Page 118 of The Devil of Downtown

“Jennie?” My voice closes in on itself. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Brody,” she whispers. “I found him outside some dive on Delancey. He’s beaten half to a pulp. And Ivy... he’s high. Really high.”

My heart thuds once, painfully. “Shouldn’t you take him to the hospital?”

“I tried, but he freaked out, says he’s scared they’ll find him.”

She pauses, letting out a shaky breath. “He keeps talking in circles, something about Dane, and a car, and how ‘they’re making him pay.’”

Heat flashes up my neck. “Dane?” The name tastes wrong, heavy on my tongue. “Jennie, what do you mean?”

“That’s all I can get out of him,” she says. “He keeps saying you’re not safe. That Dane’s using you to—” She cuts herself off. “I don’t know, Ivy. He’s terrified.”

My eyes lift automatically, finding Dane across the ballroom. He’s still watching me. Concern written in every line of his face. The man who held me like I was everything just ten minutes ago.

The man Brody is afraid of.

A chill crawls up my spine.

“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll come; where are you?”

“I brought him back to mine.”

“Right. I’ll be there soon.” I’m about to hang up when she speaks again—sharper this time.

“And Ivy, come alone; don’t tell Dane.”

The call ends before I can ask why.

My pulse is thundering loud enough to drown out the orchestra. I swallow, trying to breathe through the sudden, sickening tightness in my chest. Whatever this is, whatever Brody said... I can’t fall apart here. Not in front of Dane and not when I don’t know what’s true.

I tuck my phone into my palm and head back toward the table, schooling my face into something neutral. Dane stands the second he sees me, concern darkening his eyes.

I can’t tell him I’m leaving; he’ll insist on driving me, and I know this is something I need to face alone.

“I just need some air,” I manage, trying to keep my tone light.

“Ivy—”

“I’ll be right back.” I force a small smile, something soft enough to keep him seated, something that won’t invite him to follow. “Just a minute.”

His jaw works as if he’s fighting the instinct to stop me. To reach for me.

But after a beat, he nods.

I turn away before I lose my nerve.

I slip toward the corridor at the edge of the ballroom—past the donors, past the lights, past the version of tonight that felt so stupidly close to perfect.

My steps quicken.

I don’t look back.

I can’t.

Because if I meet his eyes now, I won’t be able to walk away at all.

The cab peels away from the curb, and only then do my lungs loosen enough for me to breathe. I sink back against the seat, fingers trembling as I press them to my forehead. Rain starts to spit against the window, and I stare through it without really seeing anything.