Fire Night (Devil's Night, #4.5)

by Penelope Douglas

She was growing too fast, and I kind of wanted time to stop. Or I wanted more kids. That was until I went over to Damon’s house and then I’d be running out the front door ten minutes later with a migraine. Their nanny day drank, and I wasn’t even going to pretend that I didn’t understand why.

“You’re coming tonight, right?” I asked her. I saw her chest fall in a heavy sigh and her hooded eyes shoot me a look. “I feel like a calm evening, thank you.” “What do you mean? It’ll be calm.” Her eyebrow arched up, and I bit back my laugh. Okay, okay.

He took a step back and fell into a fighting stance. “Zoom out.” Before she could move into position, he stepped and threw a fist. She shot her hand up and knocked it away, and then quickly dodged another fist as it came in. I smiled.

She looked down at our daughter. “Help me with my makeup?” she asked. But I stopped them right there, telling Jett instead, “Actually, go ask Grandma how to repot a chestnut,” I said. “I need to help Mommy with her shower first.” “Kai…” Banks chided. What? I gaped at her. What were grandparents for anyway?

“I love our life,” she whispered, staring out at the river. Pressing my lips to her temple, I closed my eyes, feeling it too. Absolute contentment during these rare moments of calm. But I sighed, knowing it would take her brother point three seconds to fuck that up tonight. Michael and Will might take a little longer.

“And while you’re doing that,” I told her, “don’t forget to remind yourself that choices have consequences you’ll have to live with for the rest of your life. You’ll make better choices with guidance.” “Did you?” Damon finally looked at me, our stint in prison not needing a reminder for me to understand what he meant. Prick. He came from a bad home. I came from a good one. We both still went to prison. God, I hated him. I mean, I’d definitely jump off a bridge for him, but… He took his daughter and his self-satisfied smirk and walked out, and I fought the urge to throw something at the back of his head. I just saved his kid’s life. Or, at least a few broken bones. But hey…it would’ve been experience for her. Put some hair on her chest. Rawr.

Will’s daughters, Indie and Finn, twirled around the couples, pretending they were ballet dancers, the black feathers in Finn’s hair making my stomach sink a little at the memory. Seemed like yesterday Banks and I were in the ballroom of the Pope, watching Damon’s mother, dressed in her black feathers, move around the floor like a ghost. A chill ran up my spine.

“Never give a sword to a man who can’t dance,” I recited Confucius as we slowed down. She pinched her eyebrows together, breathing hard. “Why?” “Because a weapon of death shouldn’t be in the hand of someone who hasn’t lived.” You can’t speak for a world when you only understand one point of view.

Michael walked over, turning to keep his eyes on her as she passed. “You’re wearing that to the lock-in?” “To the ball.” “We’ve had this conversation,” he argued as she kept walking. “Twenty-one and over, Athos.” “Luckily, my daddy owns the place,” she threw back. I snorted, watching her disappear into the ballroom. Michael rubbed his face with his hand. “I don’t even know why I try.” He sighed and turned around. “I need to pick less fights, because the more I lose, the more emboldened she gets.” “You can say no, you know?” But he just shot me a look like I was crazy. “I didn’t raise that kid to take no for an answer.” Oh, right.

“Can I count on you for a calm night tonight, so I can enjoy my wife?” “Why are you asking me?” “Because every holiday, shit hits the fan over something,” I barked. He thinned his eyes. “Thanksgiving was not my fault.” “The Fourth of July was your fault.” He folded his arms over his chest as the kids finished lighting the candles. “And who gave Thunder Bay’s basketball team your uncle’s trucks last March so they could dump manure all over Falcon’s Well after losing the state championships?” “Not me,” I shot back, digging out invisible dirt from underneath my fingernail. “I simply left the keys out. I didn’t give them to anybody.” He scoffed, the guests filling the room around us. “Besides, we didn’t lose,” I told him. “They fouled. The ref just didn’t see it.” “Well, the next time you ‘leave the keys out’,” he said, getting in my face and lowering his voice. “Remember, my wife was on the phone with their mayor, getting screamed at for twenty-five minutes.” I opened my mouth to defend myself, but nothing came out. Yeah, okay. He had a point. That wasn’t exactly fair, I guess.

But she just looked away, a coy smile on her lips. “I had my reasons.” Or secrets? Whatever. None of my business. “The confessional,” I mused. “That was the first time I talked to her, too. That day changed my life.” “Mine, too.” “If only I’d fought more for what I wanted.” That day ended far worse than it had begun. “We wouldn’t have missed out on years of being together.” “Me too,” she added in a whisper.

But as I tried to head to Banks, the guys dove in, cutting me off. “Someone’s in trouble,” Will teased. “Gimme a break.” The kid has a crush. Like I could control it. I tried to search for my wife, but the dancers were spinning, and I couldn’t see around the guys. “Dammit,” I muttered, sliding my hands into my pockets. “Yeah,” Michael added. “Everyone saw that.” “Shut up.” “Oh, shit.” Damon laughed under his breath as he raised his glass to his lips. “Here come the gloves.” Huh? I found Banks again as Rika tried to bite back her laugh, clearly talking Banks down as my woman shot glares at the teenage girl. “See!” I turned to Michael. “What’d I tell you? Shit always hits the fan.” “Relax,” he told me. “Banks trusts you. So teen queen has a crush on her sensei master.” “His tutelage marked all around her thighs…” Damon taunted. “And my wife has knives wrapped around hers,” I whisper-yelled, aware of our guests. “Shit. Look at them.” I gestured to the girls, Winter and Emory having joined them. “They’re planning something.”

“Get her away from my pregnant wife, please,” Michael said. “She looks like a bomb.” Yeah.

Damon’s boys grabbed on for a hug, but Ivarsen breezed past, his thumbs tapping away on his phone. “Hey, be good,” Damon called after him. “At everything,” the kid finished for him. I chuckled. Tree? Meet apple.

I sidestepped the dancers, weaving in and out of the crowd, reaching her just in time to take her arm. “Stop,” I whispered in her ear. She tensed, refusing to turn and face me. “I wasn’t going to kill her,” she said in a low voice, staring at young Soraya at the edge of the room. “Just freak her out a little.” “She’s a child.” “Yes.” She turned her head, challenging me. “I seem to remember being that child’s age the first time you had your hand up my shirt.”

“Don’t you trust it?” I asked her. “What?” “That this will never end.” She needed everyone to know that I was hers, when it would save her a lot of aggravation if it could just be enough to know that I knew I was hers. I stalked toward her, slow step after slow step as my eyes dropped to her tits threatening to pop over the top of her dress. And believe me, I knew I was hers. The man in her bed every night. The father of her children. Her partner in everything I did.

“I want to kill anyone for trying to take you away from me.” I reached my hands around her ass, feeling the strap of blades around her leg, and lifted her into my arms. “If I ever leave you, it’s because I’m dead.”

I looked over, seeing Christiane stumble as she tried to dance with her husband, Matthew, his pathetic demeanor as superbly fantastic as his son’s dumb attitude. I mean, what was she thinking, marrying him? He barely had the courage to manage a sentence. He was quiet. She was quiet. That house must be a party every day. How did they decide when to have sex? Through text?

I caught Rika’s eyes as she stood near the fireplace, munching on another green tea macaron. She froze, seeing me watch her. I cocked an eyebrow. Another one? You want a cake, too? Maybe two cakes, Rika? She hesitated only a moment and stuffed it into her mouth, followed by another one, before flipping me off and stalking away with her chipmunk cheeks full of unhealthy food for the baby.

I didn’t want to swallow my pride. It felt like I was fucking choking. But more and more, I was also starting to hate the hurt in her eyes she tried to cover up when I ignored her. I didn’t used to care. Something had changed.

“Christiane,” I said. She stopped, and I looked over at her next to me, not sure I had the stomach for this. I didn’t trust parents, and I was too old to start. But I didn’t want to hurt her anymore. Maybe I could be her son, eventually. Maybe not. But we could try to be something.

I pulled her in, her cool hand fitting in mine as I slipped my other around her waist. My heart skipped a beat, feeling my mother in my arms for the first time. She gazed up at me, the lines around her eyes giving away her age, but the look in them still like a child.

“A good parent has happy kids,” she whispered in my ear. “Our kids are so happy.”

She laid her head on my chest, holding me close. I loved it when she did that. All the time I spent thinking she didn’t need me, and now I knew she did. She didn’t hold me. She held on to me.

“So, do you love me?” I teased. “I’m almost positive I told you I did just thirty-nine seconds ago.” I scoffed. I liked to hear it more frequently. She knew that.

“Ilia Oblensky.” Kai’s spine straightened, and he breathed hard. Ilia was an employee of Gabriel Torrance years ago. Banks had him thrown out of the country when she inherited her father’s estate. “And who’s that?” Michael squinted at the other one who’d gotten out of the SUV. “I can’t tell,” Rika replied. But I stared at the brown head I’d know anywhere, because I knew him well. My God. “Taylor Dinescu,” I whispered. Everyone turned to look at me, my stint in Blackchurch still rearing its ugly head. “Jesus, fuck,” Damon muttered. “How did they find each other?” I had no idea. Maybe there was Facebook group for people who hated us.

Emmy broke the driver’s side window just as I reached Taylor. He swung around, pulling out a gun, but just then, she shot her hand out, knocking the weapon to the floor, and whipped the ridge of her palm right into his neck, crushing his throat. Heh. Did Kai teach her that? Looked familiar.

“That was a good move, baby,” I told her, remembering her little hand trick on his throat. “John Wick, right?” “John Wick 2.” I nodded, rushing in after her. “Oh, right.”

But I put my hand on hers, stopping her. She met my eyes, and I shook my head. No. Not this time. Her eyes narrowed, confused. “You can’t be serious,” she whispered. “I’m always with you.” My heart ached, because I never wanted to do anything without her. She was the reason we were who we were. It had all started with her. My eyes dropped to her stomach, our son starting to show himself more every day. “I need you to be with him,” I told her. At all costs. “But Octavia and Madden—” “We’ll get them.” Of course, she was needed. And always wanted. I touched her face, tipping her chin up to me, and the look in her eyes took me back to that night when she was thirteen, yelling at me over the hood of my car. “I’ve waited too long to see you and me walking around in one person,” I murmured.

Everyone loaded onto the boat, Em, Winter, and Banks packed on the rear bench as Kai fired up the engine. Damon sat next to him, and Will stood in the middle. I put one foot onto the craft but stopped. Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw the SUVs in the parking lot, Rika hidden behind the tinted windows. It only took a moment, but I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Wait,” I gritted out. I couldn’t leave her.

“No one stops us,” she whispered. “No one owns us.” I held her tight. “And we’re not changing.”

A key hung from the lock on the window, a small scroll of paper tucked in the chain. I looked around the room, wondering who it belonged to. Reaching up, I unhooked the chain from the lock, holding the skeleton key in my hand and pulling the paper out of the link. Unrolling it, I read black handwriting. “The chords of the heart need to be touched to be played.”

No one is immune to emotion when those chords are pulled. No one. I closed my eyes, feeling the blood under my nails as I wrapped my cold fingers around the key. One night soon. While everyone was asleep. We’ll find out what the key unlocks, Octavia. We’ll own the night.