Page 79 of The Devil's Playground

“I got you,” I swear again, and this time I fucking mean it. “He can’t hurt you anymore. Never again, baby. You hear me? Never again.”

Instead of stiffening or trying to get away from my hold, she collapses into my embrace.

“I thought… I thought… Oh, Royce.” She buries her face against my chest, jolting when she hits her obviously broken nose. Yanking back, Nicolette glances up at me through her swollen eyes. “I thought you— shit. I got blood all over your shirt.”

Fuck the shirt. I cradle the back of her head, guiding her down so that her cheek is pressed to my chest. I’m careful not to bump her nose. I want her to know that her comfort is the most important thing in the goddamn world to me right now. Let her bleed all over me so long as it’s blood she can spare.

“Shh…” I stroke her hair, doing my best to be soothing—and not think about the last time I was crouched low, a bloody blonde in my arms. A Dragonfly hurt her then, too, but I wasn’t able to avenge her—or save her. With Nicolette, I’ll do both. “I’m gonna move you. Is that okay? I’m gonna carry you up the stairs. I got my car. We’re getting you home.”

Her fingers dig through my shirt, into my chest. “I thought you were going to let him keep me.”

“Never,” I vow. “I will never let anyone take you away from me.”

It’s as though that’s all she needed to hear. Still clinging to me, she nods, shudders out a breath, and closes her eyes.

TWENTY-NINE

DAMIEN LIBELLULA

ROYCE

My heart lodges in my throat. Holding her in place on my knee, I free one hand, placing it under her nose. She’s still breathing. A thumb lifting up her eye lid reveals the whites. Her eyes have rolled back in her head.

She’s out. From panic, exhaustion, relief… I don’t know what it is, but she knows she’s safe with me. She waited until she was safe in my arms to let herself go.

I don’t know what Alfieri managed to do to her. The mess he made of her face is enough, and only now that he’s dead do I acknowledge that the zipper on his jeans was down. Button was done up, sure, and there could be a bunch of reasons why his zipper wasn’t… but the worst of them have me squeezing Nicolette tight before I rise up to my feet.

Right now, it doesn’t matter. In time, I’ll get her to tell me what went down after she left the Suites. And if I don’t, that’s okay, too, so long as she understands that I won’t let that happen ever again.

It’s a bitch, carrying her bridal style the same time as I have my gun out. Worse when I get all the way to the top of the stairs and realize the door’s locked. I give myself a moment to curse under my breath before figuring out my next move.

I could call Link. Assuming he hasn’t tracked me here, I’ve got my phone in my pocket. I could call the boss, but I’d rather get the fuck of Dragonfly territory before I loop him in.

I make an executive decision. Still holding onto Nic, I go back into the gloomy basement. She doesn’t stir with all the jostling of her that I’m doing, and I’m glad. I don’t want her to watch as I rifle through a dead man’s pockets.

There isn’t anything that Alfieri has that I want. I leave his weapon on the floor, don’t bother with his cash or his wallet, and only take the single key ring that I hoped he’d have. Figuring that he had to be able to come and go to leave Nic down there, it made sense this would be the key on the inner lock.

It is. Since there’s no way in hell I’ll ever willingly come back here, I toss the key after I unlock it. Here’s hoping no one else in the Libellula Family has a key to the basement because, if you ask me, it would be poetic justice if Alfieri was left to rot beneath a front for his mob. I doubt it, not with all those pallets down there, but a man can dream, yeah?

My gun makes it hard to shove open the door without moving Nic too much, but I refuse to walk out of this place empty-handed. I don’t know who might have seen me walk in here—or if any of the Dragonflies know that Kieran Alfieri had earlier—and the last thing I want to do is walk out and face one of our rivals.

It’s the last thing I want to do… and, yet, that’s exactly what happens.

Looking as though he decided to take a stroll in the wintry dark, there stands Damien Libellula, wearing one hell of an expensive jacket over his immaculate suit. The collar is up, hugging his sharp jaw. His hair is parted perfectly on the left, combed precisely so that every dark strand is in place.

He has a shark’s smile and a pair of shrewd eyes, though his voice is pleasant as he calls out a greeting to me before he nods at my drawn weapon.

“You gonna put that away, Royce?” He shows me his hands. His empty hands. “I think we can hash this out without any guns. Don’t you?”

I could shoot him. I could shoot the head of the Libellula Family dead where he stands and I’m pretty sure no one could stop me. Sure, he probably has bodyguards just out of sight who’d turn me and Nicolette into Bonnie and Clyde at their end, but I could.

I don’t.

It takes a moment for me to maneuver the woman in my arms so that I could also slip my Beretta back into its holster. Not because I want to talk to him at all, but because I can’t risk Nic getting caught in any crossfire.

However, before I can tell Damien that, his smile widens.

“There. It’s just you and me?—”

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