He was burning you to prove something about me.”
Femi swallowed. Daemon’s jaw tightened.
“That will not happen again.”
Her gaze lifted.
The Devil whispered—
Never.
Femi’s hands moved.
You cannot promise that.
“No.”
That surprised her. Daemon looked toward the new steps. Then at the wall. Then her window.
“I can promise what happens if someone tries.”
The Devil rose beneath the words.
We find them.
Daemon looked at her.
We stop them.
Femi held his gaze.
We protect her.
Her fingers moved.
Without removing pieces?
The Devil hesitated.
Daemon almost smiled.
“That depends.”
Femi’s eyes narrowed.
Lie.
Daemon sighed.
“I will make a reasonable effort.”
Her expression did not change.
She wants more.
“I will make an unreasonable effort.”
Nothing.
The Devil became exasperated.
Just promise.
Daemon glanced toward the blood Marta was still scrubbing.
That seems irresponsible.
She is waiting.
Femi remained exactly where she was. Waiting. Daemon surrendered.
“No pieces.”
The Devil protested immediately.
Daemon.
No.
Small pieces?
No.
What if—
No.
Femi studied him suspiciously. Then pointed toward his chest.
And him.
Daemon froze. The Devil went silent. Marta stopped scrubbing. Femi pointed again. At Daemon. Then tapped two fingers against her temple. She knew. Perhaps not everything. But enough. Daemon stared at her.
“What about him?”
Femi’s hands moved.
He has to promise too.
The Devil recoiled.
No.
Daemon almost smiled.
She means you.
I know.
Femi waited.
Absolutely not.
Daemon folded his arms.
“Apparently, she does not trust you.”
The Devil was outraged.
We saved her bedroom.
And removed a finger.
One finger.
Femi’s eyebrow rose.
Daemon realized he’d gone silent too long.
“She is waiting.”
I do not make promises to humans.
Daemon looked at Femi.
Her green eyes remained fixed upon him.
…except her.
Exactly. A long, miserable silence followed. Then the Devil muttered—
Fine.
Daemon’s mouth twitched.
Femi pointed at him.
Well?
“He agrees.”
The Devil immediately clarified—
Under protest.
“Under protest.”
Femi smiled.
The Devil softened instantly.
Worth it.
Daemon looked at her.
Hopeless.
Completely fucking hopeless.
The Devil didn’t care. Neither, increasingly, did he.
Femi reached for his hand. Her fingers slipped between his. The Devil went quiet. All that rage. All that remembered fire. All the violence still moving beneath Daemon’s skin—
gone beneath five small fingers.
Safe.
Daemon looked at their joined hands.
Yeah.
Then Femi leaned against his arm.
The Devil nearly melted.
Little ghost.
Daemon squeezed her hand once.
Across the alley, Marta looked at the blood on her rag.
“You know, if the Devil plans to keep courting people this way, I’m charging for cleanup.”
Daemon looked at her. Femi silently laughed against his shoulder.
The Devil ignored Marta completely.
Again.
Femi’s shoulders moved.
Again.
Daemon’s crooked smile returned.
By noon, the story had reached Wolfwater. The Devil caught a man trying to burn Helix. The man vanished. He returned home the following afternoon with both hands bandaged and a sudden terror of open flames.
The laughter became quieter. Not silent. Not yet. The Devil listened to the rumors spread. Men joked about Daemon being domesticated. About the little ghost putting ice on his knuckles. About bracelets. Kisses. A killer learning manners. The Devil did not object. Let them laugh. Let them call him soft. Let them mistake restraint for weakness. The Devil had learned something they had not.
Femi had not made it harmless. She had given it something it had never possessed before. Something to lose. Something to return home to. Something worth controlling itself for. And, if necessary— something worth becoming exactly what everyone feared it still was.
That night, Femi’s bedroom light came on. Daemon watched it from his dark corner inside Helix. The Devil settled beneath his ribs. Quiet. Content. Watching.
Little ghost.
Daemon lifted his whiskey.
Yeah.
A pause.
No fire touches her.
Daemon’s gray eyes remained on the hallway leading to her room.
“No.”
This time, man and Devil spoke with one voice.
“Never.”
The third man walked through Helix’s front door.
He arrived at seven on a Friday evening. The clubhouse had begun to fill. Music played. The kitchen served the first dinner orders.
Daemon had not yet appeared. The man knew that. Lily told him Daemon usually entered at nine. She failed to mention he had begun arriving early on Fridays because Femi prepared steaks.
The Devil had noticed the pattern before Daemon admitted there was one.
Friday.
Daemon had once pretended not to understand.
Steak.
There are steaks every night.
Hers.
That had ended the argument. The man found Femi carrying drinks toward a table. He stepped into her path. She moved left. He followed. Femi moved right. He blocked her again. Her expression hardened.
“Malone’s little girl.”
Femi looked toward the bar. Malone had gone into his office. Marta was downstairs checking the liquor delivery.
The man smiled.
“Not much to look at.”
Femi stepped around him. He caught her arm. The tray tilted. Glasses struck the floor. Helix became quiet. Femi looked at the hand around her wrist. Then at the man. Her eyes changed. He did not recognize the warning.
“You’re the reason everyone thinks the Devil became a house pet.”
Femi pulled once. He tightened his grip.
“Maybe I should see what made him so—”
A hand closed around the back of his neck. The man stopped speaking. Daemon stood behind him. No one had seen him enter. His pale hair fell across his scar. His gray eyes rested upon the fingers gripping Femi’s wrist. The Devil became very quiet. Not the quiet Femi brought. Not the quiet of her sleeping across his bed. Not the quiet of books turning beneath lamplight. This was the old quiet. The terrible one.
The silence that came immediately before something died.
Hand.
Daemon stared at it.
On her.
I see it.
Remove it.
“Release her.”
The man turned his head as far as Daemon’s hand allowed.
“So the stories are true.”
The Devil did not care about stories. It cared about five fingers wrapped around Femi’s wrist.
Break them.
Daemon looked at Femi.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. The Devil inspected her anyway. Wrist. Arm. Face. Posture. Breathing.
He touched her.
I know.
The man laughed.
“He checks with her first.”
Daemon’s attention returned to him.
“You have mistaken good manners for a survival instinct.”
The man released Femi. The Devil relaxed exactly enough to stop demanding his hand. Then the man shoved her. Femi struck the edge of a table.
The Devil erupted.
NO.
Daemon caught her before she fell. One arm around her. Femi regained her balance quickly. Her face revealed more anger than fear.
The Devil did not care.
Hurt?
Daemon’s gaze moved over her.
Little ghost.
She was upright. Breathing. Angry. Safe.
The man lifted both hands.
“Come on, Devil.”
The Devil turned.
Yes.
He smiled.
“Show everyone you still have teeth.”
Something inside Daemon smiled back.
Gladly.
Daemon looked at Femi. She straightened her shirt. Then pointed toward the front door. The man laughed again.
“She ordering you not to fight?”
The Devil was deeply offended by the phrasing.
She does not order.
Daemon touched Femi’s cheek. The instant his fingers met her skin, the Devil’s rage faltered. There. Warm. Alive.
Safe.
“Go to Malone.”
Her eyes narrowed.
The Devil almost sighed.
She will not.
“Please, little ghost.”
Femi looked at the man. Then at Daemon. Her hands moved.
Alive.
The Devil recoiled.
No.
Daemon’s mouth curved.
“I will attempt restraint.”
Daemon.
Femi caught his shirt before he turned. The Devil immediately forgot the argument.
She touched us.
Daemon nearly closed his eyes.
Focus.
That was not an answer.
Daemon glanced toward the man. He had begun retreating.
The Devil noticed.
Running.
“Yes.”
Femi studied him. Daemon held her gaze.
“Yes. Alive.”
We did not agree.
You are me.
Not for this conversation.
Femi released him. The Devil shivered at the loss. Then its attention returned to the man. He had reached the door.
The Devil smiled.
Our turn.
The man ran.
The Devil followed.
An hour later, the man hung from a beam in Sully’s garage.
Rain hammered the metal roof. The summer heat remained trapped inside the building. Water poured through the open garage doors, striking the pavement hard enough to rise again as mist.
The man’s wrists had been bound above his head. His boots turned slowly over the concrete. One eye had swollen shut. His nose was broken. Blood covered his chin and shirt. Several of his teeth lay upon the garage floor.
The Devil counted them.
Four.
Daemon wiped blood from his knuckles.
Stop counting.
Five if we take the loose one.
Leave it.
Wasteful.
Femi sat in a metal chair near the workbench. Her hands gripped the edges. White-knuckled. She had not been invited. Daemon had told her to remain at Helix. Femi followed Harlon when he returned to the garage for clean rags and a medical kit.
Harlon saw her climb from the truck and sighed.
“You were told to stay.”
Femi folded her arms.
Harlon looked at that expression.
“I am not arguing with you. I enjoy being alive.”
He opened the garage door.
“You can tell him you followed me against my will.”
Femi nodded.
“That was a joke.”
She nodded again. Harlon looked toward the man hanging from the beam.
“Sit somewhere he can see you. If he cannot see you, he may forget civilization exists.”
The Devil considered that.
Correct.
Femi chose the metal chair. Daemon noticed her immediately.
The Devil noticed her first.
Little ghost.
His expression darkened.
“What are you doing here?”
Femi pointed toward the hanging man.
“He is alive.”
She continued pointing.
“For now.”
Her hands moved.
You promised.
“I remember.”
Unfortunately.
Femi remained in the chair. Daemon stared at her. She stared back.
The Devil approved of the defiance.
Stubborn.
Daemon did not.
“You should not see this.”
Femi’s hands rose.
I have seen worse.
Something inside him became cold. The Devil went colder. It hated those words from her. Not because they were untrue. Because they were true. Hospitals. Institutions. Blood. Men who had already taught Femi what terrible looked like long before Daemon entered her life.
She should not have.
“I know.”
She lowered her hands. Daemon returned to the prisoner. His shirt clung to his body. Rain and sweat had soaked the black fabric until it shone beneath the garage lights. He reached behind his neck, caught the collar, and pulled the shirt over his head.
The Devil felt Femi go still. Daemon did too. He ignored it.
The Devil absolutely did not.
Oh.
Don’t.
Femi forgot the man hanging from the ceiling. Daemon threw the shirt upon the workbench. His pale hair had come loose. Wet strands clung to his shoulders. Sweat moved over the scars crossing his back.
Beneath them, black ink spread from shoulder to shoulder. The tattoo covered most of him. Dark wings. Broken chains. A snake woven through bone and fire. Near his lower back, two words rested beneath the design.
KILL ME.
Femi stared.
The Devil practically stretched beneath Daemon’s skin.
She is looking.
Daemon rolled one shoulder. Muscle moved beneath ink and scar tissue.
Femi’s fingers tightened around the chair.
Still looking.
Yes.
At us.
I know.
The Devil remembered the alley. Her hands beneath his wet hair. Her mouth against his. The way she had chosen closer.
Little ghost likes us.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
We are interrogating someone.
She can look while we work.
The hanging man groaned. Daemon struck him. The crack of bone echoed through the garage. Femi didn’t flinch. Her gaze rose. The man swung from the chain. Daemon waited for him to return. Then hit him again. Not wild. Not careless. Brutal raw efficiency. Every strike had purpose.
Ribs.
Pain.
Stomach.
Breath.
Kidney.
Fear.
Face.
Truth.
Daemon knew how much force the body could absorb. He knew which wounds created pain. Which created fear. Which ended the conversation permanently. The Devil knew too. It had taught him some of them. Others they had learned together.
“Who sent you?”
“No one.”
Daemon punched him beneath the ribs.
The man screamed.
The Devil listened.
Lie.
“Who told you when I entered Helix?”
The man coughed blood onto the floor.
“People talk.”
Lie.
Daemon struck him again.
“Names.”
“Lily.”
The answer came quickly.
The Devil smiled.
There.
Femi’s grip tightened. Daemon stopped.
“Of course,” he murmured.
Lily.
The Devil remembered every encounter. Every insult. Every attempt to humiliate Femi. Every calculated little wound. Its patience with Lily had become remarkably thin.
“What did she tell you?”
“That you went soft.”
The Devil almost laughed. The man’s good eye moved toward Femi.
“That the mute bitch owned you.”
Daemon’s fist drove into his mouth. Another tooth struck the concrete.
Five.
Femi looked away. For several seconds. Then her gaze returned to Daemon’s back. She listened to only half the confession. Lily had been speaking to men near the bridge. Buying drinks. Showing photographs taken beneath the willow. Telling them Femi led Daemon by the wrist. Promising money to anyone who embarrassed him inside Helix. The hanging man had wanted the money.
More than that, he wanted the reputation. He believed defeating the Devil after a small mute woman weakened him would make Wolfwater fear his name instead.
The Devil found this genuinely fascinating.
They think she weakened us.
Daemon hit him again. The man screamed. Femi watched sweat move down Daemon’s spine. Her fear and desire fought within her. She didn’t hate the blood. The sounds. The teeth upon the floor. She hated that the man had grabbed her.
That he said her silence as though it made her less human. She hated Lily for turning affection into an invitation for violence. But her eyes continued following Daemon. The shape of his shoulders. The muscles tightening across his back before each strike. The scars crossing his skin. The tattoo moving with him. The Devil knew.
It felt her gaze like fingertips.
She sees us.
The Devil was not soft. It was terrible. Beautiful. Hers.
The Devil went still.
Hers.
Something changed in it. That word no longer offended its possessiveness. Once, the Devil had only understood—
Mine.
Femi had changed that too.
Mine.
Yours.
Ours.
Hers.
Claim and surrender existing together. It liked hers far more than it should. Daemon drew back his fist. Femi stood. The Devil noticed immediately.
Little ghost.
She crossed the garage before anyone could stop her. Her hand touched Daemon’s back. The fist stopped in midair. The Devil— stopped. Everything did. Femi’s palm rested between the broken wings tattooed across his shoulders. Daemon’s breathing filled the garage. Heavy. Controlled with effort.
Her touch moved slowly downward.
The Devil followed every inch.
There.
Along the snake.
More.
Across an old scar.
Little ghost.
Following black ink over warm, sweat-slick skin. Daemon closed his eyes. The hanging man attempted to speak. No one listened. Femi’s finger reached his lower back. The Devil knew what waited there. So did Daemon.
Her fingertip touched the first letter.
Oh.
She traced the first word.
KILL.
Daemon’s fingers curled.
Then the second.
ME.
The Devil broke. Not into violence. Into pleasure.
An animal sound tore through Daemon before he could stop it.
“Mmm. Yes.”
The garage went very still. Femi shivered. The Devil felt that too.
Again.
Daemon felt it despite the space between them.
His fist lowered.
For one moment, he stood with his eyes closed and Femi’s hand upon his back.
The violence left his posture.
Not gone.
Waiting.
The Devil was no longer thinking about the prisoner.
Not Lily.
Not blood.
Only the tiny fingertip that had traced words inked into its skin long before Femi ever touched it.
Again.
Daemon opened his eyes.
Enough.
No.
He looked over his shoulder. Femi met his eyes. Her hands moved.
You are sweating.
“It is hot.”
The Devil supplied—
She noticed.
You removed your shirt.
“It was wet.”
She noticed that too.
Her gaze slid over his shoulder. Daemon’s scar pulled beneath a knowing smile.
“This seems familiar.”
The Devil purred.
Workshop.
Femi’s face warmed.
Pretty.
The man hanging from the beam groaned. The Devil remembered him.
Oh. Him.
Daemon’s smile disappeared. His attention returned to the prisoner. Femi touched his back again. The Devil immediately forgot the prisoner a second time.
Yes.
Her fingers moved.
Alive.
The Devil sighed.
Always ruining the good part.
Daemon nodded once.
“Alive.”
She hesitated.
Then signed another word.
Enough?
Daemon looked at the man. The prisoner had confessed. Names. Places. The description of Lily’s car. The amount she offered. Everything useful had already been spoken.
The Devil knew that.
It did not care.
More.
It remembered the hand around Femi’s wrist.
More.
The shove.
More.
Her body striking the table.
He touched her.
Daemon’s gray eyes became empty. Femi saw the answer. Her palm settled against his back. Not restraining him. Reminding him. Warm skin. Small hand. Her heartbeat nearby.
A small, easy heart beating outside his body.
The Devil raged.
He hurt her.
Femi’s palm remained there.
He touched what is ours.
Still there.
Break him.
Her thumb moved once across an old scar.
The Devil faltered.
Little ghost.
Daemon breathed. Once. Twice.
Then—
“I promised.”
Femi nodded. She stepped away.
The Devil shivered once at the loss of her touch.
No.
Then smiled. A cold, cruel thing. The expression that made grown men run. Because restraint was not mercy. The hanging man began to beg. Daemon lowered him from the beam. Not gently. The body struck the concrete. The man curled around his broken ribs. Daemon crouched beside him. The Devil crouched with him.
“You entered her home.”
The man sobbed.
“You insulted her.”
“I’m sorry.”
The Devil whispered—
No, you aren’t.
“You touched her.”
“Lily said—”
“Lily will not be here when you wake.”
Daemon caught the front of his shirt.
“You challenged the Devil because you believed he had a heart.”
The man stared into gray eyes stripped of mercy.
“You were correct.”
The Devil went silent. Daemon looked toward Femi. She stood beside the workbench wearing his claim. Watching him. Not running. Not afraid of him.
His.
And he—
hers.
The Devil whispered—
Our heart.
Daemon returned his attention to the man.
“That heart is why you are still breathing.”
Relief entered the man’s swollen face.
The Devil almost laughed.
Poor bastard. He misunderstood.
Daemon smiled.
“It is also why no one will recognize you.”
The Devil smiled with him.
There he is.
They found the man beneath Wolfwater Bridge before dawn.
Alive.
Daemon had kept his promise.
The Devil remained irritated by the technical limitations.
Alive.
Yes.
Barely.
Still counts.
The Devil considered.
Fine.
The man was barely recognizable. His face had swollen beyond anything resembling the man who entered Helix the previous evening. His remaining teeth clicked together while he muttered to people no one else could see. Paramedics attempted to ask his name.
He screamed when one touched his wrist.
“Ghost.”
The word came through broken teeth.
“A dangerous ghost.”
They loaded him onto the stretcher.
He fought the restraints.
“The Devil was laughing.”
No one near the bridge laughed with him.
By sunrise, the story had spread.
The first man swung at Daemon and lost his jaw.
The second tried to burn the little ghost in her room and lost the use of his hands.
The third walked into Helix, grabbed Malone’s daughter, and disappeared for one hour. He returned without a face Wolfwater recognized.
And finally, the laughter changed.
People had misunderstood what was happening.
They had seen Femi touch Daemon and assumed softness. Seen him ask before kissing her and assumed submission. Seen bracelets around their wrists and assumed the Devil had been domesticated. Seen Femi tell him alive and watched him obey. They believed restraint meant weakness.
The Devil knew better. Femi had not taken its teeth. She had taught it when not to bite. She had not extinguished the violence. She had given the violence boundaries. And those boundaries all surrounded her. Only for Femi.
For everyone else, he had become worse. Before, the Devil killed because violence was what he knew. Now he had a heart. The Devil thought about that word. Once, it might have rejected it. Hearts were weak. Hearts broke. Hearts made men hesitate. Then Femi walked through Helix later that morning. She carried Daemon’s whiskey. Set it before him.
Her green eyes moved over his face. Then to his hands. Checking. Always checking. Daemon reached for her. Stopped. Waited. Femi placed her hand inside his.
The Devil settled instantly.
There.
Daemon’s thumb moved across her knuckles. A small, easy, mute heart. The Devil understood now. A heart was not weakness. A heart was simply the place an enemy should never put his hands. Femi squeezed Daemon’s fingers.
The Devil purred.
Ours.
Daemon looked at their hands.
Hers.
The Devil no longer argued.
Hers.
And anyone who reached for that heart discovered exactly how bloodthirsty love could make him.
Femi carried the towels upstairs shortly before Helix opened. Every room received two. White for Malone. Dark blue for Marta. Green for the empty guest rooms. Black for Daemon. She stopped outside his door with the folded towels held against her chest.
The new deadbolt remained unlocked. Femi noticed. She always noticed.
She knocked.
“Come in.”
Daemon’s voice moved through the wood.
Low.
Distracted.
The Devil immediately lifted its head.
Little ghost.
Daemon closed his eyes.
Don’t start.
She knocked.
I heard her.
Let her in.
“I said come in.”
Again.
The door opened.
The room smelled of soap, leather, and him. Daemon stood beside the bed with his back to her. Shirtless. His pale hair remained damp from the shower. He had pulled on black jeans but had not fastened the top button. A clean shirt lay forgotten across the mattress. Femi stopped inside the doorway.
The towels nearly slipped from her hands.
The Devil noticed.
Oh.
Daemon’s mouth twitched.
Don’t.
She stopped.
Daemon reached toward the shirt.
No.
He paused.
Fuck you.
Leave it.
Femi’s gaze moved slowly across his back.
The Devil became unbearably pleased.
She is looking.
Daemon’s tattoo covered all of his back.
Broken wings spread across his shoulder blades. A snake moved through the shattered bones, winding between dark feathers and severed chains before disappearing near his waist. Beneath everything, two words stretched across his lower back. KILL ME. Femi had seen the tattoo at Sully’s garage. She had traced it while blood lay on the floor and another man hung from the ceiling. The memory should have made the ink terrible.
Instead, she remembered the animal sound torn from Daemon when her finger touched his skin. The way his body shivered. The way every violent thing inside him stopped because she placed one hand upon his back.
The Devil remembered too.
Her hand.
Daemon swallowed.
Right there.
I remember.
She traced the snake.
Yes.
Then KILL.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
I remember.
Then ME.
I fucking remember.
The Devil purred.
I liked that.
Daemon had thought about that touch every night since. The Devil knew. It had been responsible for at least half the memories.
Moments before she knocked, Daemon had been sitting upon the edge of the bed imagining Femi inside it. Her midnight hair spread across his black sheets. Her green eyes darkened with pleasure. Her mouth open as that soft, purring sound left her.
The Devil had been restless all morning. Restless was generous. It had been fucking insufferable.
Her hair would look pretty there.
Daemon had ignored it.
Black sheets. Midnight hair.
Ignored.
Strawberries.
Still ignored.
She would smell like strawberries in our bed.
Fuck off.
No.
Then Femi knocked. Now she stood behind him while the Devil whispered every forbidden thought again.
She is still looking.
Daemon heard the door close. The lock did not turn.
Good.
Femi still had an exit.
The Devil noticed that too.
Open door.
Yes.
Good.
Daemon remained where he was.
“What do you have?”
She looked at the towels in her arms as though she had forgotten them.
The Devil practically laughed.
She forgot.
Daemon nearly smiled. Her footsteps crossed the floor. Femi placed the stack upon the chair. She should have left. She didn’t. The Devil became excited.
She stayed.
Yeah.
Why?
Daemon knew better than to answer. Femi studied the wings across his back. The ink moved when Daemon reached for the clean shirt. The Devil objected again.
No shirt.
Daemon stopped.
She is looking.
You are a terrible influence.
She likes us.
That was precisely the problem. Femi’s hand lifted. Stopped.
The Devil became completely still.
Little ghost?
The book said touch should be intentional. Not accidental. Not disguised as something necessary. If she wanted to touch him, she should communicate that desire clearly. Femi stepped closer. The Devil surged.
She is coming.
Daemon stilled at her soft approach.
Closer.
He felt the heat of her body before she touched him.
The Devil waited.
Almost vibrating.
Touch us.
Then her fingertips settled between his shoulder blades.
Daemon gasped.
The Devil broke apart.
YES.
Femi almost withdrew.
NO.
His eyes closed. A groan moved from deep inside his chest. Not pain. Pleasure. The realization made her pulse quicken.
The Devil felt the hesitation in her fingertips.
Do not stop, little ghost.
She didn’t. She traced the first broken wing.
The Devil shuddered.
Again.
Her fingertips followed the black feathers over his left shoulder blade. She moved slowly across the fractured bones and down the dark curve of the tattoo. Daemon lowered his head. The Devil trembled beneath her touch. Not from fear. Not from bloodlust. Not from the cold anticipation before a firefight. Excitement.
Pure, unbearable excitement.
She is touching us because she wants to.
Daemon’s fingers curled against the dresser.
Yeah.
She chose this.
Yeah.
The Devil almost sounded drunk.
Again.
Femi moved to the second wing. His muscles tightened. Then softened. A shiver traveled through him without restraint. Daemon did not hide it. He wanted her to know.
The Devil wanted her to know even more.
Feel it.
Femi’s fingers paused.
Yes. There.
Every touch mattered. Every chosen inch of contact reached something inside him no other person had been permitted to approach. The Devil had spent years treating touch as warning. Hands meant danger. Hands grabbed. Restrained. Hit. Cut. Held weapons. Then Femi came along and touched his scar like something precious. His bracelet like a promise. His back like she was learning him.
The Devil adored her hands.
Little ghost hands.
Daemon almost laughed.
That’s terrible.
I like them.
Femi traced the snake down his spine. Daemon’s breathing deepened.
The Devil followed her finger with shameless fascination.
Down.
Daemon’s eyes closed tighter.
Down.
Her fingertip traveled lower.
Yes.
Daemon gripped the dresser.
Little ghost.
Her finger reached the words across his lower back.
The Devil went wild.
There.
She followed the first letter.
K.
The Devil shivered.
I.
Again.
L.
Daemon’s breath caught.
L.
Yes.
Then—
M.
The Devil practically purred.
E.
Daemon gripped the edge of the dresser hard enough that the wood creaked.
“You are killing me.”
The words emerged as a groan.
The Devil immediately corrected him.
No. She is making us very happy.
Femi froze. Understanding arrived a moment later. She withdrew her hand.
The loss struck both of them.
NO.
Daemon opened his eyes. Femi stood behind him, shaking. Her fingers curled into her palms. Her thighs pressed together as though she could stop the ache building low within her body. The Devil noticed.
And became absolutely delighted.
Daemon.
Don’t.
Look.
No.
LOOK.
Daemon turned.
He saw everything. The flush across her cheeks. Her rapid breathing. The way she pressed her legs together. The heat in her green eyes.
The Devil became almost incoherent.
Oh.
Daemon’s pulse thundered.
OH.
Behave.
She wants us.
We don’t know how far.
The Devil stopped. That mattered now. It had learned that distinction. Want did not mean everything. A kiss did not mean more. Touch did not mean permission to take. Femi decided each distance.
The Devil could be excited. It could ache. It could beg.
But Femi chose.
Ask.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
Good.
The Devil sounded impatient.
Ask quickly.
Daemon nearly laughed. He did not try to hide his own desire. The Devil wanted this. Femi alone inside their room. Her scent surrounding them. Her hand still warm upon Daemon’s skin. For a long moment, neither moved. Then Daemon stepped forward.
Femi stepped back.
The Devil instantly sharpened.
Stop.
Daemon stopped. Femi’s back touched the wall beside the bed. The Devil watched her face. Not her body. Her face.
She is not afraid.
No.
Good.
Daemon left space between them. Enough for her to move. Enough for her to refuse. But he towered over her in the way that made her heart pound and her mouth become dry. Femi tilted her face upward. Daemon looked down at her. His hair fell around them, damp strands brushing his shoulders.
She remembered the books. Eye contact. Proximity. Intentional touch. She smiled softly.
The Devil melted.
There she is.
The expression struck Daemon with more force than any fist. Femi placed one hand against his stomach.
The Devil made a strangled sound.
Again?
A pale scar crossed the hard muscle beneath his ribs. Her finger followed it. Daemon’s body reacted. Muscle tightened beneath her touch. His breath left him. Femi watched. Fascinated.
The Devil was fascinated by her fascination.
She likes making us do that.
Daemon swallowed.
She traced the scar again.
She did it again.
I noticed.
I love this game.
This isn’t a game.
It is to me.
Daemon braced one hand against the wall beside her head.
“You do that, little ghost…”
His voice moved across her lips. Femi waited. Daemon lowered his head.
“You touch me that way, and I will forget every promise I made to be patient.”
The Devil whispered—
Lie.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
What?
We will remember.
Daemon went still.
The Devil continued, quieter.
We always remember with her.
The words struck harder than expected. Because it was true. Even now. Even burning alive beneath Femi’s fingertips. The Devil remembered every boundary. Every hesitation. Every time she needed him to stop. Every time she had chosen to continue.
It would not forget.
It might beg.
It might curse.
It might lose its fucking mind.
But it would remember.
Daemon’s voice softened.
“I will want to forget every promise I made to be patient.”
Better.
The Devil approved.
Much.
Femi’s eyes widened. He did not move closer.
Did not place his other hand upon her.
He allowed the warning to remain between them.
A choice.
Femi’s fingers continued along the scar. The Devil groaned. Daemon’s forehead touched the wall above her.
Little ghost.
His eyes closed.
The Devil whispered—
Kiss us.
Daemon’s breathing roughened.
Kiss us.
Femi’s finger traced the scar once more.
The Devil nearly whimpered.
Please.
Daemon lowered his head.
“Kiss me, little ghost.”
His mouth hovered near hers.
“Like you want to consume me.”
The Devil surged.
Yes.
The low sound following the words made Femi’s knees weaken. Daemon saw. His free hand flexed at his side.
The Devil wanted to catch her waist.
Hold her.
Not unless she asks.
Fine.
A beat.
Ask her.
Daemon almost smiled.
“It has been an entire week.”
The Devil spoke wickedly against her mouth.
“Kiss me.”
Femi’s eyes widened slightly. The Devil realized it had pushed through his voice again.
And became even more excited.
She heard me.
Daemon lowered his head. Only halfway. Femi understood. The rest of the distance belonged to her. The Devil waited. For perhaps the longest two seconds of its existence.
Come on, little ghost.
Femi rose onto her toes.
The Devil exploded.
YES.
Her mouth met his. The kiss was heated from the first touch. Demanding. Femi caught his face between her hands and kissed him with all the want she had spent a week studying and still did not know how to express.
The Devil lost its mind.
She kissed us.
Daemon’s hand remained against the wall.
She kissed us.
Femi’s mouth moved harder against his.
AGAIN.
Strawberries. Warm breath. Her hands on his face.
The Devil adored every second.
Little ghost.
Uncertainty lived inside the kiss. Questions. Hunger. A plea for him to show her where to place everything she felt.
The Devil went wild at the taste of strawberries upon her mouth.
Strawberries.
Daemon’s hand left the wall. It cupped the back of her head. He paused. The Devil paused with him.
Femi did not pull away.
Yes.
His fingers entered her hair.
The Devil practically purred.
Hair.
Daemon angled the kiss and made it deeper. Femi trembled against him.
The Devil felt it.
She likes it.
Daemon felt her uncertainty too. The small hesitation whenever the kiss changed. He softened for one breath.
Gave her time to follow.
The Devil waited.
Come with us.
Femi did.
Her hands left his face and moved into his pale hair. She pulled him closer. The Devil made that sound. Low. Inhuman. Delighted.
YES.
Femi’s body answered with a shiver.
The Devil became ecstatic.
She likes me.
Daemon almost lost the kiss.
What?
She likes when I do that.
Don’t get arrogant.
Too late.
Daemon kissed her until breathing became impossible. She pulled away first.
The Devil objected.
Again.
Her head rested against the wall. Her lips were swollen. Her chest rose and fell beneath her black shirt. Daemon remained above her, one hand still cradling the back of her head. His eyes searched her face.
The Devil searched with him.
Check.
“Too much?”
Femi shook her head.
The Devil practically cheered.
No.
“Do you want me to move?”
Another shake.
The Devil became unbearably pleased.
NO.
Daemon’s thumb moved once through her hair.
“What do you want?”
Femi looked at his mouth.
The Devil followed her gaze.
Us.
Her answer came without hands. She kissed him one final time.
The Devil surged forward eagerly.
YES.
Shorter. Softer. Still hungry. Then she slipped beneath his arm. Daemon released her immediately. The Devil did not. Emotionally, it chased her halfway across the room.
Where are you going?
Femi retrieved the empty laundry basket from the floor.
No.
She reached the door.
Little ghost.
Femi looked back. The Devil froze. Daemon stood beside the bed. Shirtless. Breathing heavily. Watching her as though the room had become empty the moment she stepped away. Femi’s gaze traveled over his chest. Paused at the scar she had touched.
The Devil practically preened.
She likes that one.
Daemon noticed. His mouth curved. Femi opened the door. Then fled.
The Devil stared after her.
Follow.
No.
She ran.
She has work.
She looked back.
I know.
That means chase.
Not always.
The Devil considered.
I preferred the park.
Daemon covered his face with both hands.
“You are killing me, little ghost.”
The Devil corrected him again.
She is making us very happy.
Down the hallway, Femi heard him. Her silent laughter followed her downstairs.
The Devil went still.
Then—
She is laughing.
Daemon smiled behind his hands.
Yeah.
Because of us.
Yeah.
The Devil settled beneath his ribs.
Utterly delighted.
Again later.
Daemon laughed.
“God help me.”
He cannot.
Helix opened at seven.
By nine, the clubhouse was full.
The music was loud. The dinner crowd occupied every table, and motorcycles lined the street outside. Daemon entered through the front door.
The Devil immediately searched.
Little ghost.
Not behind the bar.
No.
Not carrying trays.
Where?
Not visible through the service window.
The Devil became restless.
Find her.
Daemon crossed the clubhouse.
Kitchen.
Probably.
Go.
Malone watched him pass.
“She’s in the kitchen.”
Daemon stopped.
The Devil became smug.
I told you.
“I did not ask.”
“You were frightening customers with your search.”
Daemon looked toward the room. Several people quickly found other places to look.
“They appear calm.”
The Devil scanned them.
That one is not.
A man near the jukebox immediately stared into his beer.
Now he is.
“Go find her before someone cries.”
The Devil approved.
Go.
Daemon entered the service corridor. The kitchen door stood partially open.
The Devil smelled her before they entered.
Strawberries.
Garlic.
Rosemary.
Bread.
Little ghost.
Daemon pushed the door open. Femi sat at the preparation table. Reading. A pot simmered upon the stove behind her. Bread dough rested beneath a cloth. The kitchen smelled of garlic, rosemary, and strawberries.
Daemon stepped inside. Femi did not notice.
The Devil was delighted.
Sneak.
No.
Yes.
We’re not stalking her in the kitchen.
We hunt our little ghost.
We’re standing six feet away.
Quiet.
Daemon almost laughed.
Femi’s attention remained upon the book spread open before her. Her eyes moved slowly across the page. Then stopped. Color entered her face. The Devil immediately focused.
What happened?
She turned to the next page. Her breathing changed.
The Devil became intensely interested.
What is she reading?
No idea.
Find out.
Daemon approached. Femi looked up. Her green eyes met his. He stopped in his tracks. The Devil did too. Heat filled them. Not shy curiosity. Not the uncertainty from upstairs. Something darker. Something hungry.
The Devil whispered—
Oh.
Femi looked at his mouth. Then licked her lips. Daemon’s heart struck his ribs.
The Devil lost all composure.
OH.
Daemon swallowed.
She looked at our mouth.
Yes.
Then licked hers.
I noticed.
Why?
Daemon stared at her.
The Devil answered itself.
Book.
Femi’s breathing became heavier. Daemon imagined what she had been reading. Whatever it was had placed that expression upon her face. He wanted to see every page. The Devil wanted to eat the fucking book.
What did it teach her?
Daemon’s mouth curved.
“What are you reading, little ghost?”
His voice emerged low. Hungry. Femi’s eyes widened. She closed the book. Too quickly.
The Devil became ecstatic.
SECRET.
Daemon glanced toward the cover. She turned it facedown before he could read the title.
She hid it.
Suspicion entered his gaze. Femi slid the book from the table and tucked it into the deep pocket of her apron.
The Devil stared at the pocket.
Take it.
No.
Ask.
I did.
Ask better.
Daemon looked at the apron.
Then at her.
“Nothing?”
She nodded.
The Devil laughed.
Liar.
“That was a very large nothing.”
Femi stood.
Daemon stepped aside, allowing her to pass. She did not take the empty space. Instead, she walked directly toward him.
The Devil went completely still.
What is she doing?
Her eyes remained upon his. Daemon became still. Femi passed so close that her shoulder brushed his chest.
The Devil shuddered.
She did that on purpose.
Strawberries surrounded him. Warm. Lingering. His body remembered her mouth instantly. So did the Devil.
Upstairs.
Daemon turned his head. Femi looked back over her shoulder. The heated smile she gave him promised the hidden book contained something dangerous. The Devil nearly climbed out of his skin.
CHASE HER.
No.
She looked back.
She’s working.
She did the look.
I know.
The park look.
Yes.
The alley look.
Yes.
THE LOOK.
Daemon watched her disappear through the door. The Devil remained in the kitchen. Intrigued. Delighted. And suddenly obsessed with literature.
Book.
Daemon looked toward the chair she had abandoned. A small library receipt rested beneath one leg.
The Devil noticed it at the same moment.
There.
Daemon picked it up.
The title had been printed across the top. GREAT SEX FOR LIFE.
Daemon stared at it.
Once.
The Devil went silent.
Twice.
Still nothing.
Daemon’s brows rose.
Then—
WHAT?
Images moved through him. Femi reading. Femi blushing. Femi imagining. Her heated eyes finding him across the kitchen. Her mouth tasting of strawberries.
The Devil exploded.
SEX?
Daemon closed his hand around the receipt.
Behave.
OUR LITTLE GHOST IS READING ABOUT SEX.
Quiet.
WHY?
Daemon stared toward the door.
You know why.
The Devil stopped.
Then its delight became so enormous Daemon actually felt dizzy.
Us?
Don’t assume.
US.
Daemon’s mouth twitched.
She touched our back this morning.
Yeah.
She kissed us.
Yeah.
Then she came downstairs and read a sex book.
Daemon rubbed his jaw. That does appear to be the sequence of events.
The Devil nearly screamed.
US.
A slow smile spread across Daemon’s face.
The Devil was worse.
It was ecstatic.
What page?
What?
What page was she reading?
I don’t know.
Find the book.
No.
We need information.
You are not stealing Femi’s library book.
Borrow.
Without permission is stealing.
The Devil considered.
Ask to borrow.
Daemon’s smile widened.
Absolutely not.
Coward.
From the barroom, Malone called, “Are you coming back?”
Daemon looked toward the door through which Femi had disappeared.
“Yes.”
His voice had changed.
The Devil purred.
She is learning things.
Daemon swallowed.
Malone heard the change too.
“So help me, Daemon, she is working.”
The Devil became wickedly amused.
For now.
Daemon said it aloud.
“For now.”
A beat of silence followed from the barroom. Then Malone shouted—
“DAEMON.”
The Devil laughed.
He knows.
Daemon entered the barroom. His gray eyes found Femi immediately.
The Devil found the apron pocket.
Book.
Daemon found Femi.
She stood beside a crowded table taking an order. The hidden book weighted one side of her apron. The Devil was fascinated by that pocket.
It is right there.
Leave it alone.
We could read it.
No.
We can read.
Congratulations.
Find out what she knows.
Daemon sat in his usual corner.
The Devil was practically vibrating.
What if she is reading about kissing?
She already knows how.
The Devil purred at the memory.
Yes.
A pause.
Very well.
Another pause.
What if she is reading about touching?
Daemon’s eyes moved toward Femi. She reached across a table to collect an empty glass. The Devil remembered her fingertip tracing KILL ME.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
She is good at that too.
Stop helping.
I am not.
Femi felt him watching. She looked up. Her cheeks warmed.
The Devil immediately softened.
Little ghost.
But she did not flee. She held his gaze. Daemon leaned back in his chair. The Devil waited. Then Femi did it. She licked the strawberry from her lower lip. Daemon’s hand tightened around the arm of the chair.
The Devil forgot every word it had ever learned except one.
Mine.
Daemon’s pulse hammered. The Devil stared at her. Femi’s eyes remained on them.
The Devil tried again.
Mine.
Daemon almost corrected it.
The Devil corrected itself first.
Hers.
Daemon went still.
The Devil practically glowed beneath his ribs.
We are hers.
Femi’s lips curved. The Devil became delirious.
She knows.
Knows what?
What she is doing to us.
Daemon watched her turn back toward the table.
Yeah.
I think she’s figuring it out.
The Devil was silent for two seconds.
Then—
I love books.
Daemon laughed into his whiskey. A man at the next table looked over. Daemon stared at him. The man immediately looked away. The Devil barely noticed.
It was too busy watching Femi.
What else is in the book?
Daemon took a drink.
Not finding out.
Liar.
Daemon’s gaze moved toward the apron pocket.
The Devil caught him.
HA.
Fuck off.
You want to know.
Daemon watched Femi move between the tables.
Maybe.
We are reading it.
No.
With her.
Daemon paused. The Devil became very still. Then excited all over again.
Ask her to read it to us.
She doesn’t speak.
The Devil didn’t miss a beat.
She can show us the pictures.
Daemon nearly inhaled his whiskey. The Devil howled with laughter. Femi looked toward him. Daemon coughed once into his fist.
Her eyebrows lifted.
Are you okay?
He glared at absolutely nothing.
“Fine.”
The Devil was beside itself.
PICTURES.
Daemon covered his mouth.
Stop.
Little ghost has a secret sex book.
It is not a secret sex book.
She hid it.
Because she knew we’d be insufferable.
Correctly.
Femi continued staring. Daemon lowered his hand. Their eyes met. The Devil settled just enough to whisper—
Little ghost.
Her expression softened. Then her gaze dropped deliberately toward his mouth. The Devil stopped laughing.
Heat surged through it.
Oh.
Femi looked back into his eyes. The Devil trembled with anticipation. Not blood. Not gunfire. Not violence. Something stranger. Better. Being wanted. Being trusted. Being included in desires Femi was only beginning to understand herself.
The Devil had spent most of its existence whispering instructions for survival.
Hide.
Run.
Wait.
Move.
Kill.
Now it had entirely different advice.
Kiss her.
Daemon’s mouth curved.
Later.
Touch her.
If she asks.
Let her touch us.
Any time she wants.
The Devil became unbearably pleased.
Good.
Femi moved toward the service window. The book bounced lightly inside her apron pocket. The Devil watched it. Then her. Mostly her.
She is learning.
Daemon’s gray eyes darkened.
Yeah.
The Devil purred.
So are we.
Daemon went still. That was true too. Femi was learning desire did not have to hurt. Daemon was learning patience did not mean rejection. And the Devil— the blood-loving, gunfire-hungry thing that had learned the world through fear— was discovering the exquisite torture of anticipation.
It loved it.
Mostly.
How long until her shift ends?
Four hours.
The Devil was horrified.
FOUR HOURS?
Daemon lifted his whiskey.
You’ll survive.
Unacceptable.
You survived the Silent Order.
This is worse.
Daemon laughed quietly.
Across Helix, Femi heard nothing. But she saw the smile. Her own appeared in answer.
The Devil went soft instantly.
There.
Daemon watched her. The Devil watched with him. Femi touched the book through her apron. Then looked directly at Daemon. The Devil noticed.
She did that on purpose.
Probably.
She touched the book while looking at us.
Yes.
The Devil practically vibrated.
She is teasing us.
Daemon’s crooked smile deepened.
Looks that way.
For a creature that had once considered a firefight entertaining, the Devil discovered something astonishing.
This was more fun. Femi. A hidden book. A heated look across a crowded clubhouse. Four unbearable hours. And absolutely no idea what their little ghost intended to try next. The Devil purred beneath Daemon’s ribs.
Delighted.
Excited.
Hopelessly intrigued.
What are you reading, little ghost?
Femi smiled from across the room.
The Devil’s excitement sharpened.
Whatever it is—
Daemon lifted his glass.
The Devil finished with almost wicked happiness.
I hope there is homework.
“You have work to do, Daemon. Shouldn’t you be gone?”
Malone’s voice came from inside his office.
Daemon stood in the barroom pretending he was not searching for Femi.
The Devil was not pretending.
Where is she?
Daemon checked behind the bar.
Nothing.
Kitchen.
Empty.
Service corridor.
Nothing.
He even glanced toward the stairs despite knowing Femi rarely went to her room before the dinner preparations were complete.
The Devil became increasingly irritated.
Little ghost.
She’s somewhere.
Obviously.
Daemon ignored the sarcasm.
Malone laughed.
“If you are looking for Femi, she’s in the machine shop searching for parts.”
The Devil immediately settled.
There.
Daemon did not waste a look upon Malone. He turned. Malone leaned back in his chair.
“You’re welcome.”
Daemon continued walking.
“The feared Devil,” Malone called after him. “Brought to heel by one missing waitress.”
The Devil stopped.
Brought to heel?
Keep walking.
I could bring him to heel.
We’re not breaking Malone’s legs.
I didn’t say break.
Daemon raised one hand without turning.
Malone saw the gesture. It was not gratitude. He laughed again.
The Devil grumbled.
He is very comfortable.
He’s family.
Unfortunately.
Daemon’s mouth twitched.
The machine shop occupied the narrow building behind Helix’s garage.
Years ago, bikers used it to repair engines, fabricate motorcycle parts, and perform modifications they did not want inspected too carefully. Now half the equipment sat beneath dust covers. Shelves lined the walls. Boxes of gears, bearings, wires, bolts, and unidentified metal pieces occupied every available surface.
Daemon entered.
The Devil found her immediately.
There.
Femi stood near the rear. Bent over an open crate. Her black jeans followed every curve of her body. Daemon stopped in the doorway. So did every coherent thought in his head. The Devil made a sound.
Low.
Pleased.
Oh, little ghost.
Daemon stared.
Very nice.
Behave.
I am.
You’re staring at her ass.
So are you.
Daemon had no defense for that. Femi straightened and looked over her shoulder. Her green eyes found him.
The Devil practically purred.
Caught.
Daemon did not pretend he had been studying the boxes. His gaze remained exactly where it had been. Femi followed it. Color warmed her face. The Devil became delighted.
She knows.
“Sexy little ghost.”
The Devil rumbled the words through Daemon’s mouth. Femi’s eyes widened. Daemon went still.
The Devil did not regret a fucking thing.
Accurate.
You said that aloud.
Good.
Femi turned to face him. Her cheeks remained pink. The Devil adored that too.
Her hands moved.
Were you looking for something?
“You.”
The Devil immediately added—
Always you.
Her blush deepened.
There.
Daemon crossed the machine shop. The Devil pressed against his ribs, wanting closer. Femi had spent the past several days becoming bolder. Holding his gaze.
She looks at us now.
Touching the tattoos upon his arms.
She likes the ink.
Passing close enough for the scent of strawberries to remain after she left.
She does that deliberately.
Probably.
Definitely.
Then she had traced the broken wings across his back and kissed him against the wall beside his bed. The Devil had not recovered. Neither had Daemon.
Her hands.
I remember.
Her mouth.
I remember.
She pulled our hair.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
I fucking remember.
The Devil purred.
I liked that.
Daemon doubted either of them would ever recover.
Femi pointed into the crate.
The kitchen mixer is making a noise.
The Devil lost interest immediately. Daemon looked toward the crate.
“Everything inside Helix makes a noise.”
Malone especially.
Femi’s fingers moved.
It should not make that one.
“What does it sound like?”
Femi considered. Then made a small grinding motion with both hands. Daemon looked at the boxes.
“You came here searching for a bearing.”
She nodded.
“Do you know what size?”
Femi held her fingers apart. Daemon stared at the narrow space between them.
The Devil studied it too.
Small.
Thank you.
I am helping.
“That is not a measurement.”
She frowned.
The Devil objected.
Do not make her frown.
I’m fixing the mixer.
Then agree with her measurement.
Daemon almost smiled.
“I will look at it when I return.”
Femi’s expression changed. Small. Immediate. But Daemon saw it. So did the Devil.
Return?
Her hands moved.
You are leaving?
The disappointment inside the question pleased the Devil far more than it should have.
She does not want us to go.
Daemon’s chest warmed.
No.
Stay.
I have work.
Work later.
Someone is watching Helix.
The Devil’s pleasure cooled. It remembered. The sedan. The photographs. Lily. Femi’s shirt. Someone purchasing pieces of their little ghost.
Its attention sharpened.
Find them.
Daemon stepped closer.
“I have to go out, little ghost.”
His voice emerged deep. Animalistic.
“I will return.”
The Devil added silently—
Always.
Femi nodded. She looked toward the open crate. Then stepped closer. The Devil went completely silent.
One step.
Closer.
Another.
Little ghost?
Femi stopped directly before him. Her hands rested at her sides. Her face lifted. The Devil trembled.
She came to us.
Daemon touched her cheek.
“May I?”
She nodded.
The Devil purred.
Yes.
He bent and kissed her cheek.
Softly.
His mouth remained near her skin for one breath longer than necessary.
The Devil wanted another.
Again.
Strawberries surrounded him.
Femi shivered.
Again.
Daemon inhaled. His control weakened. He wanted to turn the innocent kiss into something else. To catch her waist. Taste her mouth. Ask whether she had been reading that damned book again.
The Devil became immediately interested.
Ask.
No.
Book.
No.
Homework.
Daemon almost laughed against her cheek.
Absolutely not.
Coward.
Instead, he straightened. The work waiting for him involved men who watched Helix. A black sedan. Lily. Femi did not need to see the violence already collecting inside him.
The Devil disagreed with only part of that thought.
She knows what we are.
Yes.
She still kisses us.
Daemon looked into Femi’s eyes.
Yeah.
That was the dangerous miracle of her.
“I will be back before Helix opens.”
Her fingers moved.
Promise?
The Devil answered instantly.
Yes.
“Yes.”
Daemon looked at her. The question escaped before pride could stop it.
“Will you miss me?”
The Devil became intensely attentive.
Answer.
Femi rolled her eyes.
Do not roll your eyes. Answer.
Daemon waited. She nodded. Once. Small. Certain. The Devil exploded with pleasure.
She will miss us.
Daemon closed his eyes.
A sigh left him.
She said yes.
I noticed.
She will be waiting.
Yes.
Come back quickly.
That was the plan. Daemon forced himself to step away. The Devil objected.
No.
Work.
Terrible idea.
Femi’s hand caught his wrist. Daemon stopped so abruptly his boot scraped the concrete.
The Devil went completely still.
She caught us.
Her thumb moved over the silver plate.
ALL YOURS.
Something warm moved through the creature.
There.
Daemon looked down.
Her bracelet answered upon her smaller wrist.
ALL MINE.
The Devil shuddered.
Claimed.
Daemon’s chest tightened. Femi’s thumb crossed his bracelet again.
The Devil practically melted.
Hers.
Yeah.
She is reminding us.
Of what?
The Devil seemed almost offended by the question.
Come home.
Daemon looked at Femi. That was exactly what it felt like. Not ownership. Not an order. A promise between matching pieces of silver. Go. Return. Mine. Yours. Home.
The Devil whispered—
Always come back to her.
Femi released him.
The loss of her hand felt immediate.
Again.
Daemon left before the Devil decided work could wait.
Work can wait.
No.
Five minutes.
No.
One kiss.
We just kissed her.
Cheek does not count.
Daemon crossed the garage. The Devil sulked.
Bad decision.
He entered Helix. Malone sat behind the bar now, sorting invoices.
“That took seven minutes.”
The Devil perked up.
Seven?
Daemon retrieved his leather jacket from the chair.
“Were you counting?”
“I became concerned you forgot how doors worked.”
Break his pencil.
No.
Small violence.
No.
Daemon pulled on the jacket. His gun rested beneath it. His knife remained hidden against his side. The Devil felt the familiar weight. Its mood changed. Not completely. Femi remained warm in its thoughts.
But the hunt returned.
Gun.
Yeah.
Knife.
Yeah.
Little ghost waiting.
Daemon’s hand stopped at his zipper.
Yeah.
That one mattered most.
Malone’s amusement faded.
“Red found something?”
“A vehicle matching the sedan from the park.”
“Lily?”
“Perhaps.”
The Devil whispered—
Carr.
Maybe.
Daemon went still for half a heartbeat.
That name again. Buried somewhere neither of them seemed able to explain. The Devil offered nothing more. Malone looked toward the machine shop.
“Femi knows?”
“No.”
“Should she?”
Daemon fastened the jacket.
“When I have something worth telling her.”
The Devil was less certain.
She hates being kept outside.
I know.
Tell her when we know.
I will.
That satisfied it.
For now.
Malone studied him.
“Do not stay gone too long.”
Daemon looked toward the rear corridor. He imagined Femi still beside the crate. The little frown. Her hand around his wrist.
ALL YOURS.
The Devil whispered—
She will miss us.
“I have no intention of it.”
Come home.
Daemon left.
Lily messaged Femi at four fourteen.
I’m sorry.
The phone lay upon the kitchen preparation table. Its screen illuminated. No one saw it.
At four twenty-two, another message arrived.
I know what I did was wrong.
At four thirty:
I still love you. You were my best friend.
The phone vibrated against the stainless steel. The sound disappeared beneath the simmering stockpot and the kitchen mixer’s damaged bearing. Lily waited. No answer came. She walked back and forth across the small hotel room Carr paid for. The curtains remained closed. Femi always answered eventually. Not with words. Sometimes only a question mark. Sometimes a single heart when Lily apologized convincingly enough.
Femi had forgiven everything before. The insults. The lies. Marco. The shipping container. Even the bullet did not destroy the compassion inside her. Lily sent another message.
I want our friendship back.
She stared at the screen. Nothing. Lily’s mouth tightened. Carr’s envelope lay open upon the table. Half the money had already been spent. The debt remained. She typed more carefully.
I know you don’t believe me. I don’t blame you.
No answer.
I don’t have anyone else.
Lily smiled before sending the final sentence. She knew which wound it would touch. Femi understood having no one. She understood being alone. Lily only needed her to see the messages.
Femi was upstairs. Her bedroom door remained locked. She sat in the middle of the bed with her back against the headboard and the book open across her thighs. Great Sex for Life. The title still embarrassed her. She had wrapped the cover in brown paper after Daemon found the library receipt. That did not help.
She knew what was beneath it. More importantly— Daemon knew.
And somewhere beyond Wolfwater, if the Devil had known what page she had reached, it would have abandoned the sedan entirely. Femi turned the page. A photograph showed a couple lying together.
The man’s hands rested upon the woman’s body. Not restraining. Exploring. The woman’s head had fallen back against a pillow. Pleasure softened her face. Trust existed inside the position of her body.
Femi studied the image. She imagined Daemon. His scarred hands. The warmth of his palm upon her waist. The way he waited before moving beneath her shirt in the alley.
He always waited. Even when the Devil shook beneath his skin. Even when his breathing became heavy and that animal sound tore from him.
He asked.
May I?
Do you want me to stop?
What do you want?
And somewhere inside those questions was the Devil too. Hungry. Excited. Possessive. But learning. The same creature that once whispered Kill now whispered Slow when Femi trembled. The same Devil that knew how to break men had learned not to move until their little ghost came closer on her own. Femi imagined his hand moving the way the photograph showed. Her body responded immediately. Heat traveled through her. The ache began low inside her stomach. She pressed her thighs together. Closed her eyes.
Daemon’s mouth replaced the careful illustration. His pale hair fell around her. His gray eyes watched every reaction. Not looking away. Not allowing her to hide. And the Devil would be there. She knew that now. Not another man. Not something separate waiting to take Daemon’s place. Him. The buried, wounded, hungry part of Daemon that had learned to survive before either of them understood what survival meant.
The part that called her little ghost. The part that became absurdly pleased when she touched his tattoos. The part that purred when she kissed his scar. The part that had practically shouted through Daemon when she kissed him upstairs.
Femi’s mouth softened. She liked the Devil. That admission no longer frightened her. Sometimes she thought she might love it precisely because Daemon had spent so many years believing that part of himself was the reason no one could.
Femi opened her eyes. The image vanished. Fear entered its place. Because there were things the Devil did not know. Things Daemon did not know. And she did not know what would happen when they did.
She remembered the doctor’s office. The first time she attempted to explain what had been done to her. Femi could not force the words into her hands. She wrote them instead. One sentence at a time. Then pushed the notebook across the desk. The doctor read it without changing expression.
That helped. Femi wrote more. How she had been assaulted. How long the harm continued. How powerless she felt. How painful it had been. How she learned to leave her body while someone else used it.
When the doctor finished reading, Femi sat with both arms wrapped around herself.
Her hands moved.
I feel dirty.
“You are not.”
Femi shook her head.
“What happened to you was not intimacy.”
Tears moved down Femi’s face.
“It was violence.”
The doctor turned the notebook around and placed it between them.
“The shame belongs to the people who harmed you.”
Femi stared at the page.
My body remembers.
“I know.”
What if it always remembers?
“Then you teach it something new.”
Femi looked up.
“Slowly. Safely. With someone who understands that your body belongs to you.”
Her hands trembled.
What if I stop?
“Then everything stops.”
What if I become afraid?
“You tell him.”
Femi looked away.
“Talk to Daemon.”
Fear entered her face.
“You do not have to provide every detail.”
The doctor waited until Femi looked at her again.
“But if you want intimacy with him, he needs to understand what frightens you.”
Femi signed more sharply.
He will think I am dirty.
“No.”
You do not know him.
“I know what you have told me about him.”
The doctor leaned forward.
“A man who waits for permission before touching your cheek will not confuse violence done to you with something you chose.”
Femi wanted to believe that. She could not. Because the doctor’s answer only considered Daemon. Femi thought about the Devil. The thing that loved blood. The thing that enjoyed violence. The thing that became terrifying when anyone put unwanted hands upon her.
What would it do with this? Would it look at her differently? Would little ghost change? Would its delight disappear? Would it stop whispering hers when she touched the bracelet? Would it remember other men’s hands every time hers touched Daemon?
Her stomach twisted.
He wants me now.
“Yes.”
He might not after.
“Then the failure would belong to him.”
Femi looked down. That answer offered no comfort. She did not want to discover Daemon’s failure. She wanted to remain his little ghost. Wanted him to look at her with hunger. Wanted the Devil to vibrate when she touched the tattoos across his back. Wanted that low, delighted sound when she kissed him. Wanted to make the Devil laugh. Wanted to chase it through their park. Wanted to find Daemon behind some ridiculous tree and kiss his scar because she knew exactly what it did to both of them.
If Daemon knew everything, perhaps those gray eyes would change. Hunger might become pity. Desire might become disgust. The Devil might go quiet. That possibility hurt worst. Femi grabbed her wrist.
The silver plate remained there.
ALL MINE.
Her thumb moved over the engraving. She had claimed him. Not only Daemon. All of him. The scarred man. The frightened boy. The executioner. The Devil. Daemon wore the ring above his heart. He wore the bracelet every day.
ALL YOURS.
But what if he no longer wanted to be hers after he knew? What if the knowledge placed those other hands between them forever? Femi closed the book. Her body still ached. Not from harm. From wanting. The difference should have mattered. Fear blurred it. She reached beneath her pillow and removed her notepad.
The pen hovered over the paper.
Daemon, before we—
Femi stopped. She crossed out the words. Began again.
There is something you need to know.
Her hand shook. She imagined giving him the note. Daemon reading it. His face becoming still. The Devil disappearing from his eyes. Femi tore out the page. Crumpled it. She tried once more.
I was hurt.
Too small. He knew she had been hurt. He had seen her scars. He knew about the foster homes. The bridge. The nightmare. This was different. This hurt lived where she wanted him to touch her.
Femi stared at the words.
Tears blurred the ink.
She tore out that page too.
Miles away, rain struck Daemon’s windshield. The black sedan remained three vehicles ahead.
The Devil watched it.
Left lane.
Daemon changed lanes.
The sedan slowed.
He knows.
Maybe.
Too much distance.
Intentional.
Closer.
No.
The Devil growled.
We are losing him.
“We’re not.”
Little ghost is waiting.
Daemon’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. He knew.
The Devil had reminded him every six fucking minutes.
She asked us to come back.
I know.
We promised.
I know.
Before Helix opens.
I know.
The sedan turned. Daemon followed. Rain moved harder across the windshield. The Devil tracked everything. License plate. Brake lights. Driver silhouette. Passenger? No. Vehicle two cars behind them. Same turn twice.
Possible tail.
Behind.
Daemon checked the mirror.
I see him.
Trap?
Maybe.
The Devil sharpened. Usually, this would have thrilled it. A hunt. Rain. Unknown men. The possibility of violence waiting at the end. Its favorite kind of evening. But tonight—
How long?
Daemon looked at the dashboard clock.
Twenty-seven minutes.
The Devil was disgusted.
Too long.
We’re working.
I prefer the machine shop.
Daemon almost smiled.
You prefer Femi’s ass.
Yes.
At least you’re honest.
Always.
The Devil watched the sedan.
Then whispered—
She said she would miss us.
Daemon’s smile disappeared.
Yeah. The Devil quieted. For a moment, the old predator and the man beneath it wanted exactly the same thing.
Finish.
Find the threat.
Go home.
A knock sounded against Femi’s door. She shoved the book and notepad beneath her pillow.
“Sweetheart?”
Malone.
She wiped her face.
“Daemon called.”
Femi looked toward the door.
“He said he would be late.”
Disappointment moved through her.
“He also told me to tell you that he is unharmed.”
Femi’s shoulders relaxed. Malone knew her too well. What she did not know was that Daemon had called only after the Devil spent five straight minutes demanding it.
“Dinner crowd arrives in an hour.”
Femi looked toward the clock.
“You do not have to work.”
She left the bed. Work would be easier. It always was. Femi unlocked the door. Malone stood in the hallway. His gaze moved over her face. He saw the redness around her eyes.
He did not ask.
“Mixer still broken?”
Femi nodded.
I told Daemon.
Her fingers moved.
He said he would look.
“Then we should all begin preparing for a new mixer.”
Femi’s lips curved.
Somewhere across Ravenside, the Devil would have considered that insult unacceptable.
I can fix a mixer.
Malone stepped aside.
She left the room.
The torn pages remained near the bed.
There is something you need to know.
I was hurt.
Femi closed the door upon them.
Her phone continued vibrating in the kitchen.
Lily had sent seven messages now.
I’m sorry.
I still love you.
I want our friendship back.
I don’t have anyone else.
Femi entered through the service door. She did not notice the illuminated screen. The phone stopped vibrating before she reached the table. The newest message waited beneath the others.
Please, Femi. I need your help.
Outside Wolfwater, Daemon followed a black sedan through the rain. The Devil watched every turn. Every brake light. Every shadow inside the vehicle.
But beneath the hunt, another thought returned with relentless regularity.
Little ghost.
Daemon’s fingers tightened around the wheel.
I know.
Waiting.
I know.
We promised.
“We’re going home.”
The Devil settled. Not satisfied. Never satisfied while distance remained between them.
But calmer.
Good.
Inside Helix, Femi tied on her apron.
Upstairs, the hidden book waited beside the truths she could not yet tell him. And across the city, Lily watched her unanswered messages and prepared the lie that would finally bring the little ghost beyond the Devil’s reach. The Devil did not know that yet. It did not know Femi had been crying. Did not know two torn pages waited beside her bed. Did not know she was terrified that the truth might make it stop wanting her.
It knew only that someone had been watching Helix. Someone had photographed Femi. Someone had purchased things that belonged to her. Someone had begun moving pieces around their little ghost. And the Devil had survived too many traps not to recognize the shape of one forming.
Faster.
Daemon pressed the accelerator. The sedan remained ahead. Rain hammered the windshield. The Devil stared through it.
Watchful.
Restless.
Hungry.
Not for blood.
Not yet.
For answers.
Because somewhere behind them was a woman wearing ALL MINE around her wrist.
A woman who had caught Daemon before he left and touched ALL YOURS as though reminding him where he belonged.
The Devil understood the message perfectly.
Find them.
Daemon’s eyes remained upon the sedan.
Then?
The Devil did not hesitate.
Come home to her.
Femi worked. She worked because work always made sense. Food did not lie. Heat changed meat. Water softened rice. A knife moved through vegetables in clean, predictable lines.
If she measured correctly, watched the temperature, and gave every ingredient the time it required, the result would become exactly what she intended.
Tonight, she prepared pepper steak.
Thin strips of beef rested in a dark marinade of soy, garlic, ginger, and cracked black pepper. Red and green peppers waited beside sliced onions. Rice steamed in two large pots while seasoned vegetables roasted beneath the ovens.
At ten, she would fill the bowls.
Rice first.
Vegetables.
Pepper steak over everything.
Simple.
Familiar.
Work.
Femi checked the meat twice. She did not taste it. Her mind remained upstairs. The book rested beneath her pillow. Beside it lay the torn pages she could not give Daemon.
There is something you need to know.
I was hurt.
The words followed her through every movement. She cut the peppers. Thought about his hands. Rinsed the rice. Remembered the way he waited for her to meet him halfway. Seasoned the vegetables. Heard the doctor telling her that violence was not intimacy.
Daemon would return before Helix opened.
He promised.
Femi looked toward the clock.
Six fifteen.
Her phone vibrated upon the preparation table. She continued slicing onions. The phone vibrated again. Lily had sent messages all afternoon. Femi had not read them. She did not want Lily’s apology. Did not want another explanation. Did not want to hear that cruelty had been an accident or jealousy or the result of some terrible pain Femi was expected to understand.
Lily always wanted forgiveness before she finished causing harm. Femi lowered the knife. The phone screen had illuminated. The message did not come from Lily.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
Femi wiped her hands against her apron. She picked up the phone. The message contained three words.
Hello, my Queen.
The kitchen vanished.
Femi was nineteen again.
She stood inside a bedroom she did not recognize. Yellow curtains covered the windows. Too bright. Too cheerful. The fabric moved slightly beneath the air-conditioning vent, lifting and falling as though the room breathed around her.
A television played loudly in another part of the suite. People laughed on the screen. Applause followed. The false happiness filled every room.
Femi tried the bedroom door. Locked. She pulled again. Nothing. The handle did not turn. Her heart began to race.
Lily told her Carr only wanted dinner.
“Grow up,” Lily said when Femi refused to enter the hotel.
“He likes you. Stop acting like a frightened child.”
Femi attempted to leave. Lily caught her wrist. Pulled her through the suite. Pushed her into the bedroom. Then locked the door from the outside. Femi heard Lily laughing in the hallway.
“Carr only wants dinner.”
There was no dinner inside the room.
No table.
No plates.
Only a large bed beneath a painting of the ocean. Yellow curtains. A television playing too loudly beyond the wall. Femi searched for another door. One led to a bathroom. The other opened into a dressing room filled with men’s clothing. She crossed toward the windows.
A voice came from behind her.
“Hello, my Queen.”
Femi turned.
The man stood in the bathroom doorway. Late twenties. Black hair. Dark eyes. Tailored black trousers. A crisp white shirt with its sleeves rolled to his elbows. Carr Booth smiled at her. Femi moved toward the bedroom door. He stepped into her path. She pointed toward it. Carr looked at her hand. Then at her face.
“You want to leave?”
Femi nodded.
He smiled again.
“No.”
She attempted to move around him. His hand closed around her arm. Femi fought. He was stronger. The television laughed.
Carr called her his Queen.
Again.
Again.
As though the title transformed the locked door into a palace. As though worship made his hands gentle. As though naming her something beautiful changed what he did. Femi did not want to be a queen. She wanted to leave. She remembered his weight. His hands holding her down. Her face turned toward the yellow curtains because looking at them was easier than looking at him.
She counted the folds.
One.
Two.
Three.
The television applauded. Femi left her body before it ended. When she returned to it, Carr kissed her forehead. Tenderly.
“Beautiful little Queen.”
Femi stared at the yellow curtains. Carr went into the bathroom. Water began running. Femi moved. She did not search for her missing clothing. Did not look for shoes. She wrapped the sheet around herself and opened the window. The room stood above the river. A narrow maintenance ledge ran beneath the glass.
Femi climbed onto it. Her legs shook. She moved sideways until she reached the fire escape. Metal cut her bare feet.
The sheet caught upon a bolt and tore.
Femi descended anyway. She remembered running. Concrete beneath her feet. The river appearing beyond a row of trees. Cold water closing over her body. She scrubbed until her skin hurt. Blood disappeared downstream. Not all of it. Some remained beneath her nails. Some seemed to remain inside her no matter how many times she pushed herself beneath the water.
Lily found her near the river.
Crying.
“I’m sorry.”
Over and over.
“I didn’t know.”
Femi looked at her. Lily knew. Perhaps not everything. But she knew enough to lock the door.
“Carr says he loves you.”
Lily attempted to wrap a coat around her. Femi would not let her touch her.
“I thought you liked him.”
Femi had never spoken to Carr. Had never willingly been alone with him. Had never agreed to dinner. Lily cried harder. As if Femi were the one who should comfort her.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
Femi remembered every word. She also remembered the money Lily had the following morning. New clothes. A hotel room. Cash folded into her purse. Lily never explained where it came from.
She did not have to.
“Femi.”
The kitchen returned in pieces. Steam. Garlic. The hiss of meat beginning to burn. Her hand locked around the phone.
“Femi.”
Malone stood several feet away. He did not know how long he had been calling her name. The peppers smoked inside the pan. One side of the beef had blackened. Femi stared through him. Malone turned off the burner. He moved the pan away from the heat.
Then faced her again.
“Sweetheart.”
She did not blink. Her breathing came too quickly. Malone looked at the phone in her hand. He stepped closer. Femi recoiled. Malone stopped immediately.
“All right.”
He lifted both hands.
“I’m not touching you.”
The kitchen door swung behind him. Music had begun in the barroom. Someone tested the sound system. The bass struck through the wall. Femi flinched at every beat. Malone lowered his voice.
“You are in Helix.”
Her eyes moved toward him.
“In the kitchen.”
She looked around.
“Six twenty-three.”
Malone pointed toward the preparation table.
“You were making pepper steak.”
Femi’s gaze found the vegetables. The rice. The smoking pan. Her breath began to slow.
“You are safe.”
The word did not reach her. Malone saw that. He did not repeat it. Instead, he looked toward the phone.
“Did someone send you something?”
Femi lowered her eyes. Her grip remained so tight her fingers had lost their color.
“Can I see?”
She shook her head. Malone waited.
Femi read the message again.
Hello, my Queen.
Yellow curtains. A locked door. Lily’s voice somewhere beyond it. A man standing too close. Hands. Pain. Her own body becoming something she abandoned because remaining inside it hurt too much. Nausea rose.
The phone slipped from her hand. Malone caught it before it struck the floor. The screen remained illuminated. He saw the message. His expression changed.
“Who sent this?”
Femi reached for the knife. Not as a weapon. She gathered the remaining peppers and pulled the cutting board closer. Work. She needed work. Malone placed the phone upon the table.
“Femi.”
The knife moved. Unevenly. Too quickly. He caught the cutting board and pulled it beyond her reach.
Femi glared at him.
“You nearly cut yourself.”
She reached for it again. Malone did not release it.
“Who calls you Queen?”
Femi’s face emptied.
“Do you know the number?”
She shook her head.
“Do you know who sent the message?”
Her hand stopped over the board. Malone saw the answer.
“Who?”
Femi looked toward the stove.
Her fingers moved once.
He.
Malone waited.
Her hands became fists.
“Who is he?”
Femi looked at the phone.
Then signed:
The man who hurt me.
Malone went still.
“What man?”
Femi reached for the peppers again. Malone pushed them farther away.
“When?”
She looked at him. The fear had changed. Now shame lived inside it. Malone recognized shame. After nightmares. After Lily exposed her scars before everyone in Helix. But this was different. Femi’s arms folded across her stomach. Her body became smaller. Malone’s voice softened.
“How did he hurt you?”
Femi shook her head.
“Did he hit you?”
No answer.
“Stab you?”
She shook her head.
“Was he part of Angelo’s people?”
Another shake.
“Then tell me what happened.”
Femi’s face closed.
Her fingers moved.
Once.
Malone frowned.
“He hurt you once?”
She nodded.
“How?”
Femi turned away. She carried the scorched pan toward the sink. Malone followed.
“Femi.”
Water rushed from the faucet. She tipped the ruined meat into the trash. Then began scrubbing the pan.
“Stop.”
She scrubbed harder.
“Sweetheart, look at me.”
Femi shook her head. Malone reached toward her shoulder. He remembered her recoil and lowered his hand before touching her.
“Did Lily know this man?”
The pan stopped moving. Malone’s stomach dropped.
“She did.”
Femi resumed scrubbing.
“Was she there?”
Her hands tightened around the sponge.
“Femi.”
She shut off the water. Turned. Her eyes warned him not to ask again. Malone saw the answer anyway. Not the details. Only Lily somewhere inside them. He thought of the afternoon messages. The apologies. The plea for friendship. The promise that Lily had no one else. Anger entered him.
“What did Lily do?”
Femi returned to the stove. She reached for a clean pan. Malone caught the handle first.
“Do not hide in the cooking.”
Femi looked at him.
Her hands moved sharply.
People need dinner.
“They can eat something else.”
I have work.
“You are terrified.”
Femi shook her head.
“Do not lie to me.”
Her eyes flashed. Malone released the pan. He had pushed too hard. He knew it. Femi set the clean pan upon the burner. Oil. Meat. Peppers. Onions. Her hands remembered what to do even while the rest of her remained inside the room with yellow curtains.
Malone stood beside her.
“Did he assault you?”
The utensil slipped from Femi’s hand. Metal struck the floor. Neither moved. Malone’s anger became something cold. Femi bent to retrieve the utensil. He reached it first. She took another from the container. No answer. She did not have one she could give him. Not tonight.
Not while part of her still smelled that room. Not while her skin remembered hands that were no longer there. Malone watched her add black pepper. Too much. Femi noticed. She attempted to remove some with a spoon. Her hands shook. Malone took the pepper from her.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Femi froze. He still did not know. But he knew enough to see shame when it stood before him.
“Whatever he did, it belongs to him.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Not you.”
Femi looked away.
“He sent that message because he expects you to remember being powerless.”
Malone placed the phone facedown.
“You are not there any longer.”
Her breath caught.
The way she disappeared inside herself.
“You are not in whatever room he put you in.”
Femi gripped the counter.
“You are here.”
The kitchen door opened behind them. Marta entered carrying an empty tray. She saw Femi. Then Malone. Then the burned meat in the trash.
“What happened?”
Femi turned toward the stove. Malone picked up the phone.
“Someone sent her a message.”
Marta set the tray down.
“Who?”
“Unknown number.”
“What did it say?”
Malone looked toward Femi. She continued cooking. Her back remained rigid.
“Nothing worth repeating.”
Marta studied his face. Whatever she saw made her stop asking. She crossed toward Femi.
Paused.
“May I?”
Femi nodded. Marta placed one hand between her shoulder blades. Femi closed her eyes.
Only for a second.
Then she returned to the pepper steak.
By eight, Helix was full.
Femi served dinner.
No one complained that the pepper steak contained more black pepper than usual.
One customer started to. Marta looked at him. He ate without further comment. Femi worked. She filled bowls. Wiped counters. Replaced trays. Her phone remained inside Malone’s office. The unknown number sent nothing else. That frightened him more than another message might have.
At eight forty-three, Daemon entered Helix.
Rain covered his leather jacket.
His pale hair clung to his face and shoulders. He carried the cold, wet scent of the city with him. The black sedan escaped near the river. The license plate had been false. Red continued searching.
The Devil was furious about that.
Lost him.
“For now.”
We should have stayed closer.
“And shown him we were following.”
I do not care if he knows.
“I do.”
The Devil had spent the entire ride back irritated. At the sedan. At the false plate. At the rain. At the distance from Helix.
Mostly at the distance from Femi.
Little ghost.
Daemon had heard that every few minutes.
She waited.
I know.
We are late.
I know.
We promised.
“I fucking know.”
The Devil had gone quiet after that.
Now Daemon stepped through Helix’s door.
The creature immediately rose.
Find her.
Daemon was already looking. Behind the bar. Service window. Tables. Kitchen door.
Then—
There.
Femi stood behind the bar. She held a tray against her body.
Her green eyes met his. The Devil surged with the familiar pleasure.
Little—
It stopped. Daemon stopped with it. Something was wrong. No one else would have seen it. Femi stood upright. Her hands did not shake. Her expression appeared calm. But Daemon saw the way she held the tray across her stomach like armor. The way her shoulders curved inward. The absence of warmth when she found him. Not rejection. Fear.
The Devil became completely still.
Wrong.
Yeah.
Something happened.
Daemon crossed the barroom.
People moved from his path.
The Devil watched Femi the entire way.
She is holding herself closed.
I see it.
Her eyes.
I see them.
Someone frightened her.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
The Devil sharpened.
Who?
Femi remained where she was.
Daemon stopped in front of her.
“Little ghost.”
Her expression broke for half a heartbeat at the name.
The Devil saw it.
There.
Femi attempted to smile.
It failed.
The Devil’s pleasure disappeared entirely.
No.
Daemon’s gaze sharpened.
“What happened?”
Femi shook her head.
“No.”
His voice remained quiet.
“Do not tell me nothing.”
The Devil whispered—
Careful.
Daemon heard it. Femi’s eyes moved toward Malone’s office. Daemon followed the glance. Malone stood in the doorway.
“Daemon.”
The Devil turned.
Malone knows.
Malone held Femi’s phone.
“Someone sent her a message.”
Daemon looked back at Femi. Her face lost what little color remained.
The Devil noticed immediately.
Phone.
“What message?”
Malone came closer.
“Unknown number.”
He placed the phone upon the bar. Daemon did not touch it. His attention remained upon Femi.
She does not want to look at it.
No.
“Tell me what it said.”
Malone looked at Femi once. Then answered.
“Hello, my Queen.”
The tray slipped from Femi’s hands. The Devil lunged. Daemon caught the tray before it struck the floor. The movement placed him close enough to see terror return fully to her eyes. Not fear of a stranger. Memory. The Devil recognized it. It had seen Daemon wake inside memories that were no longer happening.
Had felt his father’s hand around a child’s arm decades after the hand had turned to dust. Had smelled old blood in clean rooms. Had heard screams in silence. The Devil knew what it meant to be somewhere else while your body remained here.
Its voice changed.
She is back there.
Daemon set the tray aside.
Yeah.
Bring her home.
The instruction hit him harder than any demand for violence could have.
“Femi.”
Her eyes moved toward him. Not enough.
The Devil whispered—
Slow.
Daemon lowered his voice.
“Little ghost.”
Something flickered.
Again.
“You’re at Helix.”
Femi swallowed. The Devil watched her breathing.
Kitchen smells.
Daemon understood.
“You made pepper steak.”
Her eyes shifted toward the service window.
Good.
“It has too much pepper.”
A tiny crease appeared between her brows.
The Devil almost laughed from relief.
There.
Daemon’s mouth softened.
“Marta threatened a man for complaining.”
Femi blinked. Once. Then again. The room returned to her eyes by fractions.
The Devil whispered—
Come home, little ghost.
Daemon wanted to say it aloud. Instead, he waited. Femi looked at him. Really looked. Her breathing remained too fast.
But she saw him now.
There she is.
Daemon did not reach for her.
Not yet.
The Devil wanted to.
Hold her.
Wait.
She needs us.
Ask.
The Devil went quiet.
Then—
Yes. Ask.
Daemon looked toward Malone.
“Who calls her that?”
Femi stepped back.
The Devil reacted instantly.
Stop.
Daemon did. His body went motionless. Malone spoke before Daemon could ask again.
“She said the man who sent it hurt her once.”
Daemon’s face emptied. The Devil went silent. The clubhouse continued around them. Music. Laughter. Glasses striking tables. But the space beside the bar became silent. A man.
Had hurt Femi.
Hurt how?
Daemon didn’t know. The Devil searched her. Folded arms. Eyes lowered. Shoulders drawn inward. The way she guarded her stomach. The shame. Something cold opened inside it.
No.
Daemon looked at Femi.
Malone continued carefully.
“She knows him.”
Femi’s eyes closed.
The Devil immediately understood something more important than the answer.
Enough.
Daemon’s attention snapped inward.
What?
Enough.
I need to know who he is.
Not from her.
Daemon stared at Femi.
The Devil pressed harder.
Look at her.
He did.
She cannot go back there again for us.
Daemon’s anger stopped. Not disappeared. Stopped. Held. Contained. The Devil wanted the name. Wanted it with a hunger so violent it could already imagine wrapping its hands around the man’s throat.
But Femi was standing before them trying not to disappear.
That mattered more.
Do not make her tell it twice.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
She already told Malone.
Enough.
For perhaps the first time in its existence, the Devil willingly turned away from information that could lead it toward a threat. Because obtaining that information would hurt Femi. Daemon understood. The Devil understood. They could wait. The man could not hide forever. Femi folded both arms around herself. Shame lowered her eyes.
The Devil hated that more than the unknown man.
Why is she ashamed?
Daemon knew. Or suspected. The Devil recoiled from the possibility. Not from her. Never from her. From the thought that someone had taught their little ghost to carry another person’s ugliness inside her own skin.
Its voice became low.
No.
Daemon reached for her.
Stopped.
His hand remained suspended between them.
The Devil wanted desperately to close the distance.
Ask.
“May I?”
Femi looked at his hand. Then at his face. The Devil waited. No demand. No take her. No ours.
Just—
Please.
Slowly, Femi placed her trembling fingers inside his.
The Devil broke.
Little ghost.
Daemon closed his hand around hers. Carefully. Not trapping. Holding. Her fingers were cold. The Devil noticed.
Warm her.
Daemon rubbed his thumb once over her knuckles. Femi’s breath shook. No disgust entered his eyes. No pity. Only darkness. And beneath that darkness, something Femi could not yet recognize.
The Devil was not looking at her differently. It was looking at the world differently. Someone in it had done this to her. That was the difference.
The Devil whispered—
Not dirty.
Daemon’s eyes remained on Femi.
Never.
His thumb crossed her knuckles again.
The Devil’s voice became fierce.
Nothing he did belongs on her.
Daemon almost spoke the words. But he saw how close she remained to the edge. Not now. No speeches. No questions. Just here. Malone felt the room grow colder around them. Daemon finally looked at the phone.
Then back at Femi.
“Who is he?”
Her fingers tightened around his. Her face changed. The Devil saw it before Daemon finished the question.
No.
Femi looked down.
Her breath shortened.
Stop.
Daemon did. Immediately. The name mattered. The Devil wanted it. It wanted to hear every detail.
Where.
When.
How.
Whether Lily had been there. Whether anyone else had touched her. How many bones it needed to break. How slowly. But Femi’s hand trembled inside Daemon’s.
The Devil whispered—
Not now.
Daemon swallowed.
“All right.”
Femi looked up. Surprise entered her face. He did not ask again. The Devil watched the surprise.
Something inside it hurt.
She thought we would make her.
Yeah.
We would never.
No.
Daemon lifted her hand slowly. Gave her time to pull away. She didn’t. He brought her fingers to the silver ring resting over his heart.
The word pressed beneath her fingertips.
Mine.
The Devil shuddered. Not with possession. Recognition.
Hers.
Femi’s fingers touched the engraving.
The Devil pressed close beneath Daemon’s ribs.
Feel us.
Daemon’s heart hammered beneath her hand. Not calm. Not untouched. Furious. Afraid for her. Desperate to find the man. But still hers. Especially hers.
“I am here,” Daemon said.
The Devil whispered with him—
All of us.
Femi’s eyes filled.
Her thumb moved over the ring.
The Devil almost begged.
Keep touching it.
She did.
Once.
Slowly.
The Devil remembered the day she gave it to them.
Mine.
Then the bracelet.
ALL YOURS.
Then her wrist.
ALL MINE.
The Devil whispered—
Nothing changed.
Daemon’s chest tightened. Femi couldn’t hear the words. So he gave them to her.
“Nothing you tell me will change this.”
Femi froze. The Devil went still with her. Daemon touched the ring beneath her fingertips.
“This.”
His gaze held hers.
“You.”
The Devil whispered—
Us.
Daemon’s voice lowered.
“Me.”
Femi’s mouth trembled.
The Devil wanted to say more.
Tell her.
Daemon waited.
Tell her we still want her.
Not now.
She is afraid we won’t.
Daemon looked at her face.
How the hell—
Look at her.
He did. The shame. The fear. The way she searched his eyes as though expecting something precious to disappear. The Devil understood because it had done the same thing.
Every time Femi learned something ugly about Daemon. Every time she discovered another body. Another scar. Another piece of the Silent Order. The Devil had waited for her expression to change. Waited for disgust. Waited for abandonment.
It knew exactly what Femi was doing.
She thinks we will see her the way she feared seeing us.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
Fuck.
Tell her.
His thumb moved across her hand.
“You are still my little ghost.”
Femi closed her eyes. A tear escaped.
The Devil nearly shattered.
Always.
Daemon caught the tear with his thumb before it reached her jaw.
He stopped after touching her.
“May I?”
Femi nodded. Only then did his palm settle against her cheek.
The Devil sighed.
There.
Femi leaned into it. Barely. Enough.
The Devil became impossibly gentle.
Home.
Daemon lowered his forehead toward hers. Stopped before touching. Femi closed the remaining distance herself. Their foreheads met. The Devil went quiet.
For several seconds, it wanted nothing. Not the name. Not blood. Not revenge. Only this. Their little ghost breathing. Here. Against them. Not in that room. Not beneath someone else’s hands. Here.
The Devil whispered—
Stay.
Daemon’s thumb moved against her cheek.
“I’ve got you.”
The words were soft.
The Devil added—
You do not have to tell us tonight.
Daemon felt Femi tremble.
He understood.
“You don’t have to tell me now.”
Her eyes opened. The Devil watched the disbelief. Daemon held her gaze.
“Not tonight.”
Femi’s fingers curled into his shirt.
The Devil immediately purred.
She caught us.
A small thing. A familiar thing. It nearly undid him.
“You don’t have to tell me anything until you can.”
The Devil corrected quietly—
Until she wants.
Daemon amended.
“Until you want to.”
Femi stared at him. Then nodded. The Devil settled.
Good.
Behind them, the phone vibrated. Femi jerked. The Devil transformed. Instantly. Warmth vanished. The thing that had whispered slow and ask and home turned its head. Everyone looked down. The screen illuminated.
A second message appeared.
Did you miss me, my Queen?
Daemon read it. The Devil did too. For one second, nothing happened. Then the Devil smiled. Not because Femi was afraid. Never because of that. Because the man had made a mistake.
He had reached into Helix. He had announced himself. He had chosen to return.
And most importantly— he had given the Devil something it had not possessed five seconds earlier.
A trail.
The creature’s delight was terrible.
Oh.
Daemon’s eyes changed.
Malone saw it. So did Marta from across the room. Femi felt it beneath the hand still resting over Daemon’s heart.
The heartbeat changed. Slower. Harder.
The Devil whispered—
Again.
Daemon stared at the message.
He did it again.
Not now.
He came back.
Daemon’s thumb continued moving gently against Femi’s cheek. The contrast was monstrous. Tender hand. Dead eyes. The Devil practically purred.
He thinks she belongs to him.
Daemon’s jaw flexed.
She doesn’t belong to anyone.
The Devil immediately corrected itself.
She belongs to herself.
A beat.
Then, with savage satisfaction—
And she chose us.
Daemon’s fingers closed slightly around hers. Femi looked up. The Devil saw the fear returning.
Its excitement disappeared from her instantly.
No. Look at us.
Daemon turned the phone facedown. Not dramatically. Not violently. Simply removing it from her sight.
The Devil approved.
Good.
Daemon looked at Malone.
“Office.”
Malone understood. He took the phone.
The Devil objected.
We need it.
“We’ll have it.”
Malone glanced toward Femi. Daemon shook his head once. Not here. Not in front of her. Malone nodded.
The Devil understood.
Later.
Yeah.
Trace it.
Yes.
Red.
Yes.
Voss.
Maybe.
Carr.
Daemon’s gaze sharpened.
Maybe.
Femi’s fingers tightened around his shirt.
The Devil abandoned every name.
Little ghost.
Daemon looked down immediately.
Her hands moved slowly.
Are you angry with me?
Everything inside him stopped.
The Devil recoiled as though struck.
What?
Daemon stared at her.
“No.”
Femi searched his face.
Because I didn’t tell you.
The Devil’s fury became almost unbearable. Not at her. At whoever had taught her this.
No.
Daemon cupped her cheek.
“No.”
His voice roughened.
“You do not owe me your pain.”
The Devil whispered—
Never.
Femi blinked.
“You do not owe me the worst thing someone did to you because I love you.”
The words left him before he could stop them. The Devil went completely silent. Daemon went completely still. Femi stared at him. Malone, halfway toward his office, stopped. Marta’s head snapped around. The Devil recovered first.
You said it.
Daemon’s heart slammed against Femi’s palm.
Fuck.
YOU SAID IT.
Not now.
The Devil became delirious.
YOU FINALLY FUCKING SAID IT.
Daemon’s face remained controlled through sheer violence of will. Femi’s eyes widened.
The Devil practically danced beneath his ribs.
She heard us.
Daemon could not take the words back.
Didn’t want to.
The Devil was ecstatic.
Again.
Femi’s fingers remained over his heart.
Daemon swallowed.
“I love you.”
The Devil surged.
WE LOVE YOU.
Femi’s mouth opened.
No sound came. Tears spilled instead.
The Devil panicked.
Why is she crying?
She’s overwhelmed.
Good crying?
I don’t fucking know.
ASK.
Daemon brushed another tear from her cheek.
“Did I frighten you?”
Femi shook her head rapidly.
The Devil sagged with relief.
Good.
Then her hands moved. Slow. Unsteady.
You love me?
The Devil was offended.
YES.
Daemon’s expression softened.
“Yes.”
YES.
Femi stared.
The Devil couldn’t tolerate the uncertainty.
Tell her properly.
Daemon almost laughed despite everything.
“Very much.”
More.
“More than I know what to do with.”
Better.
Femi’s face crumpled.
The Devil panicked again.
Why does she keep doing that?
Daemon pulled back enough to give her space.
“Little ghost?”
Femi stepped into him. No hesitation. Her arms wrapped around his waist.
The Devil ceased functioning.
Then—
HOME.
Daemon’s arms closed around her. Carefully. Femi pressed her face into his chest.
The ring rested between them.
Mine.
The Devil wrapped itself around the moment.
She came to us.
Daemon kissed the top of her head.
Again.
He did.
Again.
Daemon kissed her hair a second time. The Devil settled. Then Femi’s fingers moved against his back. Daemon couldn’t see them.
Marta could.
I care about you.
Marta looked away. The Devil somehow understood before Daemon did. Maybe from the way Femi’s body softened. Maybe because it had learned her better than either of them realized.
It whispered—
She loves us.
Daemon closed his eyes.
Yeah.
The phone sat facedown inside Malone’s hand. A man somewhere in Ravenside waited for fear. For recognition. For the woman he called Queen to become nineteen again.
The Devil would find him. It knew that with absolute certainty. It would trace the number. Find the sedan. Find Lily. Find Carr. Find whoever stood at the end of this trail. And when it did—
the Devil would remember the terror in Femi’s eyes. But not tonight. Tonight their little ghost had already survived him once. She did not need to survive the memory again simply because Daemon wanted answers.
The Devil understood that now. There were hunts that could wait. Femi could not. It settled around the woman in Daemon’s arms. Watchful. Furious. Patient. And beneath all of it, fiercely pleased by the truth Daemon had finally managed to say aloud.
We love her.
Daemon held Femi tighter.
Yeah.
The Devil looked toward the phone in Malone’s hand.
Its smile returned.
Cold.
Delighted.
Patient.
And he came looking for her.
Daemon’s gray eyes opened.
The Devil almost laughed.
Good.
Not because it wanted Femi frightened. Because the man who had once hurt their little ghost had just made the catastrophic mistake of believing she was still alone.
The Devil whispered into the darkness behind Daemon’s eyes—
Hello.
A pause.
Then its smile widened.
We have been looking for you.
Femi’s phone buzzed again. The sound was small. Ordinary. It tore through her like a scream. Daemon looked down at the screen.
Another message waited beneath the first two.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
We will be together again, my Queen.
Daemon went perfectly still.
The Devil did not.
Again.
It pressed against his bones.
He called her that again.
Daemon stared at the words.
Give me the phone.
Why?
Because he is inside it.
He isn’t.
His number is.
The Devil wanted it. The number. The name behind the messages. A door to break through.
A throat beneath its hands.
Find him.
We will.
Now.
Then Femi made a small, broken movement beside him.
Everything inside Daemon changed.
The Devil turned toward her.
Little ghost?
She was shaking. Not the delicate shiver that sometimes followed his touch. Not the tremble after a kiss. Not the delicious little reaction that made the Devil insufferably pleased with itself. This began deep inside her. Her entire body trembled beneath it. Her face had lost all color, and her green eyes stared at the message as though the words had reached through the screen and seized her.
The Devil forgot the number.
Femi.
“Femi?”
Her knees folded.
Catch her.
Daemon caught her before she struck the floor.
“Little ghost.”
Her head fell against his chest. Her eyes closed.
The Devil recoiled.
No.
“Femi.”
No response. The Devil vanished beneath something colder than rage. Fear. Not the clean fear before gunfire. Not the useful kind. Not left, move, down, survive. This was helpless. It hated helpless.
Wake her.
Daemon lifted her face.
Her body hung limp in his arms.
Wake her up.
“Femi.”
Nothing.
The Devil panicked.
FEMI.
Malone knocked over a bowl as he rushed around the counter.
“What happened?”
“She fainted.”
“What do you mean, she fainted?”
“I mean she is unconscious.”
“I know what fainted means.”
Malone touched Femi’s cheek.
The Devil nearly snapped at him.
Careful.
Daemon pressed two fingers beneath her jaw. A pulse moved against them. Too fast. But present. The Devil seized upon it.
There.
“She is breathing.”
Again.
Daemon felt for the pulse again.
Still there.
Alive.
“Call someone.”
Malone looked toward the door.
“Get a doctor. Call an ambulance. Do something.”
Marta entered from the barroom. Her gaze moved from Malone’s frightened face to Femi lying in Daemon’s arms.
“What happened?”
“The phone,” Malone said. “Another message came through, and she—”
His voice failed. Marta picked up the phone from the floor. She read the message. Her expression hardened.
“Take her upstairs.”
Yes.
Daemon did not wait for Malone’s agreement. He lifted Femi against his chest. The Devil counted everything.
Breathing.
One step.
Breathing.
Another.
Pulse.
Femi’s head rested against Daemon’s shoulder.
Too still.
She is breathing.
I know.
Then stop.
No.
Daemon carried her out of the kitchen. The clubhouse quieted when they appeared. Glasses stopped moving. Conversation died. The Devil noticed every face that turned toward them.
Do not look at her.
Daemon’s gaze swept the room. People looked away.
Good.
Femi’s face rested against his shoulder. One arm hung loosely against his chest, her fingers moving with every step he took.
The Devil watched those fingers.
Move.
They moved again with Daemon’s stride.
Good.
He carried her upstairs. Into his room. Toward the black bed beneath the window. Daemon laid her down as carefully as though every bone inside her had already been broken. Her midnight hair spread across his pillow. The Devil had imagined that sight before. Many times. Usually with shameless enthusiasm.
Her hair would look pretty there.
Little ghost in our bed.
Strawberries.
Now it felt nothing but terror. Her face looked too small against the dark fabric. Too still.
I do not like this.
Neither do I.
Daemon touched the side of her throat again.
Her pulse raced beneath his fingers.
There.
“Wake up, little ghost.”
She did not.
Again.
“Little ghost.”
Nothing.
The Devil pressed desperately against Daemon’s voice.
Come home.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
“Come home, little ghost.”
Malone stopped in the doorway.
“I should call the clinic.”
“Call them.”
Malone reached for his phone, nearly dropped it, and cursed.
Marta entered behind him.
“I’ll trace the number.”
The Devil surfaced instantly.
Yes.
“Find him,” Daemon said.
His voice contained nothing human.
Find him.
Marta looked at him.
“I will.”
Carr.
Daemon went still internally.
You don’t know that.
The Devil didn’t answer.
Find him.
She took Femi’s phone and left.
Malone remained near the door while he spoke to someone from the clinic. His free hand moved repeatedly through his hair. Daemon barely heard him. He sat at the end of the bed and watched Femi breathe. Each shallow rise of her chest became the only thing in the room that mattered.
The Devil counted them.
One.
Her chest rose.
Two.
Again.
Three.
Again.
Daemon rested his hands upon his knees.
Four.
The Devil had counted bullets. Bodies. Footsteps outside locked doors. Seconds between gunshots. How long a man could remain conscious after losing blood. It had counted everything that might keep Daemon alive.
Now it counted breaths belonging to someone else.
Five.
Daemon watched Femi.
The Devil whispered—
Do not stop.
Her chest rose again.
Good girl.
Another breath.
Stay.
Femi stood inside the bedroom with the yellow curtains. The television shouted from the other room. Laughter. Applause. A woman screaming in false surprise while an audience found it funny.
Femi pulled at the locked door. It would not open. Behind her, another door moved. A man stepped from the adjoining room.
Black hair. Dark eyes. Tailored black pants. A white shirt with its sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows.
He smiled when he saw her.
“Hello, my Queen.”
Femi shook her head. She did not want to be his queen. She wanted the door to open. She wanted Lily to come back. She wanted to go home. The man approached. Femi struck the door with both hands.
The television became louder. No sound left her throat. She had no voice. She had no voice, and he knew it. His hands closed around her.
The room disappeared beneath fragments. Yellow curtains. White sleeves. His weight.
Her wrists trapped against the mattress.
Pain.
Blood.
The smell of his cologne.
His mouth against her forehead when it was over.
“My Queen.”
Femi ran. Through the window. Across the wet grass. Into the river. She scrubbed blood from her thighs while Lily stood on the bank crying.
I’m sorry.
Lily said it over and over.
I thought he only wanted dinner.
The river turned red around Femi’s legs.
Grow up, Femi.
The water rose.
My Queen.
It covered her hips.
We will be together again.
Her stomach. Her chest. Her throat. Femi could not breathe. She could not scream. She opened her mouth beneath the water— and darkness rushed inside.
Somewhere impossibly far away, another voice fought through it.
Not Carr.
Not Lily.
Low.
Rough.
Familiar.
Little ghost.
The water rose over her face.
Come home.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Come home to us.
Femi sat upright.
A silent scream tore through her body.
The Devil surged.
FEMI.
Daemon rose from the end of the bed.
“Femi.”
She scrambled backward. Her shoulders struck the headboard. Her hands searched blindly along the wall as if she expected to find a door hidden inside it.
Stop.
Daemon stopped.
Femi’s eyes moved across the room. The black walls. The rain against the window. The unfamiliar bed. Then him. The pale-haired man standing several feet away. She did not know him. For one terrible moment, she looked at Daemon as though he were the man in the white shirt.
The Devil nearly panicked.
No.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
She does not know us.
Not yet.
Tell her.
Daemon forced himself not to approach. Every instinct demanded he cross the room. Take her. Hold her. Make her recognize him. The Devil wanted the same thing.
Go to her.
No.
She is afraid.
Exactly.
The Devil fought him for half a heartbeat. Then stopped. It looked through Daemon’s eyes. Saw the terror. Saw how Femi searched for escape. Saw her hands against the wall.
And understood.
Stay here.
Daemon remained where he was.
“It’s me, little ghost.”
Femi pressed herself harder against the headboard.
The Devil flinched.
Too close.
We haven’t moved.
Still too close.
Daemon lowered his voice.
“It’s all right.”
Her chest moved too quickly.
“You’re safe.”
She stared at him without recognition.
The Devil hated the word.
She cannot hear safe yet.
Daemon’s heart struck painfully against his ribs.
“You are in my room, Femi.”
He kept his voice low.
“It’s raining.”
The storm tapped steadily against the window. Her eyes moved toward the sound.
Good.
“You are at Helix.”
Her breathing hitched.
“Malone is downstairs. Marta is here.”
Things she knows.
Yeah.
More.
Daemon slowly lowered himself into the chair beside the bed. He kept both hands where she could see them.
The Devil approved.
Hands.
“No one is going to touch you.”
Femi’s attention returned to his face.
The Devil whispered—
Not unless you ask.
“It’s me,” Daemon repeated. “You know me.”
Her gaze moved over him.
Hair.
Eyes.
Mouth.
Then— the scar across his cheek. Recognition entered her eyes. Not all at once. A small break in the terror. Then another.
The Devil felt it.
There.
Daemon barely breathed.
She knows the scar.
“Daemon,” he said.
Her lower lip trembled.
The Devil pressed against his voice.
Ours.
Daemon ignored that one.
“Your Daemon.”
Femi’s eyes filled.
The Devil broke.
Yes.
“Yes, little ghost. Look at me.”
She could not. Her gaze dropped to the quilt. Black fabric covered her legs. Small gray stars had been sewn across it by someone who had believed darkness required light. Femi fixed her eyes upon one crooked star near her knee.
The Devil watched her fingers.
She needs something small.
Daemon understood.
“Breathe.”
She tried.
The breath caught inside her.
“Slowly.”
Her fingers dug into the quilt.
Daemon drew in a careful breath.
“Follow me.”
He released it slowly. Femi attempted to imitate him. The first breath broke.
The Devil tensed.
Again.
So did the second.
Again.
Daemon did not move closer.
“That’s all right. Try again.”
The Devil whispered with him.
Again, little ghost.
Rain touched the glass. Water moved through the pipes. Music drifted faintly from the barroom below.
Here.
Now.
Helix.
Not the hotel. Not the yellow room. Femi took another breath. It reached farther this time.
The Devil almost celebrated.
There.
“Good,” Daemon murmured.
She exhaled.
“Again.”
Again.
Another breath.
Good.
Her shoulders lowered by a fraction.
The Devil noticed.
Again.
Her fingers loosened slightly.
There.
Little by little, Femi forced herself into the calm place she had built inside her mind.
It was not peaceful. It was merely quiet enough to survive. The Devil understood places like that. It had lived inside one for most of Daemon’s childhood. Daemon watched her hands loosen from the quilt. He waited until the terror no longer completely controlled her face. Then the question escaped him.
“Who hurt you, little ghost?”
The Devil became still. Femi’s fingers closed around one of the gray stars. She shook her head.
The Devil wanted the answer.
Name.
Daemon wanted it too.
“Was it the man sending those messages?”
Her eyes closed.
The Devil surged.
Yes.
That was answer enough.
“What is his name?”
Femi shook her head again.
The Devil pushed.
Tell us.
“Do you know where he is?”
Another refusal.
Little ghost—
Daemon studied her.
Shame entered the spaces fear had abandoned. It lowered her face. Curved her shoulders. Made her gather the quilt closer as though even her clothing did not cover enough.
The Devil stopped.
No.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
Stop asking.
I need his name.
Not like this.
Daemon looked at her.
She just came back.
The Devil wanted answers. Daemon wanted the man. The Devil wanted to rip the name out of the entire city if necessary. But Femi needed him to remain in the chair. So he remained.
The Devil forced itself to remain with him.
Later.
“You do not have to tell me now.”
Her eyes lifted slightly. The Devil saw the surprise.
It hated that too.
She thought we would make her.
Never.
Good.
“But you will not face him alone.”
Femi looked away.
The Devil whispered—
Never again.
A knock touched the door. She flinched.
Daemon’s gaze snapped toward it.
So did the Devil.
Who?
“Who?”
“Malone.”
Daemon looked at Femi. She did not object.
“Come in.”
Malone entered slowly. His face had lost its usual color. His smile appeared when he saw Femi awake, but it was strained and unconvincing. He approached the bed and knelt beside it.
“You okay, baby girl?”
Femi managed a small nod.
Malone released a breath.
“You’re going to kill this old man, fainting like that.”
The Devil frowned.
Bad joke.
He is scared.
Still bad.
His smile trembled.
“I’ve got enough problems without you throwing yourself at the floor.”
Femi’s mouth moved, but no smile came. Malone’s expression softened. He reached toward her hand.
Then stopped.
“Can I?”
The Devil noticed.
Good.
After a moment, Femi let him take it. Malone held her fingers gently between both of his hands. The Devil watched. No threat. No force. Chosen.
It settled again.
“The clinic said fainting can happen with panic. They want you checked if you hit your head.”
“She did not,” Daemon said. “I caught her.”
The Devil added silently—
Always.
Malone looked over his shoulder.
“I know you caught her.”
His voice roughened.
“Thank you.”
Daemon said nothing.
The Devil did.
She is ours to catch.
Daemon corrected automatically.
Hers to fall.
The Devil went quiet.
Then—
Ours to be there if she wants us.
Better.
Malone returned his attention to Femi.
“Do you know where you are?”
She nodded.
“Do you know who I am?”
Her eyebrows drew together.
“Humor me.”
Femi touched two fingers to her chin and moved her hand outward.
Malone recognized the sign.
“Father,” he said.
His eyes filled before he looked away.
“Yeah. That’s right.”
Femi squeezed his hand weakly.
The Devil softened.
She has him.
Yeah.
And us.
If she wants us.
The Devil almost sounded annoyed.
She keeps choosing us.
Daemon’s mouth nearly moved.
Fair.
“Give her a moment,” Daemon said. “She just woke up.”
“I am giving her a moment.”
“You have asked four questions.”
“I’m frightened.”
Malone looked at him. Daemon saw the truth on his face. Malone saw it reflected in his.
The Devil whispered—
So am I.
Daemon went still. It almost never admitted fear. Not like that. He said nothing. Neither man spoke again.
Another knock came several minutes later. Marta entered without waiting for an answer. Rain darkened the shoulders of her jacket. She held Femi’s phone inside a clear plastic bag.
The Devil immediately changed.
Phone.
“We traced it to a burner.”
Daemon rose.
The Devil rose with him.
Good.
“Where?”
“A motel across town.”
Go.
“Who lives there?”
“No one. The place is empty.”
Someone was there.
“Then someone rented it.”
“Under a false name.”
Of course.
“Cameras?”
“I have someone checking.”
Daemon’s eyes settled on the phone.
The Devil pressed forward.
Give it to us.
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
The single word sharpened the room.
The Devil stared at Marta.
Excuse me?
Marta did not retreat.
“You will crush it, and I need what is inside.”
The Devil considered.
She is correct.
Daemon almost resented how quickly it admitted that.
“I want the number.”
“You will have everything when I finish.”
Then finish faster.
Malone stood.
“Stop.”
Neither looked at him.
“Not here,” Malone said. “Not in front of her.”
Only then did Daemon look toward the bed. The Devil turned with him. Femi had not heard them. Her eyes remained fixed upon the gray star beneath her fingers. The room around her had disappeared again.
The Devil’s hunger for the phone vanished.
Little ghost.
White sleeves.
Yellow curtains.
Blood in the river.
Lily crying on the bank.
Carr kissing her forehead after Calling her beautiful. Calling her his queen. As if violence could be made tender by giving it a pretty name. As if what he had done became love because he smiled afterward.
Femi felt his hands upon her skin. She knew they were not there. That did not make the sensation leave. Her stomach turned. The old shame rose through her. Dirty. The word lived inside her even though the doctor had told her it did not belong to her.
Even though she had been told Carr’s violence was his shame. Even though she understood that truth when it belonged to another woman. Her body did not believe it. Her body remembered blood. Pain. The river failing to wash either away. Femi pushed the quilt from her legs.
The Devil noticed immediately.
She is leaving.
Malone stepped forward.
“Baby girl?”
Her bare feet touched the floor. She stood too quickly and caught the bedpost when the room tilted.
Daemon moved.
Catch her.
Femi recoiled.
STOP.
Daemon stopped before touching her. His hands remained at his sides. The Devil clawed at him. Not to go forward.
To keep him still.
Do not make her afraid of us.
“Femi.”
She could not look at him. Could not look at any of them.
Not Malone, who called her daughter.
Not Marta, who saw weakness and defended it as though it were precious.
Not Daemon, who looked at her as if every piece of her belonged beneath gentle hands.
If he knew, perhaps that would change. Perhaps the hunger in his eyes would become pity. Perhaps he would understand that Carr had touched her first. That someone had taken what Femi had wanted to choose to give. She moved past them.
The Devil watched her.
Why won’t she look at us?
Daemon knew there was no answer she could give him.
Not now.
Marta stepped aside.
Malone said her name again.
Femi walked into the bathroom and closed the door.
The lock clicked.
The Devil went feral.
NO.
Daemon stared at the door.
“Femi?”
The shower turned on.
Water struck tile.
Open it.
No.
Open the door.
No.
We cannot see her.
I know.
We cannot hear her breathing.
I know.
Open it.
“She locked it.”
I FUCKING KNOW.
Malone rubbed both hands over his face.
“We should not leave her alone.”
Yes.
“She locked the door,” Marta said.
“I can open it.”
YES.
“No,” Daemon said.
The Devil slammed against his ribs.
DAEMON.
No.
She is frightened.
Yes.
She fainted.
Yes.
She disappeared while sitting three feet away from us.
I know.
OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR.
Daemon’s hands curled into fists.
No.
The Devil clawed against his ribs. It wanted every door removed from its hinges. It wanted to enter. To see her. To make certain she continued breathing. To put its body between Femi and every memory that had followed her beneath the water.
Break it.
No.
Please.
The word nearly broke Daemon.
The Devil did not beg. It commanded. Threatened. Demanded. But this—
Please. I cannot see her.
Daemon closed his eyes.
She’s allowed to close a door.
The Devil went silent.
“She chose to close it,” Daemon said aloud.
Malone looked at him.
Daemon’s gaze never left the door.
“We wait.”
The Devil recoiled.
I hate waiting.
I know.
Bad things happen behind closed doors.
Daemon understood exactly where that fear came from. His father. His mother. Rooms he had been told not to enter. Screaming behind walls. Blood discovered after silence.
The Devil had learned young that a closed door could hide something terrible.
Open it before it is too late.
Daemon breathed through the panic that did not belong entirely to him.
This isn’t then.
The Devil said nothing.
She’s Femi.
I know.
This is Helix.
I know.
Malone is here.
Marta too.
She’s in our bathroom.
Yes.
She chose the door.
The Devil hated that truth.
Yes.
Then we respect it.
Silence. Water continued striking tile. The Devil listened. Every splash. Every shift. Every tiny sound it could pull through the door.
I can hear her.
Good.
Water.
Yes.
Movement.
Yes.
She is still there.
Yes.
The Devil settled by degrees. Not calm. Never calm. But obedient to Femi’s choice.
We wait.
Daemon released a slow breath.
Yeah.
The Devil whispered—
But I hate it.
Daemon almost smiled despite everything.
I know.
Inside the bathroom, Femi stripped quickly.
Her hands shook so badly that the buttons resisted her. She pulled until one tore free and struck the floor.
Water continued. Femi stepped beneath it. It was too hot. She turned it hotter. Steam gathered around her. Femi found the soap and dragged it across her skin. Her shoulders. Her arms. Her stomach. Her thighs. She scrubbed the places memory had touched. The water remained clear. Still, she scrubbed. Until her skin reddened. Until it burned.
Until, beneath water hot enough to hurt, Femi began to cry.
The Devil heard something through the water.
So faint Daemon almost missed it.
A broken breath.
Then another.
The Devil went perfectly still.
She is crying.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
Yeah.
Go to her.
No.
She is crying.
I know.
She needs us.
Maybe.
The Devil hated the answer.
What if she does?
Then she’ll open the door.
What if she cannot?
Daemon stared at the wood. His hand rose. Stopped inches from it.
The Devil pressed forward.
Knock.
Daemon considered. Then tapped his knuckles softly against the door. The crying stopped.
The Devil immediately regretted it.
We frightened her.
Daemon kept his voice low.
“Little ghost.”
Silence. He did not touch the handle. Did not ask her to open it. Did not ask what she was doing.
The Devil waited.
Tell her.
What?
It knew.
That we are here.
Daemon leaned his forehead against the wall beside the door.
Not the door itself.
“I’m right outside.”
Water continued falling.
Femi said nothing.
The Devil whispered—
Tell her we aren’t leaving.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Inside the bathroom, Femi closed her eyes. The soap remained clutched inside her hand.
The Devil waited.
Then another thought came.
Urgent.
Tell her she is still our little ghost.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
She knows.
No.
The certainty startled him.
The Devil had understood something Daemon had not.
She does not.
Daemon looked at the door.
Something happened to her. She thinks it changes something.
How do you know?
The Devil remembered Femi refusing to look at them. The quilt gathered over her body. The shame. The way she fled the moment Carr’s memory returned.
Because I know what it is to wait for someone to see the monster and leave.
Daemon went silent.
The Devil’s voice became almost fragile.
Tell her.
Daemon looked at the door.
“You’re still my little ghost.”
The water kept falling.
Inside, Femi stopped scrubbing.
The Devil felt nothing through the door. Could see nothing. But it waited.
Daemon continued.
“Whatever happened.”
His voice roughened.
“Whatever he did.”
Femi’s hand began to tremble.
“It doesn’t change what I see when I look at you.”
The Devil pressed close.
Beautiful.
Daemon swallowed.
“Beautiful.”
Femi covered her mouth.
Wanted.
“Wanted.”
Her knees weakened.
Ours.
Daemon paused.
No.
The Devil did not argue.
It corrected itself.
Hers.
Daemon understood.
“Yours.”
Femi closed her eyes.
“Your body is yours, little ghost.”
The Devil became very quiet.
Daemon looked at the locked door.
“No one gets to change that.”
The Devil thought of the man.
Carr.
Though no one had yet spoken the name aloud in this room. It knew. Some buried instinct had begun fitting the pieces together. Queen. Lily. Photographs. The stolen shirt. The black sedan.
A man buying access to Femi.
Carr.
Daemon heard it. This time, he did not question the name.
Inside the bathroom, Femi slid slowly down the tile wall. Water struck her shoulders. She hugged her knees against her chest. The Devil whispered through Daemon—
Little ghost.
Daemon’s eyes closed.
The creature wanted blood. Wanted Carr’s. Wanted enough of it that Wolfwater would remember the color for generations. But that hunger sat beneath something stronger now.
Femi. Her choice. Her locked door. Her right to decide when it opened.
The Devil settled beside Daemon.
Waiting.
Listening.
Guarding a door it could have broken in seconds.
For perhaps the first time in its life, the Devil understood that protection did not always mean getting inside. Sometimes protection meant standing outside. Sometimes love meant possessing enough strength to break down the door— and choosing not to.
Water continued falling.
Daemon lowered himself to the floor beside the bathroom. His back rested against the wall.
The Devil listened with him.
She is still crying.
Yeah.
I hate this.
Me too.
When she opens the door—
We ask.
The Devil went quiet.
Then—
Ask.
If she wants us.
Yes.
If she wants to be held.
Yes.
If she wants to talk.
A longer pause.
Yes.
If she doesn’t—
The Devil hated that one. But it answered.
We stay anyway.
Outside the door.
As close as she allows.
Daemon closed his eyes.
Good.
The Devil listened to the water. Its rage remained. Cold. Patient. Carr would still exist when Femi was ready. The hunt could wait. Their little ghost could not.
Then, beneath the shower, Femi made another broken sound.
The Devil pressed against Daemon’s ribs. Not demanding the door. Not demanding entry. Only aching.
Come home, little ghost.
Daemon rested his head against the wall. His voice was barely louder than the rain.
“Come home to me.”
The Devil corrected him softly.
To us.
Daemon closed his eyes.
“Come home to us.”
And for once, the Devil did not mean possession.
It meant:
Here.
Now.
Helix.
Rain against the window.
Malone downstairs.
Marta hunting the number.
Daemon outside the door.
The Devil keeping watch.
Just home.
And however long it took their little ghost to find her way back— the Devil would wait.
Thirty minutes passed.
The shower continued running.
Daemon stood across from the bathroom door with his arms folded tightly over his chest. He had not moved in twenty-seven minutes.
The Devil had not stopped moving once.
Too long.
Daemon stared at the door.
I know.
Thirty minutes.
I know.
The water has not stopped.
I know.
She has not answered.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
I fucking know.
The Devil paced inside him. There was no other word for it. It pressed against his ribs. Climbed his spine. Listened through his ears. Counted every sound from behind the locked door. Water. Pipes. The occasional movement of something against tile. Then nothing.
Then water again.
Knock.
We already did.
Again.
Give her time.
We gave her time.
The Devil was becoming frantic.
Little ghost.
Daemon listened.
Nothing.
Femi.
Nothing.
The Devil pushed harder.
OPEN THE DOOR.
No.
Something is wrong.
We don’t know that.
YES, FUCKING WE DO.
Daemon’s fingers dug into his arms. Malone had gone downstairs twice.
The first time to close Helix.
The second because standing in the hallway without doing anything had become unbearable.
Each time, he returned within minutes.
No one spoke.
Water struck tile behind the locked door. Steam had begun creeping through the narrow space beneath it.
The Devil noticed first.
Steam.
Daemon looked down. Pale ribbons moved across the floor.
Too hot.
You don’t know that.
Too much steam.
Marta watched it spread. Her expression changed.
The Devil seized upon that.
She sees it.
Daemon unfolded his arms.
Marta stepped toward the door.
“Femi?”
No answer.
The Devil surged.
FEMI.
Marta knocked again.
“Little girl, I am coming inside.”
Nothing moved except the steam.
The Devil almost snarled in relief.
Yes.
Marta took the spare key from her pocket.
Daemon stepped forward.
“I will go.”
Open it.
“No.”
His gray eyes hardened.
The Devil nearly came through them.
“She has been in there too long.”
“I know.”
“Then open the door.”
NOW.
“I am opening it.”
Marta placed the key inside the lock.
“You are staying here.”
The Devil stopped. Then—
No.
Daemon’s voice lowered.
“Marta.”
“No.”
Move her.
Daemon didn’t.
DAEMON.
Marta looked directly into his eyes. She saw it there. The Devil. Not angry. Not yet. Panicking.
“If she is hurt—”
Daemon’s voice changed on the last word.
The Devil pushed against it.
If she is hurt, we need to see her.
“She may be.”
The words stopped both of them. The Devil went silent. Daemon’s heart struck once. Hard.
Marta lowered her voice.
“But not in a way you can fix by breaking through that door.”
The Devil did not understand.
What does that mean?
Daemon stared at her.
What does she mean?
Marta turned the key. The lock released.
The Devil surged.
Go.
She opened the door only far enough to enter, then immediately pulled it closed behind herself. A wall of steam rolled into the hallway before the door shut. Heat struck Daemon’s face.
The Devil recoiled.
Too hot.
Daemon stared at the closed door.
Why is it that hot?
Malone looked at him. Neither spoke. The Devil listened.
Nothing.
I cannot see her.
Daemon’s hands curled.
I cannot fucking see her.
Marta is there.
I WANT TO SEE HER.
Wait.
NO.
The Devil slammed against his ribs.
Open it.
No.
What if she is bleeding?
She’s not.
YOU DO NOT KNOW.
Daemon’s breath became shallow. The Devil’s panic was becoming his.
Closed door.
Someone he loved behind it. No control. No sight. No way to know what was happening. Old memories shifted beneath the present. A bedroom door. His mother crying. His father moving through the house.
Listen.
The Devil had whispered that then too.
Quiet.
Wait.
Do not go in.
Daemon shut his eyes. This isn’t then. The Devil did not care.
Bad things happen behind closed doors.
Marta is with her.
What if Marta needs us?
She’ll call.
What if she cannot?
Daemon opened his eyes.
“Fuck.”
Malone looked at him.
The Devil whispered—
Little ghost.
Daemon stared at the door.
Please be all right.
The Devil answered him. Not with rage. Not with confidence.
With something small and terrified.
Please.
Inside the bathroom, heat pressed against Marta’s face.
The mirror had vanished beneath condensation. Water covered the tiled floor near the shower, and Femi’s clothing lay in a wet pile beside the sink. One button from her shirt rested near the toilet. The shower curtain remained closed.
“Femi?”
Marta approached slowly. She pulled the curtain aside. Her eyes filled with tears. Femi sat on the shower floor beneath the stream. Her knees were drawn against her chest. Her arms wrapped around them. Midnight hair clung to her shoulders and face. Her skin was red. A bar of soap remained locked inside one trembling hand.
Femi scrubbed the same place on her thigh.
Over.
And over.
And over.
She was crying.
Her entire body shook with it, but the room contained no sobs.
Only water.
Only silence.
“Oh, my little girl.”
Femi did not look up.
Marta took a large black towel from the wall and placed it within reach. Then she knelt outside the shower.
“Femi.”
The soap moved across reddened skin again.
“Look at me.”
Femi could not. Marta reached through the water and gently closed her hand around Femi’s wrist. The scrubbing stopped. Femi flinched.
“It’s Marta.”
Her grip loosened immediately.
“I am not going to hurt you.”
Femi stared at the tile. Marta took the soap from her hand and set it aside.
“No more, little girl.”
Femi shook her head.
Her fingers moved weakly against her knees.
Dirty.
The word struck Marta harder than any confession could have.
“No.”
Femi closed her eyes.
“No, little girl.”
Marta reached up and shut off the shower.
The sudden silence reached the hallway.
The Devil froze.
Water stopped.
Daemon was already moving. Malone caught his arm.
“Wait.”
Daemon looked down at the hand. Malone released him immediately.
The Devil barely noticed.
Why did she turn it off?
Marta turned it off.
Why?
We don’t know.
Something happened.
Daemon stared at the door. Every muscle in his body had tightened.
Knock.
No.
Daemon.
Marta is with her.
Femi.
The Devil sounded desperate now. Not murderous. Not predatory.
Afraid.
I need to know she is breathing.
Daemon stepped toward the door. Stopped inches from it. His hand lifted.
The Devil urged—
Please.
Before he could knock, he heard Marta’s voice through the wood.
Faint. Gentle.
“Listen to me.”
Daemon went still.
The Devil listened.
She is talking to her.
Yeah.
That means Femi is awake.
Probably.
Probably?
She’s awake.
The Devil seized the certainty.
Good.
Daemon’s hand lowered.
Inside, Marta continued speaking.
They could not make out every word.
Only pieces.
“No shame…”
“…nothing wrong…”
“…survived…”
The Devil became confused.
Shame?
Daemon’s stomach tightened.
Marta’s voice continued.
“…someone else’s cruelty.”
The Devil went utterly still.
Something cold moved through Daemon.
The Devil whispered—
What did he do to her?
Daemon didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
Inside, water continued falling from Femi’s hair. It traveled down her face and joined the tears beneath her chin. Marta unfolded the towel.
“May I cover you?”
Femi did not answer. She only trembled. Marta wrapped the large black towel around her shoulders and drew it closed across her body.
“Listen to me.”
Femi’s eyes remained lowered.
“I know what this is.”
Her mouth trembled.
“And I will not let you blame yourself for something another person did.”
Femi folded inward. Marta stepped into the shower and sat on the wet tile beside her. Her clothes soaked through immediately. She did not care. With slow, careful movements, Marta gathered Femi into her arms. Femi resisted for one frightened second. Then whatever strength held her upright broke. She collapsed against Marta’s chest. Marta rocked her gently.
“No,” she whispered against Femi’s wet hair. “None of that shame belongs to you.”
Femi clutched the front of Marta’s shirt.
“You did nothing wrong.”
A violent tremor moved through her.
“You survived.”
Marta kissed the top of her head.
“That is all you did, little girl. You survived someone else’s cruelty.”
Femi shook her head.
“Yes.”
Another denial.
“Yes,” Marta repeated. “I will tell you until you believe me.”
Femi’s face disappeared against her shoulder.
“You do not have to tell me anything.”
Marta continued rocking her.
“You do not have to give me a name. You do not have to explain what happened. You do not have to make it easier for anyone else to understand.”
Her hand moved slowly along Femi’s back.
“You only have to stay here with me.”
Femi’s fingers tightened in her shirt.
“That’s right. Hold on.”
Marta rested her cheek against the top of Femi’s head.
“You stay with me.”
They remained on the shower floor while the steam faded from the room.
Marta spoke softly.
She told Femi that she was inside Helix. That the bathroom door was closed. That Malone was outside. That Daemon was waiting. That rain still fell against the windows. That no one from that room could reach her here. Marta did not know why she imagined yellow. Perhaps because terror always possessed a color.
Femi’s breathing gradually slowed. The tension did not leave her body. It merely loosened enough for Marta to help her stand. Marta kept the towel wrapped around her.
“Can you dress?”
Femi looked toward the pile of wet clothes. Panic moved through her face.
“All right. Not those.”
Marta opened the bathroom door several inches.
Daemon stood exactly where she had left him.
The Devil nearly broke free with relief.
Femi.
His eyes moved past Marta. He saw only steam. A black towel. A glimpse of wet midnight hair.
There.
His entire body leaned toward the opening.
“What happened?”
“I need one of your shirts.”
Daemon stared at Marta’s wet clothing. Then at the towel visible through the opening.
The Devil pressed forward.
Why is Marta wet?
“Is she hurt?”
Ask her.
“Your shirt, Daemon.”
“Is she hurt?”
Marta’s face changed.
The Devil panicked harder.
WHY IS SHE NOT ANSWERING?
Daemon stepped closer.
Marta held the door.
“Daemon.”
“Tell me if she is hurt.”
“Her skin is irritated.”
The Devil stopped.
What?
Daemon’s face emptied.
“How?”
Marta hesitated.
That hesitation was worse than any answer.
HOW?
“Your shirt.”
Daemon stared at her.
The Devil began putting pieces together. Steam. Too-hot water. Marta soaked. Skin irritated. Shame.
The Devil recoiled.
No.
Daemon turned. He entered his room. His hands were steady only because violence had taught them how to be steady when the rest of him was not. He opened the dresser. Pulled out a black button-down.
The Devil whispered—
She hurt herself.
Not intentionally.
Her skin.
I know.
She hurt her skin.
Daemon gripped the shirt.
The Devil was unraveling.
Why?
Daemon knew enough to fear the answer. The Devil did not want to know. It wanted Femi. He returned to the door and held out the shirt. Marta took it through the narrow opening.
“Wait outside.”
His jaw flexed.
The Devil screamed—
NO.
Daemon obeyed.
The door closed.
The Devil lost control.
WHY DID YOU LET HER CLOSE IT AGAIN?
Because Femi is naked.
I DO NOT CARE.
She might. The Devil stopped. Daemon stared at the wood.
She might.
Yes.
A horrible silence.
Then—
Fine.
Daemon leaned against the opposite wall.
The Devil was trembling now.
But I hate this.
So do I.
Her skin is hurt.
I know.
She did it because of him.
Daemon’s eyes became cold.
Probably.
The Devil whispered—
Carr.
Daemon did not argue.
Sometime later, Marta guided Femi back into Daemon’s bedroom.
The Devil went silent the instant it saw her. The black shirt hung almost to her knees. Marta had fastened every button except the highest one. The sleeves covered Femi’s hands. Daemon’s scent clung to the fabric. Femi noticed. Her fingers curled around one cuff. The Devil saw.
Our shirt.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
The words held none of the Devil’s usual smug possession.
Only relief.
She chose our shirt.
Marta chose it.
She is holding it.
Yeah.
She knows it is ours.
Yeah.
The Devil clung to that.
Something familiar around Femi. Something belonging to this room.
This life. Now.
Not Carr.
Keep it.
She can have every fucking shirt I own.
The Devil answered instantly.
Yes.
Marta helped her onto the bed.
The black quilt with the little gray stars remained folded near the foot. Marta drew it over Femi and sat beside her. Femi lay on her side, facing the wall. The Devil hated that.
She won’t look at us.
Give her time.
She always looks at us.
Not tonight.
That frightened the Devil more than Daemon expected. Marta rubbed her back through the shirt. Slowly. The same path each time. Shoulder to waist. Then back again. The Devil watched every pass.
She lets Marta touch her.
Yeah.
Good.
“No one will shame you, little girl.”
Femi’s eyes remained open.
“We love you.”
The Devil pressed close.
Yes.
Her eyelashes trembled.
“All of us.”
The Devil became completely still. Daemon felt something strange move through it. Not violence. Not fear. Recognition.
All of us.
Marta moved a damp strand of hair from her cheek.
“We will not allow that asshole anywhere near you.”
Never.
Fear returned to Femi’s face.
The Devil saw it.
No. Don’t be afraid.
“He is not entering Helix.”
Marta’s voice became quiet and absolute.
“He is not touching you again.”
The Devil whispered—
I will die first.
Daemon corrected it.
No.
The Devil snarled.
He will.
Better.
Femi’s hands moved beneath the quilt.
You do not know that.
The Devil recoiled.
She doesn’t believe us.
Daemon watched her.
She’s afraid.
We can protect her.
We failed to stop the messages. That silenced it. For several seconds.
Then—
We did not know.
Doesn’t matter to her fear.
The Devil hated that.
“No,” Marta admitted. “I do not.”
Femi looked at her.
“But I know Daemon is standing outside that door frightening the wallpaper.”
A small breath left Femi. Not laughter. Almost. The Devil perked up.
Again.
Daemon nearly smiled.
Marta continued.
“And Malone has checked on you six times in the last twenty minutes.”
Her eyes softened.
“He believes whispering means we cannot hear his boots in the hallway.”
The Devil was suddenly offended on Malone’s behalf.
He is not subtle.
No.
Femi’s eyelids lowered.
Marta continued rubbing her back.
“You are not alone anymore.”
The Devil softened.
Never.
The words followed Femi toward sleep.
“No matter what happened before.”
Her breathing deepened.
“No matter what you believe it made you.”
The Devil stared at her.
Nothing.
Daemon listened.
It made her nothing.
What?
The Devil struggled.
It knew what it meant but not how to say it.
It did not make her dirty.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
No.
It did not make her broken.
No.
It did not make her his.
Daemon’s eyes darkened.
Never.
The Devil’s voice trembled.
She is still her.
Yeah.
Our little ghost.
Always.
Marta tucked the quilt closer around her.
“You are our little girl.”
Femi’s eyes closed.
“That’s right. Get some sleep.”
Marta remained beside her until the last tension left Femi’s fingers.
The Devil watched those fingers.
Sleeping?
Yeah.
Breathing?
Daemon watched her chest.
Yeah.
Count.
Daemon almost told it no.
Then he understood.
One.
The Devil watched.
Two.
Another rise.
Three.
Its panic began to ease.
Four.
Femi slept.
Five.
Alive.
Here.
The Devil settled.
Barely.
Marta waited several more minutes. Then she stood and crossed to the door. Malone and Daemon were in the hallway. Malone tried to look past her.
“She’s asleep.”
His shoulders lowered.
“Can I see her?”
“Quietly.”
Marta waved both men inside. Malone entered first. He stopped beside the bed. Femi looked smaller inside Daemon’s shirt, nearly buried beneath the black quilt. One hand rested near her face. The sleeve covered all but the ends of her fingers.
The Devil whispered—
Too small.
Daemon hated the thought. Malone touched the bedpost. He did not touch her. Daemon closed the door. His gaze found the redness across Femi’s knuckles.
The Devil saw it too.
Her hands.
Daemon stared. Red. Raw. Then he noticed Marta’s soaked clothing.
“What happened in there?”
Marta looked toward Femi.
“We speak softly.”
Daemon’s face emptied.Malone moved closer.
“What did you mean before?”
Marta did not answer immediately.
“What did you mean when you said you knew what this was?”
She sighed and lowered herself into the chair.
“Someone hurt our little girl badly.”
The Devil surfaced.
Who?
Malone’s expression tightened.
“We know that. She told me the man hurt her.”
“Not like this.”
The room became still. The Devil did too. Malone’s eyes moved toward the bed.
“What are you saying?”
Marta looked at Femi’s sleeping face.
“I am saying I found her on the shower floor trying to scrub herself clean.”
The Devil stopped breathing. Daemon did not.
But it felt like he did.
No.
Malone’s mouth opened. Nothing emerged.
“She signed that she was dirty.”
The Devil recoiled violently.
NO.
“No.”
The word broke inside Malone.
The Devil repeated it.
No.
Malone rubbed both hands over his face.
“No.”
She is not.
Daemon remained near the door. The Devil had gone so quiet that Marta could almost feel it listening.
“What do you think happened?” he asked.
His voice held no inflection.
Inside him, the Devil was anything but calm.
Do not say it.
Marta met his eyes.
“A woman knows when she is looking at another woman carrying that kind of shame.”
The Devil whispered—
Do not.
“Say it.”
Daemon did not know whether the command came from him or the thing inside him.
“I cannot know with certainty until Femi tells us.”
“Say what you believe.”
Marta glanced at the bed again.
“I believe our little girl was raped.”
The Devil shattered.
NO.
Daemon went perfectly still.
NO.
The word crashed through him. Not denial of Marta. Denial of reality itself.
NO.
Daemon’s fingers went numb. The Devil panicked as though the assault were happening now.
Where was she?
Daemon stared at Femi.
Where were we?
We didn’t know her.
WHERE WERE WE?
We didn’t know her.
She needed us.
Daemon’s throat tightened.
We weren’t there.
She needed someone.
I know.
She was alone.
The Devil sounded broken.
Our little ghost was alone.
Daemon shut his eyes for one second.
The Devil saw flashes it had never witnessed.
Femi. Younger. Terrified. No Daemon. No Malone. No Marta. No one coming through the door.
It could not tolerate the image.
Go back.
What?
Go back.
We can’t.
GO BACK.
Daemon’s chest hurt.
We can’t.
The Devil raged against time itself.
I WOULD HAVE KILLED HIM.
I know.
I WOULD HAVE COME.
I know.
WHY DIDN’T SHE HAVE US?
Daemon almost broke at that.
Because we hadn’t found her yet.
The Devil went silent. Then, very small—
She was alone.
Yeah.
Malone turned away. His shoulders folded. A rough sound escaped him before he covered his mouth with one hand. Marta continued softly.
“I believe the person sending those messages is the one who did it.”
The Devil changed. Panic did not disappear. It hardened.
Him.
Daemon’s gray eyes opened.
“Why?”
“The name he uses. Her reaction. The way she tried to wash him from her skin.”
The Devil looked toward Femi.
He made her do that.
No.
The Devil snarled.
He put it in her head.
Yes.
That distinction mattered. Femi had hurt her skin. But Carr had planted the poison that made her believe she needed to. The Devil’s rage became immense.
“Maybe he hurt her another way,” Malone said.
Hope made the words desperate. Marta looked at him.
“Maybe.”
Malone searched her face. She could not give him the lie he needed.
His eyes closed.
“My baby girl.”
He pressed both hands against the top of his head.
“She was alone. She was out there alone, and someone—”
The Devil flinched.
Stop saying alone.
Daemon understood.
It hurt too much.
“We do not know when it happened,” Marta said.
“I should have found her sooner.”
“This is not about you.”
“I should have—”
“Stop.”
Malone looked at her.
“If we make her pain about what we should have done, she will begin comforting us.”
The Devil went still.
That was exactly what Femi would do.
She would.
Yeah.
She would wake up and comfort Malone.
Yeah.
And us.
Probably.
The Devil recoiled from the thought.
No.
Malone’s gaze dropped.
“She has done enough.”
Yes.
Marta rose.
“When she wakes, we do not question her.”
The Devil objected instantly.
Name.
Daemon’s attention remained fixed on Femi.
“We do not demand a name,” Marta continued.
We need it.
“We do not make her describe anything.”
We need to know what he—
Daemon cut it off.
No.
The Devil snarled.
We are not making her tell us.
But—
Look at her.
The Devil looked.
Femi slept curled inside Daemon’s shirt. Raw knuckles. Damp hair. Face exhausted from crying. The Devil’s demand died.
No questions.
Good.
“We allow her to decide what she tells us and when.”
The Devil whispered reluctantly—
Her choice.
Yes.
“The messages may continue.”
The Devil sharpened.
No.
“Then we protect her from them without forcing her to relive what happened.”
Take the phone.
Daemon considered.
Maybe.
Give her another.
Maybe.
Destroy every phone in Ravenside.
No.
Worth considering.
Despite everything, Daemon nearly smiled.
“I need his name.”
“No. You want his name.”
Daemon looked at Marta. The temperature inside the room seemed to fall.
The Devil stared through him.
I need it.
Daemon understood why. The Devil was panicking beneath the rage. A threat without a face could not be hunted. A man without a name could not be found. And if the Devil could not find him— it could not guarantee he would never reach Femi again.
“I need it to find him.”
“You will find him without tearing the name out of her.”
The Devil stared at Marta. She stared back.
I hate when she is right.
Daemon almost sighed.
You always say that.
She is right too often.
After several seconds, Daemon inclined his head.
Barely a movement.
Enough.
The Devil reluctantly followed.
Fine.
Malone lowered his voice.
“You truly think the man messaging her attacked her?”
“I would stake my life upon it.”
Marta’s eyes moved to Femi.
“Whoever he is, he knows exactly what those words do to her. He is not trying to make contact.”
“What is he doing?” Malone asked.
“He is putting her back in the room where he hurt her.”
The Devil understood. Completely. Its entire existence had begun because old danger did not remain old. A smell could become a room. A sound could become a fist. A closed door could become childhood.
A voice could make the body believe decades had disappeared.
He knows.
Daemon’s gaze dropped to the phone sealed inside the plastic bag on the dresser.
My Queen.
The words waited behind the dark screen. The Devil understood cruelty. It understood how a person could turn two gentle words into a blade and slide it between old wounds.
He knows exactly where to cut.
Yeah.
He wants her afraid.
Yeah.
He wants her there again.
Daemon’s eyes became cold.
Yeah.
The Devil looked at Femi.
She is not.
No.
She is here.
Yes.
With us.
If she wants.
The Devil did not argue.
With people she chose.
Better.
Daemon crossed the room. He knelt beside the bed. Femi did not wake. His hand rose toward her face.
The Devil whispered—
Touch her.
Daemon stopped before contact.
The Devil immediately corrected itself.
No.
Daemon waited. Even asleep, the choice remained hers. His hand lowered to the quilt instead. His fingers closed around the black fabric near hers.
The Devil watched the tiny distance between their hands.
Closer.
No.
I know.
The Devil did not ask again. Daemon looked at the redness across her knuckles.
The panic returned.
She did that trying to get him off her.
Daemon swallowed.
Yeah.
But he wasn’t there.
No.
She knew he wasn’t there.
Probably.
And her body still believed he was.
Yeah.
The Devil did not understand how to fight that. A man could be killed. A door could be broken. A threat could be hunted. But memory? Shame? A touch that existed years after the hands were gone? The Devil had no throat to close around that. No bones to break.
For the first time, its helplessness became greater than its rage.
How do we kill something that already happened?
Daemon stared at Femi.
We don’t.
The Devil hated the answer.
Then how do we protect her?
Daemon looked at the sleeping woman.
We remind her she’s here.
And if she forgets?
We remind her again.
And again?
As many times as she needs.
The Devil went quiet.
Then—
Forever?
If that’s what it takes.
The Devil settled. Not satisfied. But listening.
Malone watched the scar along Daemon’s cheek pull beneath a terrible smile.
Not the smile Femi drew from him. Not warmth. Not surrender. This was the expression that had made armed men forget their courage.
The Devil whispered—
I will find him.
Daemon remained beside Femi.
The voice came through his mouth.
“I will find him.”
Rain struck the windows. Femi slept beneath his stars. The Devil looked at the raw skin upon her hand. Its panic became something colder.
He made our little ghost believe she was dirty.
Daemon’s fingers tightened in the quilt. The Devil remembered Femi beneath the shower. Though it had not seen her, imagination supplied too much. Scrubbing. Burning skin. Crying without sound. Trying to remove a man who was not there.
Its rage almost fractured beneath another wave of fear.
She hurt herself trying to escape him.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
Don’t say it like that.
But she did.
She was trying to survive a memory. The Devil went silent. That language it understood. Survival. It had spent a lifetime doing terrible things in the name of that word.
Then we teach her another way.
Daemon’s gaze softened.
Yeah.
The Devil looked toward the bathroom door.
No more burning herself.
If we can help it.
No more scrubbing.
We don’t command her body.
The Devil recoiled from the correction.
Then understood.
Ask.
Yes.
Stay outside doors when she closes them.
Yes.
The Devil hated that one.
I still hate that.
I know.
Let Marta go first if Femi needs her.
Yes.
A pause.
I hate that too.
Daemon almost smiled.
I know.
The Devil looked at Femi again.
But she came back wearing our shirt.
Daemon’s expression softened.
Yeah.
She held the cuff.
Yeah.
The Devil clung to that tiny thing.
Femi choosing something that smelled like them. Something familiar. Something safe enough to wear against skin she had just tried to scrub raw.
Its voice became unsteady.
She came back to us.
Daemon looked down.
Not all the way.
Not yet.
But she came back into the room. That was enough. For tonight. The Devil’s attention shifted toward the phone. Carr existed somewhere beyond these walls.
The Devil could not travel backward nineteen years—or however long ago it had happened. It could not enter the yellow room before Femi. Could not catch her before she fell. Could not put itself between her and the man who had hurt her. That knowledge would haunt it. But Carr had made one mistake. He had returned. The past had stepped into the present. That meant the Devil could finally reach it.
Its smile returned.
Slowly.
Terribly.
He came back.
Daemon looked toward the dark phone.
Yeah.
He should not have done that.
No.
He thinks she is still alone.
Daemon’s gray eyes hardened.
She’s not.
The Devil’s voice dropped into something almost gentle.
Never again.
Then it looked at Femi. Sleeping. Breathing. Wrapped in Daemon’s shirt. The panic had not vanished. It remained beneath everything. A new terror had entered the Devil’s world tonight. Not losing a fight. Not dying. Not being captured. Femi hurting while it stood on the other side of a door and could do nothing.
The Devil hated helplessness. So it would learn. Learn to wait. Learn to ask. Learn when protection meant entering. Learn when protection meant staying outside. Learn how to sit beside someone whose wounds could not be killed.
But Carr was different. Carr had a body. A name. A pulse. And the Devil understood those things very well. It stared toward the phone.
“I will find him,” the Devil whispered.
Daemon’s hand remained curled in the quilt beside Femi’s.
The creature’s smile widened.
“And I will end him.”
Then Femi shifted in her sleep. Barely. Her covered fingers moved toward Daemon’s hand. The Devil forgot Carr instantly.
Little ghost.
Daemon froze.
Her fingertips stopped less than an inch from his. Not touching. Almost. The Devil stared at that tiny distance.
Don’t move.
Daemon didn’t.
She came closer.
Yeah.
Do not frighten her.
I won’t.
Femi remained asleep. Her hand rested there. Near his. The Devil watched her breathe.
One.
Two.
Three.
Its panic finally loosened.
Not gone.
Never gone.
But quieter.
Because their little ghost was here. And when she woke, they would not ask what Carr had done. They would not demand the room. The blood. The pain. The name. They would give Femi what Carr had taken from her once.
Choice.
The Devil stared at the small hand beside theirs.
Hers.
Daemon closed his eyes.
Yeah.
Her body.
Yeah.
Her story.
Yeah.
Her choice.
Always.
The Devil settled beside her. Still frightened. Still furious. Still listening to every breath. And for tonight, that would have to be enough.
Daemon lowered his hand to the quilt instead. His fingers closed around the black fabric near hers. Malone watched the scar along his cheek pull beneath a terrible smile. Not the smile Femi drew from him.
Not warmth.
Not surrender.
This was the expression that had made armed men forget their courage.
I will find him the Devil whispered.
Rain struck the windows.
Femi slept beneath his stars.
And I will end him.
Carr Booth watched four men break into the motel room where he had first possessed his queen. Rain silvered the security feed. The men came through both doors at once. Two entered from the corridor.
One broke through the adjoining room.
The fourth waited beneath the bedroom window—the same window Femi had climbed through years ago while Carr washed her blood from his body.
Carr reclined in the leather chair behind his desk.
The study around him was dark except for the blue glow of the monitors and the low fire burning beneath the marble mantel. Beyond the windows, his estate slept behind iron gates, armed guards, and twelve acres of private land.
No one entered without his permission. No one escaped without it either. On the center screen, a pale-haired man crossed the motel room with a gun held low against his thigh.
Carr leaned forward.
Daemon.
The Devil.
The creature who believed Femi belonged beneath his protection. Two other men tore the room apart. They pulled open drawers. Cut through the mattress. Removed the vent covers. One of them searched beneath the yellow curtains Carr had ordered for the room.
Carr smiled.
They would find nothing.
No fingerprints.
No hair.
No camera.
No receipt linking the room to Carr Booth. He had left behind only the burner phone, placed precisely where a competent man would discover it. Carr wanted them to know the room existed. He wanted them to understand that Femi’s past had found her.
The Devil reached the bathroom. He stared at the empty shower. Something changed in his face. Carr’s smile widened.
“Did she tell you?” he asked the image. “Did my queen finally tell you what happened here?”
Daemon turned toward the hidden camera. For one brief second, it appeared he was looking directly at Carr. The illusion pleased him. Then another man called from the bedroom. Daemon looked away.
Carr touched a button on the console.
The motel feed died.
Every screen went black.
By the time the Devil found the camera, it would contain no signal and no stored footage. Carr’s people would remove every remaining trace before sunrise. The room had served its purpose. Carr poured another measure of scotch. He should have left the motel years ago. There had been no reason to keep paying for it after Femi disappeared.
But Carr liked knowing the room remained exactly as she had left it. The yellow curtains. The dark wooden bed. The broken latch on the window. He had replaced that latch once.
Then changed his mind and returned the damaged one.
The scratches in the wood were hers. He sometimes touched them when he visited. Proof that his queen had once been there. Proof that she had been real. Carr selected another file.
The center monitor came alive again.
Femi appeared beneath a Wolfwater streetlamp.
Eighteen years old.
Thin.
Exhausted.
Beautiful.
She lay on top of several blankets beneath the Wolfwater Bridge, a battered backpack beneath her head. Darkness surrounded the homeless camp. Small fires burned inside metal barrels, and the silhouettes of sleeping bodies covered the concrete.
Femi was awake.
She held a book beneath the weak pool of light cast by the streetlamp.
Carr watched her turn a page.
The footage had been taken from inside a parked car. He had paid a man to follow her after she finished cleaning the office building each night. At first, Carr believed she had an apartment somewhere in Wolfwater.
A room.
A relative.
Perhaps a man.
The thought of another man waiting for her had kept Carr awake. Then the investigator followed her beneath the bridge. Carr remembered the pleasure of learning that no one waited for Femi.
No father.
No brother.
No lover.
She belonged to no one.
She was simply alone. On the screen, Femi bit her lower lip. Her finger moved slowly across the page. Carr paused the video. He stared at her mouth. She did that when she concentrated. Sometimes, while cleaning his office, she would stop beside his desk to read whatever document he had left open.
She never touched anything she had not been assigned to clean. She only leaned close enough to read. Then her teeth would catch her lower lip. Her finger would trace the edge of the paper.
Carr had wondered then what else she did when no one watched. He wondered now. He rewound the recording. Femi turned the page. Bit her lip. Dragged one finger across the words.
Carr watched it again.
And again.
“You were always such a tempting little thing.”
His gaze moved toward the photographs arranged across his desk. They covered nearly every surface. Old images from the office security cameras. Femi pushing a cleaning cart through an empty corridor. Femi polishing the glass doors in the lobby. Femi standing alone inside the elevator. Femi carrying a small paper bag toward the homeless camp at dawn.
Then came the newer photographs.
Femi entering Helix. Femi leaving the Riverward farmers market with Malone. Femi riding behind Daemon on his motorcycle. Femi beneath the weeping willow beside the lake. She was no longer the thin girl who cleaned Carr’s office buildings at night.
She had filled out.
Life had softened some of the sharp edges hunger placed upon her body. Her hips had become fuller. Her waist curved beneath the simple dresses she wore. Her face had matured, although the same careful watchfulness remained inside her green eyes.
Her midnight hair now fell almost to her knees.
In one photograph, the wind had lifted it behind her like a dark veil.
Carr picked up the picture.
“You are glorious, my little queen.”
He traced the edge of her figure with his thumb. Femi sat beneath the willow with a book open in her lap. Daemon occupied the ground beside her. Too close. His arm rested behind her. His pale head was turned toward her face, and Femi wore a small smile Carr had never seen directed at him.
Carr’s hand tightened around the photograph.
The glossy paper bent. He forced his fingers to relax. Daemon had confused proximity with ownership. That mistake would be corrected. Carr placed the photograph down and selected another.
Femi asleep inside a car. Femi laughing silently in Helix’s kitchen. Each image made the hunger inside Carr grow.
Years had passed since the motel.
Years since Femi escaped through that window while he used the bathroom. He had only left her alone for a few minutes. Long enough to clean himself. Long enough to give her time to understand what had happened between them. Carr believed she would be waiting when he returned.
Frightened, perhaps.
Confused.
But waiting.
Instead, the bed had been empty. The curtains moved in the open window. Blood marked the sheets. Carr searched for her all night. He found Lily near the river the following morning, wet to the knees and crying. She claimed Femi had disappeared. Carr knew Lily was lying. He also knew fear would keep her useful.
It had—for a time.
Carr lifted his glass.
“This time will be different.”
He studied the most recent photograph. Femi stood outside Helix in an old blue dress. Her hair had been braided over one shoulder. She held a glass of lemonade. Daemon watched her from inside the garage. Even in a still image, the Devil’s attention looked absolute.
Carr disliked that. He disliked the way Daemon looked at her as though Femi had made a choice. As though her choice mattered.
“This time, I will keep you.”
Carr brought the picture closer.
“There will be no window to escape through once I have you.”
His laughter moved through the empty study. The phone rang. Carr looked at the screen.
Lily.
His amusement disappeared. She had two days remaining. Carr drank his scotch and allowed the phone to ring again. And again. He answered on the third ring.
“This had better be good news.”
Lily began speaking too quickly. Carr leaned back and listened. Daemon had moved Femi into his room. Malone had closed Helix early. Marta refused to leave Femi alone. Every outside door was now guarded. Lily could not reach the upstairs rooms without being noticed. Carr looked at Femi’s photograph.
“I did not ask for a list of your failures.”
“I’m trying,” Lily said. “But they’re watching her. The messages scared her, and now—”
“They were meant to scare her.”
“You should have warned me.”
“Why?”
“I could have gotten her out before you sent them.”
“You have had years to bring her to me.”
“I didn’t know you still wanted her.”
Carr’s gaze sharpened.
“You knew.”
Silence came through the phone.
“You always knew.”
“I thought you’d forgotten.”
“A man does not forget his queen.”
Lily released a shaky breath.
“Femi won’t answer my messages. She won’t even look at me when I’m inside Helix.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
“I need more time.”
“No.”
“Carr—”
“You have two days.”
“I can’t just drag her out. Daemon will kill me.”
Carr examined his scotch.
“The Devil is not your greatest concern.”
Lily became quiet.
“You owe me two hundred thousand dollars,” Carr continued. “That debt has waited long enough.”
“I paid you.”
“No. You offered me Femi.”
“And you got her.”
Carr’s fingers tightened around the glass.
“For one night.”
“That wasn’t my fault. She escaped.”
“You locked her inside the room.”
“I did what you asked.”
“You underestimated her.”
“So did you.”
Carr’s expression became still.
On the other end of the call, Lily realized her mistake.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You have two days, Lily.”
“Please.”
“Deliver my queen, or you will pay your debt yourself.”
“What does that mean?”
“You already know.”
Carr ended the call. He placed the phone beside Femi’s photographs. Lily had always been a disappointment. Femi had secured her the job at Carr’s office building. She had spoken to the night supervisor through notes and gestures, asking whether her friend could work beside her.
Femi had trusted Lily.
Carr had watched both women through the security cameras. Femi cleaned. Lily stole. Pens first. Then unopened food from the executive kitchen. Small electronics disappeared next. Company phones. Tablet computers. Jewelry left inside offices. Lily took anything she believed no one would miss. By the time security cataloged the losses, she had stolen nearly three hundred thousand dollars in property.
Carr could have called the police. He chose not to. Lily had something more valuable than money. She had Femi’s trust. When Carr explained the debt, Lily cried. She begged. Then she offered information.
Where Femi slept.
When she worked.
Which streets she used.
What frightened her.
What she liked.
Strawberries.
Books.
Quiet rooms.
Lily spoke until she ran out of secrets. When that did not clear the debt, she offered Femi herself.
Carr only wants dinner, Lily had told her.
Grow up.
Then she led Femi into the motel bedroom and locked the door from the outside. Carr smiled at the memory. He had expected gratitude from Lily afterward. Instead, she appeared at his estate weeks later wearing Femi’s strawberry perfume and Femi’s clothing.
Carr had been drinking. For one moment, when she entered his darkened bedroom, the scent convinced him Femi had returned. He drew Lily into his bed before the lie became visible. Lily allowed it. Perhaps she believed she could take Femi’s place. The idea was absurd. Lily possessed none of Femi’s quiet sweetness.
None of her careful grace. She spoke too much. Wanted too openly. Took without understanding the beauty of restraint. Carr had awakened disgusted by the mistake. He would make it again if necessary. A body was a body when the room was dark enough and the scent was right.
Femi would forgive him. Once she learned what Lily had done, she would understand. Carr had never betrayed his queen. Lily had deceived him. Just as Daemon had deceived Femi into believing the Devil could offer protection. Femi needed someone civilized. A man with land.
Money.
Influence.
Someone who could provide the life she had been denied. Carr had attempted to tell her that when she cleaned his office. The first night, he asked her name. Femi looked at him and said nothing. The second night, he asked whether she enjoyed books. Again, no answer. The third night, Carr blocked the office doorway so she could not leave before answering him.
Femi’s face changed.
Fear entered her green eyes.
She abandoned the cleaning cart and fled down the corridor.
Carr had cursed himself afterward. His queen was timid. Sweet. Careful. He had approached too quickly. So Carr learned patience. When she entered his office after that, he pretended to be on the phone. He discussed business while she emptied the trash. He laughed softly while she dusted the shelves. He spoke about restaurants, travel, and the estate as though someone on the other end of the call had asked.
Femi listened. Carr saw it in the pauses of her hands. She learned about him without being forced to answer. Eventually, she stopped fleeing whenever he entered the room. Carr mistook that for trust. When Lily told him Femi was mute, everything made sense. Femi had not ignored him. She had been unable to answer.
His poor little queen had been trapped inside silence, waiting for a man patient enough to understand her.
Carr believed he was that man.
Even after the motel.
Even after she ran.
Especially after she ran.
Fear had confused her.
Wolfwater had hidden her.
The people inside Helix had filled her head with lies. Now the Devil believed he could keep her. Carr looked toward the dark center monitor. For several seconds, he imagined Daemon standing inside the abandoned motel room, discovering the dead phone and understanding that he had been deliberately led there.
The thought amused him.
The Devil could guard Helix.
He could lock every door.
He could sit beside Femi’s bed and promise that no one would touch her.
None of it mattered.
Lily had two days.
And if Lily failed, Carr possessed other methods.
He lifted Femi’s photograph and pressed his mouth to her forehead. The same place he had kissed her after the motel bed.
“My queen.”
Femi had disappeared into Wolfwater once. She would not disappear again. Carr placed the photograph at the center of his desk.
It was time for her to come home.
Daemon returned to Helix angry.
The Devil was worse.
Nothing.
Daemon pushed through the rear entrance.
Rain followed him inside.
Nothing.
Water darkened his pale hair and traveled from the shoulders of his leather jacket to the floor.
I know.
No prints.
I know.
No hair.
I was there.
No blood.
Daemon’s jaw tightened.
Unfortunately.
No name.
That one hurt.
The motel had given them nothing. No fingerprints. No hair. No name written carelessly across a receipt. The hidden camera had been dead by the time he found it, its storage removed and its connection severed from somewhere beyond the building.
The burner phone offered nothing but three messages and a number that no longer existed. Daemon had known they were coming. Worse, he had wanted them to come.
The Devil had been delighted when they found the camera.
There.
For half a second, it had believed they finally possessed something.
A connection.
A trail.
Someone watching.
Then Daemon discovered the storage had been removed.
The Devil had gone very still.
He knew we were coming.
Yeah.
He watched us search.
Probably.
He watched us find nothing.
Daemon’s anger had sharpened. The Devil’s had become humiliation. Daemon understood traps. He did not enjoy discovering he had walked into one.
The Devil despised it.
He played with us.
“For now.”
I do not like games I did not agree to play.
Daemon almost laughed.
That was rich coming from the creature that had spent the past week begging Femi to chase it through a park.
The Devil immediately objected.
That is different.
How?
Little ghost kisses us when she wins.
Daemon’s mouth twitched.
Fair.
The humor lasted less than a second. Then the Devil remembered why they had been at the motel. Femi. The shower. Raw skin. Marta saying the word neither of them could stop hearing.
The Devil recoiled.
Home.
Daemon crossed Helix.
Malone sat at a table beneath the service window.
He looked up when Daemon entered.
“Well?”
“Nothing.”
The Devil snarled.
Do not say it like that.
Daemon ignored it.
Malone frowned.
“Nothing at all?”
Daemon removed his jacket and threw it over a chair.
“The room was clean.”
Too clean.
“The phone?”
“Burner.”
Dead.
“Cameras?”
“One. He killed the feed while we were inside.”
Malone became still.
“He watched you search.”
“Yes.”
And enjoyed it.
“Son of a bitch.”
The Devil agreed.
Yes.
Daemon lowered himself into the chair across from him. The Devil paced behind his ribs. It wanted a name. A face. Something alive enough to break. Something physical. It had discovered that night how much it hated enemies it could not touch. Memories. Shame. Fear. Those had no bones. No throats. No pulse beneath its fingers. The man who caused them did. Somewhere.
The Devil wanted him desperately.
Daemon had only words.
My Queen.
The Devil snarled.
Not yours.
Did you miss me?
No.
We will be together again.
The Devil’s answer came immediately.
No, you fucking will not.
Daemon looked toward the ceiling. Femi slept upstairs in his bed. Marta remained with her.
The Devil quieted.
Little ghost.
When Daemon left for the motel, Femi had been curled beneath the black quilt wearing his shirt. Her fingers held one sleeve near her face, as if some part of her found comfort in his scent even while unconscious.
The Devil had nearly refused to leave.
Stay.
We need to find him.
Stay with her.
If I find him, he cannot reach her again. That argument had won. Barely.
Now the Devil hated him for it.
We left her.
She’s with Marta.
We left.
To find him.
And found nothing.
Daemon’s hand curled on the table.
I know.
The Devil pressed harder.
She was frightened.
I know.
Her hands were red.
I know.
She wore our shirt.
Daemon closed his eyes.
I know.
The Devil’s voice became smaller.
She held the sleeve.
Yeah.
And we left.
Daemon’s jaw flexed.
Enough.
The Devil did not stop.
We should have stayed.
“We were trying to protect her.”
Malone looked at him. Daemon realized he had spoken aloud. The Devil went silent. Malone studied him for a moment. Then poured whiskey into a glass and pushed it across the table. Daemon did not touch it.
“I should have found something.”
“The bastard planned ahead.”
“I should have found him.”
“You will.”
“When?”
Malone had no answer.
The Devil did.
Soon.
Daemon stared at the untouched whiskey.
You don’t know that.
I need it to be true.
That silenced Daemon. The Devil rarely needed anything. It wanted. Demanded. Took. This was different. It needed Carr found because somewhere upstairs Femi was sleeping after trying to scrub memory from her skin.
The Devil did not know how to fight that. It knew how to fight men. So give it a man. A name. A face. A pulse. Something it understood. Femi’s phone buzzed on the table between them.
The Devil lunged.
HIM.
Daemon’s hand moved before the screen fully illuminated. Malone moved at the same time. Both men stopped.
The Devil stared.
The message came from a saved contact.
LILY
The Devil’s panic changed instantly.
Her.
Malone’s face hardened.
He picked up the phone.
Femi, please answer me.
Another message followed.
I know you hate me, but I still love you.
The Devil laughed.
There was nothing pleasant in the sound.
Love.
Malone made a disgusted sound.
The Devil agreed.
She has an interesting definition.
Then an address appeared beneath it.
Meet me here tomorrow. We can talk alone. Maybe we can fix our friendship.
The Devil stopped pacing. Completely.
Daemon felt it lift its head.
Alone.
Malone read the location twice. A small apartment across town.
“She has some nerve, that one.”
He turned the screen toward Daemon. Daemon read every word. The Devil read them again. Then again. Not because it needed to. Because something had changed.
Alone.
Yeah.
Tomorrow.
Yeah.
After Carr contacted her.
Daemon sat straighter. The Devil became very quiet. Not frightened now. Thinking.
Lily had been inside Helix.
Lily had watched Femi.
Lily had photographed her.
Lily had stolen from her.
Lily had sold information about her.
Lily had taken money connected to Femi.
Lily had known Femi when she was homeless.
She had known her before Malone. Before Helix. Before Daemon. Before the Devil. And Lily had been connected to Carr before.
The Devil whispered—
She knows.
Maybe.
She knows.
Something.
Enough.
Daemon’s gaze sharpened.
When Marta removed Lily from Daemon’s room, Lily had said something that returned to him now.
I was spared.
Femi had asked for mercy.
The Devil remembered that too.
Why?
Daemon had wondered then. Now the question felt different. What had Lily done that required mercy?
The Devil answered.
Something to our little ghost.
Daemon’s fingers tightened.
Something before us.
Maybe.
Something Femi forgave.
Daemon stared at the message.
The Devil’s voice lowered.
Little ghost forgives monsters.
Daemon’s chest tightened.
Yeah.
Even us.
We’re not discussing that.
She thanked me.
I remember.
She kissed us.
I fucking remember.
The Devil almost became distracted. Almost. Then—
Lily knew.
Daemon looked toward the stairs. Femi had begged for Lily to be spared. Not because Lily was innocent. Because Femi was Femi. Merciful even toward people who hurt her.
The Devil’s voice sharpened.
Perhaps not everything.
Daemon nodded slightly.
Enough.
“We should have a chat with Lily.”
The Devil purred.
Yes.
Malone studied him.
“You think she—”
“She might.”
“You think she knows who is sending those messages?”
“She knew Femi before us.”
The Devil disliked those words.
Before us.
Yes.
I do not like that.
You weren’t exactly available.
Still.
Malone’s expression darkened.
“She was there when Femi lived beneath the bridge.”
“Yes.”
The Devil’s mood worsened.
She had our little ghost before we did.
Daemon almost corrected it. Then understood what it meant. Not possession. Access. History. Lily had known Femi during years Daemon knew almost nothing about. Years Femi rarely discussed. Years when no one had protected her.
“And she suddenly wants to meet alone the day after this man contacts Femi.”
“Yes.”
Not coincidence.
No.
“I am going to break her neck.”
“No.”
The Devil immediately objected.
Why not?
Malone looked at him.
Daemon took Femi’s phone.
“You are not?”
“I did not say that.”
The Devil smiled.
Better.
Malone glanced toward the stairs.
“What are you thinking?”
“Lily wants Femi alone.”
“She isn’t getting her.”
“No.”
The Devil became absolute.
Never.
Daemon opened the message thread. His thumbs hovered above the screen. Malone leaned forward.
“What are you doing?”
“Answering.”
The Devil realized it one heartbeat before Malone did. Then it became delighted.
Oh.
“As Femi?”
“Yes.”
Oh, I like this.
“That is her phone.”
“I am aware.”
“She is going to be furious.”
“I hope she is.”
The Devil paused.
Then understood.
Angry.
Yeah.
Not frightened.
Exactly.
Malone frowned. Daemon’s gaze remained on the screen.
“Anger would be better than fear.”
The Devil softened.
Yes.
It remembered Femi behind the bathroom door. Scrubbing. Crying. Afraid.
It would take furious Femi any day. Femi glaring. Femi pointing. Femi signing sharply enough to make Marta laugh. Femi smacking Daemon’s arm because he had done something stupid.
Angry little ghost.
Daemon’s mouth almost curved.
She’ll probably be pissed.
Good.
She may not speak to us.
The Devil reconsidered.
Less good.
Daemon deleted the address Lily had suggested from the reply field.
He entered another.
LUNAR PARK MUSEUM
The Devil recognized it.
Old amusement park.
Yeah.
River.
Yeah.
Three buildings.
Yeah.
West entrance.
Exactly.
The Devil became more interested with every detail.
Dark after seven.
Yes.
Restoration barriers.
Yes.
Two disabled cameras.
Daemon paused.
You remember that?
You remember that.
Fair.
Malone read it over his shoulder.
“Why there?”
“It closes at seven. Restoration work has left the west entrance unsecured.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know things.”
The Devil whispered—
We know many things.
“That sentence is never reassuring when you say it.”
I like Malone.
Daemon continued typing.
Tomorrow. Ten o’clock. Lunar Park Museum. Come alone.
The Devil read it. Then something inside Daemon began to vibrate. Not rage. Excitement.
Send it.
Wait.
SEND IT.
Daemon checked the wording.
It is fine.
Patience.
We have been patient.
Daemon almost laughed.
For less than thirty seconds.
An eternity.
Daemon pressed send.
The Devil practically purred.
There.
Malone watched the message disappear.
“Femi is not going anywhere near that museum.”
“No.”
Absolutely fucking not.
“Then who is Lily meeting?”
The scar along Daemon’s cheek pulled beneath a cold smile.
The Devil answered first.
Us.
“Me.”
The Devil immediately corrected him.
Us.
Daemon didn’t argue.
Malone stared at him.
“You believe she will come?”
“She thinks Femi has finally answered.”
The Devil’s excitement grew.
She thinks our little ghost will walk through that door.
Yeah.
But she gets us.
Yeah.
The Devil laughed. Quiet. Predatory. Delighted.
I like this game.
Daemon almost smiled.
“And if this is a trap?”
“Then someone else will come with her.”
The Devil went still.
Then—
Men?
Possibly.
Armed?
Probably.
The Devil became ecstatic.
Oh.
Daemon felt the old creature stretch beneath his skin. The one that loved gunpowder. The one that loved certainty. The one that understood a room full of armed men better than a woman crying behind a locked bathroom door.
Please let her bring men.
Daemon’s mouth twitched.
Control yourself.
I have been very upset.
That’s not an excuse.
It is an excellent excuse.
Several armed men made better evidence. They also made better trails. Someone would talk. Someone would carry a phone. Someone would know a location. Someone would know Carr.
The Devil whispered—
Finally.
Malone looked at the staircase again.
“We should tell Marta.”
“Yes.”
“And Femi.”
The Devil’s excitement faltered.
Daemon’s smile vanished.
“After she wakes.”
Yes.
Malone studied him.
“She may tell you not to go.”
Daemon looked upstairs.
The Devil immediately said—
We go.
Daemon thought of Femi asleep. Her raw hands. Her fear. Her choice.
“Then I will listen.”
The Devil went silent.
Malone’s eyebrows rose.
“And?”
“And I will go after she finishes.”
The Devil laughed.
There he is.
“That is not listening.”
“I did not say I would obey.”
Correct.
Daemon paused. The Devil did too.
Then it remembered.
But if she asks us to stay?
Daemon looked toward the ceiling. That was different. The Devil knew it. Femi asking because she wanted control over him was one thing. Femi asking because she was terrified he would not come home—
The Devil’s excitement softened.
We promised to come home.
Yeah.
Always.
We’ll figure it out when she wakes. The Devil accepted that reluctantly.
Fine.
The phone buzzed. Both Daemon and the Devil looked down.
Lily had replied.
Thank you.
The Devil stared.
Idiot.
A second message arrived immediately.
I promise it will only be us.
Daemon read it. The Devil did too. Then it laughed. A low sound rolled from Daemon’s chest. Malone looked at him. Daemon stared at the lie.
“Now we know.”
“Know what?”
“She intends to bring someone.”
Malone looked at the screen.
“How can you tell?”
“Because she promised she would not.”
The Devil purred.
Definitely men.
Maybe.
Armed men.
Probably.
Carr?
Daemon’s smile disappeared.
Maybe.
The Devil became almost giddy.
Carr.
Don’t count on it.
But imagine.
I am.
He walks through the door expecting his queen.
Daemon’s eyes darkened.
The Devil continued.
And finds me.
Daemon felt something cold move through him. Not me?
The Devil considered.
Us.
Better.
But I would like to speak first.
Absolutely not.
One sentence.
No.
Hello, Carr.
Daemon’s mouth twitched.
No.
Hello, King.
That’s terrible.
The Devil seemed delighted with itself.
I thought so.
Malone stared at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Coward.
Daemon set the phone on the table.
The Devil immediately objected.
Keep it.
“Why?”
Malone frowned.
“You talking to him?”
Daemon ignored him.
If Lily sends anything else.
Daemon picked the phone back up.
Malone shook his head.
“I hate when the two of you agree.”
The Devil brightened.
He knows.
Daemon looked at Malone.
“You should.”
Across Ravenside, Lily smiled at her phone.
Femi had answered.
After weeks of silence.
After every apology had gone unread or unanswered, Femi had finally agreed to meet her.
Lily reread the message.
Tomorrow. Ten o’clock. Lunar Park Museum. Come alone.
The place made her frown.
Lunar Park Museum occupied the remains of the city’s oldest amusement park. Its exhibits filled three restored buildings near the river. Antique carousel horses stood behind glass. Rusted ride cars hung from the ceiling. Mechanical moon-faced figures smiled from darkened displays.
During the day, families crowded its halls.
After closing, the old park became empty.
Security patrolled the grounds, but several galleries remained under restoration. Temporary walls divided the west wing, and construction crews had disabled two cameras near the delivery entrance.
Femi could have chosen a café.
A park bench.
Somewhere public.
Instead, she wanted to meet after hours.
Lily told herself it meant Femi was still ashamed of being seen with her.
That was fine.
Privacy would make Carr’s work easier.
She only needed to get Femi through the door.
Carr’s men could do the rest.
Lily selected his number. It rang once. Twice. Three times. He answered on the fourth.
“This had better be good news.”
Lily stood and crossed to the window.
“She’s going to meet me.”
Silence.
“At Lunar Park Museum,” Lily continued. “After hours tomorrow.”
“What time?”
“Ten.”
“Which entrance?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Find out.”
“I can get her inside.”
“You had better.”
Lily looked at her reflection in the window.
“This wipes out my debt, right?”
Carr said nothing.
“Carr?”
“We will discuss you after I retrieve my queen.”
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
“Your queen.”
“What?”
“What about me?” Lily spoke.
Carr’s voice became colder.
“This is not about you.”
“You said you wanted us both.”
“I said whatever kept you useful.”
Lily’s face burned.
“You gave me money.”
“You stole considerably more.”
“You took me to your bed.”
“That was a mistake.”
Lily gripped the windowsill.
“You didn’t act like it was a mistake.”
“I was drunk.”
“You called me beautiful.”
“I thought you were Femi.”
The words struck harder than any insult. Lily stared at her reflection. Her expensive silk robe. Her long dark hair. Her carefully painted mouth. She had worn Femi’s strawberry perfume that night. She had entered Carr’s bedroom without turning on the light.
For a few hours, he had touched her with the hunger he reserved for Femi. Lily believed the mistake meant she could become what he wanted. She had been trying ever since.
“Femi doesn’t want you,” Lily said.
“She will.”
“She ran from you.”
“She was frightened.”
“She hates you.”
“My queen does not know what she feels.”
The certainty in his voice repulsed Lily.
It also made jealousy twist inside her.
“What if she runs again?”
“She will have nowhere to run.”
“And after you have her? What about me?”
Carr’s patience ended.
“You are a thief and a whore. What about you?”
Lily stepped back from the window.
“You didn’t mind when I was in your bed.”
“It was a mistake I will not repeat.”
“Carr—”
“Bring me Femi.”
“I am doing everything you asked.”
“Then do it without begging for rewards you were never promised.”
“You promised to clear the debt.”
“We will discuss the debt after my queen is secured.”
“That isn’t what we agreed.”
“Your agreements became meaningless when you stole from me.”
“I gave you Femi once.”
“And you allowed her to escape.”
“I locked the door.”
“You failed.”
“So did you.”
Silence entered the call. Lily recognized her mistake too late.
Carr’s voice became very quiet.
“Bring me my queen.”
“You need me.”
“No. I require you to perform one final task.”
“And if I refuse?”
“You have forty-eight hours to remember what happens to thieves.”
Fear moved coldly along Lily’s spine. She hated him for causing it. She hated Femi more. Femi had done nothing to earn Carr’s obsession. She had worn ugly clothes, cleaned offices, and slept beneath a bridge.
Still, Carr had watched her. Wanted her. Saved her photographs. Lily had dressed for him. Gone to his bed. Given him everything he claimed a woman should offer. He remembered only the perfume she borrowed from Femi.
“What about Daemon?” Lily asked.
“What about him?”
“He’ll come for her.”
“Then he will die.”
“You don’t know what he is.”
“I know exactly what he is.”
“No, you don’t.”
Carr laughed.
“A damaged man with a theatrical reputation.”
“He is the Devil.”
“Then tomorrow I will teach the Devil that queens belong to kings.” Lily closed her eyes.
For one foolish moment, she imagined warning Daemon. She could tell him everything. Carr. The museum. The men waiting to take Femi. Daemon might forgive her. He might understand that Lily had been frightened too.
Perhaps, once Carr was gone, Daemon would finally see her differently.
Then she remembered him throwing her blouse into the hallway.
Do not mistake her mercy for your importance.
Humiliation returned. No. Daemon would never forgive her. He would always choose Femi. Carr would always choose Femi. Every man looked past Lily toward the quiet woman who did not even know what to do with their attention.
“Now bring me my queen,” Carr roared.
The call ended. Lily lowered the phone. Her reflection stared back at her from the dark window. Beautiful. Expensive. Unwanted. She looked down at Femi’s message.
Come alone.
A bitter smile touched her mouth. Femi still trusted too easily. Tomorrow, she would enter Lunar Park Museum expecting an old friend.
Instead, Carr’s men would be waiting.
Lily pressed her thumb against the screen.
Of course. Only us.
She sent the lie.
Across the city, the message reached Helix.
Femi’s phone vibrated beneath Daemon’s hand.
The Devil rose instantly.
Her.
Daemon looked down.
Of course. Only us.
The Devil stared at the message. Then laughed. Not the sound it made before violence. Not quite. This was anticipation. Pure and terrible. Lily believed Femi would be waiting inside Lunar Park Museum.
Carr believed his queen would be delivered. Neither understood that Femi would never enter the building.
The Devil whispered—
Our little ghost stays home.
“Yes.”
Malone looked toward him. Daemon didn’t explain.
The Devil continued.
Warm.
“Yes.”
Safe.
“As safe as we can make her.”
With Marta.
“Yes.”
Malone.
The older man raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
Harlon.
“If necessary.”
Everyone.
Daemon looked toward the stairs.
“Everyone.”
The Devil settled. Satisfied with that part. Then its attention returned to the message.
And we go to the museum.
Daemon’s scar pulled beneath a smile.
“Yes.”
The Devil became delighted.
Lily walks in expecting mercy.
Maybe.
Carr’s men walk in expecting a frightened woman.
Likely.
Carr expects his queen.
Daemon’s smile vanished at the word.
The Devil’s grew. Because for the first time that night, it had something it understood. A room. An entrance. An enemy. A trap. Violence with edges. Danger it could touch.
The Devil whispered—
Good.
Daemon picked up his whiskey. He finally drank. The Devil waited beneath his skin. Excited. Watchful. Hungry.
Tomorrow, Femi would not walk into Lunar Park Museum. She would not see Lily. She would not see Carr’s men. She would not be asked to remember yellow curtains. She would not be used as bait. She would remain exactly where the Devil wanted her.
Not because she belonged to it. Not because it could command her. Because someone had tried to use her fear to bring her back into a cage. And the Devil intended to step into that cage in her place.
It looked at Lily’s final message.
Only us.
The Devil’s smile widened.
Yes.
Daemon set down the glass. The creature inside him almost purred.
Only us.
Lily believed she had arranged a meeting with Femi. Carr believed his queen would be delivered. Neither understood what waited inside the dark museum. Daemon did. The Devil did. And for the first time since finding Femi’s reddened hands, the Devil no longer felt helpless. Carr had finally given it something it knew how to do. A hunt. A trap. A target.
The Devil whispered—
He wants our little ghost.
Daemon’s gray eyes became cold.
“He can’t have her.”
He wants his queen.
“She was never his.”
The Devil paused.
Then corrected them both.
She is her own.
Daemon looked toward the ceiling.
Toward the woman sleeping upstairs in his shirt.
“Yeah.”
The Devil smiled again. Then its attention returned to the museum. Its voice dropped into a delighted whisper.
But tomorrow—
Daemon’s scar pulled beneath the same terrible smile.
The Devil finished the thought.
Carr can have me.
TBC … When They Took The Devil’s Quiet