He lunged, but despite there being only inches between us, the blow he’d readied never landed. Colette intercepted him, surging into the narrow space while her hand snapped out from her jacket. The gun stayed holstered as she caught Maslow by the wrist, twisted hard, and spun him to the side. He stumbled into the glass wall and struck it with a muffled grunt, his arm pinned behind his back and one knee bucklingunder the pressure the hellhound applied by digging her stiletto heel into his calf.
“Easy now,” she crooned near his ear. “I’d hate to see you embarrass yourself in front of your staff.”
Sure enough, from the ground floor, all six dancers stared up at us. If Darby and the cowpoke twins had thought me shimmying up their sheet ladder was amusing, they must have been rolling over this.
Maslow snarled, struggling, but it was like watching a rat try to wrestle a wolf. Colette kept him immobilized with ease, her expression flat and amused.
“But, Coll,” I said mildly. “Don’t you meanmystaff?”
She smiled, crinkling her eyes as they flicked to the floor below. “Mais oui, mon ami.”
Stepping over the mess of scattered paperwork, I made my way to the door. “Maz, you have one final job as the former owner of this club,” I told the wraith without looking back. “You’re going downstairs to tell those young men their contracts are dissolved. Their debts are forgiven and as of now, I’m in charge.”
“Absolutely not,” Maslow spat.
I turned to him, calm as ever. “Then I’ll do it for you.”
He surged forward again, trying to break free, but Colette yanked his arm higher. He hissed through his teeth, face contorting in pain.
“Walk,” she said coolly. “Or be dragged.”
I opened the office door and stepped out onto the landing that overlooked the club floor. Below, the stage lights cycled, and the music throbbed low and steady. The dancers stood in a loose cluster near the stage. Six pairs of wide eyes trained upward.
Colette shoved Maslow forward, releasing him just enough to send him stumbling out behind me. He staggered,red-faced, fumbling to straighten his jacket like he had any pride left to salvage.
I descended the steps one at a time, raising my voice above the music as I called across the club.
“Attention, gentlemen,” I called. “I have an announcement.”
I reached the ground level and walked toward the stage, stopping just short of the spotlight’s reach. The dancers watched me in silence. Some were wary, some curious, all waiting.
“Effective immediately, your contracts are void. Your debts are gone. You don’t owe Maslow—or anyone else—anything.”
A murmur rippled through the small crowd as the demons exchanged looks.
Zephyr’s gaze never left me.
“This place doesn’t own you anymore because this place is finished,” I continued, then concluded with a bit of dramatic flair. “The Devil’s Dollhouse is closed.”
That stirred them, but not in the way I’d expected. Darby’s pale brows knit together. Marvel wrung his hands and shifted from foot to foot. The twins exchanged matching frowns. Even Hemlock, whose usual demeanor was cool and unreadable, let his tail swish nervously behind his legs.
Zephyr still stared at me, but he looked… puzzled. Disoriented, almost.
How could he be surprised?
“You deserve better than this. All of you,” I continued, trying to fill the silence I didn’t understand. “You were dragged into something that fed off your bodies, your energy, your lives, and called it entertainment. No more.”
I looked around the club at the lights, the stage, theshadows in the rafters, and then back to the assembly. My gaze passed over the performers. “Now you’re free to choose where you go, who you are, and what comes next.”
Still nothing. No relief, no cheers. Just a rustle of uncomfortable bodies and unreadable stares. Could it be that the weight of autonomy was more than they were prepared to bear?
“I can’t give you back what was taken from you here,” I said. “But I can make damn sure nothing else is.” Turning to the second-floor landing, I indicated Maslow before telling Colette, “Get him out of here.”
“Gladly,” she replied, grabbing Maslow by the back of his shirt collar. He yelped as she marched him down the stairs. There was no protest this time. He knew he’d lost. She dragged him to the front entrance, shoved him out into the sunlit street, and locked the door behind him with a decisiveclick.
Still, no one moved. No one spoke.
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. Applause, maybe. A sigh of relief. Hell, even a sarcastic comment would’ve been welcome. I’d spent the past forty-eight hours preparing for this, celebrating my triumph in advance. But no one was happy. Instead, they looked almost… mournful.
