Page 177 of Dance With A Devil
The girl speaks next. “She cut off my mom’s head. Said she was too pretty to live. Said she’d do the same to me. Said… he looked at me like food.”
“Are you going to kill her?” the girl asks, turning to me. Her voice is soft. “Can I help?”
I stare at her. This girl is steel forged in fire.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Fourteen. Maybe fifteen. I don’t remember anymore.”
She’s seen more than most Devils. “You both should kill her,” I decide.
Lexi screams.
“They’re lying! I never!”
“Dash?” I call.
Dash is already at her computer, fingers dancing over keys. “Found it. Her and Hanson were part of a paid network. Dozens of names. They’ve killed for Bash. For your fathers. For mine. Eliminated families who refused to play nice.”
“What’s your last name?” I ask.
“Cartwright,” the twins say in unison.
My gut twists.
Dash keeps reading. “There’s a file.The Fallen.It lists families marked for death. Those who defied oaths. Who didn’t answer when called.”
“And who gave the orders?” Onyx asks.
Dash turns the screen. I stare.
Our fathers.
All of them.
Silence. Until Lexi laughs.
“You idiots,” she hisses. “You think you’ve seen evil? You think you’ve escaped the leash? You’re still dogs in the cage. Your fathers are the ones pulling every chain.”
Suddenly, she’s yanked back by her hair.
Karter. Cold fury in his grip.
He yanks her upright. “What makes you think you know anything, pawn?”
She blinks, and for the first time, she realizes… She’s not getting out of here alive.
And neither is the leash that held her.
She squirms in Karter’s grip like a dying rat trying to chew through the trap. “Please… just let me go. I’m no one. I’ll disappear.”
“You’re right,” Karter hisses, his mouth near her ear. “Wewillmake you disappear. Piece by piece. But before that, we’ll send a souvenir from you and your corpse-husband to each of our fathers. A little teaser of what’s coming next.”
I glance at the girl standing nearby, her gaze glued to the woman like she’s deciding where to start carving. “Hey, kid,” I say, not unkindly, “what’s your name?”
She doesn’t look at me at first. Doesn’t blink. Just studies the woman like she’s mapping out every nerve she’s going to sever.
Eventually, she turns, her voice calm and cold. “Sinclair. That’s my brother, Shiloh.”
