Page 71 of Her Devil

Taking the stairs, we power down them, sucking in air as we slide out of a fire door at the bottom and into the darkness at the back of the building. We’re not inconspicuous as we make our way through the well-lit area, but as the first ambulance rounds the corner, we duck back into an alleyway, manic laughter falling from Oliver.

Luckily, we make it to the driveway and into the cover of the woods before anyone else appears. The rest of the guys are probably already back at the house, the silent tension building the further we get from the devastation we just caused.

A warning, for what happens when you mess with The Angels. A way to make sure every fucker knows who they are, that’s what we set out to do. Not almost tangle my brother up in some kind of revenge beating.

“Have you still got the towel?” Leo asks, holding his hand out to Oliver, who throws it his way.

We come out of the clearing beside the garage, the motion sensors coming on automatically as the area floods with light. He pulls out a box of matches, setting the towel alight and dropping it to the ground. “I’ll need the rest of your clothes.”

Oliver shrugs, pulling the tee off his back and throwing it on the burning fabric, his trainers and jeans following before he heads back inside. “Get those knuckles sorted out too,” Leo calls.

Jasper appears at the side door, looking at the half-naked Oliver and the fire before making the connection. “I’ll grab any cloths we use,” he comments before directing Oliver back to the basement to clean up.

“Did you get any blood on you?” he asks Jacob, kicking his footwear off and throwing them in the ever-growing fire.

Jacob shakes his head, throwing his trainers in too, knowing they both walked through whatever mess was left of the guy after I pulled Olly off.

“And you?” he asks, looking me over and pointing at a spot on my jumper. And that’s another thing gone as the flames reflect off the red in his mask, the four of us stood silently.

It’s almost like Wyatt doesn’t want to leave the three of us alone as his words from the other day repeat in my head.

“Can you give us a minute?” Jacob asks, his gaze locked on the fire at our feet. “Go follow up on those cloths or whatever. I’ll come find you in a bit.”

Hesitantly, I nod, Wyatt and I go in the side door and head straight to the kitchen.What a fucking night.Grabbing us both a beer, I hand one over. “Well, I never knew you could do that.”

“What? Hold a doorway, or get you the codes for just about anything?” he asks, taking his mask off and placing it on the island as I lean against the countertop.

The freedom that comes as I pull the plastic off and take the first swig of the crisp lager is surprising but welcome. “The computer shit,” I answer. I’m more than sure he’s capable of holding his own, second-round survivor or not.

His shaggy blonde hair is just slightly on the side of too long, the surfer boy attitude and laid-back commentary potentially nothing more than an act he’s absolutely perfected, if the snippets of the man I’ve seen beneath are anything to go by.

“Well, things are not always as they first appear to be,” he comments cryptically.

And he’s not fucking wrong.

“Have you got five minutes?” he asks.

“I can have.” I shrug, following him out of the kitchen and upstairs.

My eyes wander to the front door as we pass, knowing Jacob isn’t alone, and as much as it irks me to admit it, Leo’s got his best interests in mind. He’ll find me when he’s ready.

“It looks like the pressure is on,” he starts, perching on the edge of the desk as I drop onto the bed. “Leo and Jacob, Stephanie and Oliver, Taylor and Tamsin, Charlotte and George… if you want to keep hold of Ivy, then you’re going to need to pull out all the stops.”

“What exactly is it to do with you?” I clip, rolling my eyes.

Like I’m not aware things are heating up. Like I don’t know she’s a flight risk right now.

I’m more than aware of that.

She’s pulling away, attempting to convince herself that she doesn’t want this, doesn’t want me. And I’m sure Leo’s taking advantage of that.

“I spoke with my father. I’ve got an idea.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Do you want her safe or not?” he asks, way too calmly for it to be normal as he crosses his arms over his chest. “You can flounder around here, pissing her off and driving her into the arms of someone else, that’s fine. I’m going to do my best to make sure that person is me, by the way, or you can accept some fucking help and know I’ve got her best interests at heart. She’s special, and you know it.”

As much as it pains me to admit it, he’s right.

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