Page 48 of The Devil of Downtown

My blood turns cold.

If she said what I think she did, then I already know where I’ll be Saturday night.

And this time, I’m not walking away until I have answers.

Shame.

I warned her about playing games.

Now she’s about to learn what happens when I play back.

Chapter twelve

Dane

I’ve tried to talk myself out of this all week. I’ve always been a man of logic and reasoning. Head over heart every time. But one thing I’ve learned over the years is that logic can’t control the bigger things in life. Logic can’t prevent an early grave on a dark, rain-swept freeway. And logic certainly can’t explain whothatwas in London or why my heart thumps every time I think ofher,and is silent for the other version of Sloane who returned to the office.

When I punch Chantés into the GPS, I know I’ve already lost the argument. For once, the heart won out.

The traffic’s the usual Saturday-night crawl from the Upper East Side to Tribeca, city lights bleeding across the windshield. I time my arrival for when the place will be busiest—when it’s easiest to blend into the noise, to hang back in the shadows.

Chantés is wedged between a shuttered tailor’s and a tattoo studio, glowing with red neon. From the outside, it doesn’t look like much—black awning, frosted glass, a single brass plaquewith its name etched in cursive. But the moment I step inside, the bass hits like a heartbeat. The air is thick with heat, perfume, and laughter. Low lights sweep over faces, catching the glint of jewelry and glass.

It’s not my kind of place, but compared to The Serpent, this is child’s play. No private playrooms. No masks. No whispered invites. No lines you can’t uncross. Just regular people looking for something to make them forget.

I cut through the crowd, eyes adjusting to the pulse of violet and amber light. The ground floor is chaos—a dance floor packed with bodies, bartenders juggling bottles, and a DJ perched above it all, hyping the crowd. I spot a staircase tucked at the back and climb, needing a little distance. The upstairs bar is smaller, shadowed with glass panels overlooking the floor below. Exactly what I need, somewhere I can see without being seen.

I order a Macallan neat and take a seat by the railing. The whiskey burns clean as it slides down, the kind of burn that calms more than it stings. From here, the dance floor is a stream of motion—silhouettes slipping in and out of focus, faces flashing briefly under the pulse of purple strobe light before dissolving back into shadow.

It doesn’t take long before I notice the looks.

Women glancing over their shoulders, a few smiles that linger too long. One brunette at the bar is particularly bold, openly staring as she orders another drink she doesn’t touch. When she finally makes her way over, there’s a practiced seduction in her movements.

“You don’t seem like the type who comes here often,” she says, resting her arm on the back of the empty chair next to me. Her voice is smooth, teasing.

“I’m not,” I admit, swirling the amber in my glass.

“So, what’s the occasion?” she leans in.

“Waiting for someone.”

“That someone’s late,” she says, leaning closer. “Perhaps you should ditch them and look elsewhere?”

There’s a time I might’ve indulged that kind of offer. But tonight, every cell in my body is tuned to one purpose.

I take a sip of my drink, eyes never leaving the crowd below. “Oh, she’s here,” I murmur. “She just doesn’t know I’m waiting.”

Her laugh is low, almost a purr. “That sounds like trouble.” She presses her thigh against mine, her fingers brushing over my knee. “Lucky girl.”

I turn my glass in my hand, eyes still scanning the crowd. “I’m not sureluckyis the word.”

She studies me a moment longer, intrigued rather than put off, then reaches for a napkin and scribbles a number, sliding it across. “Well, if she keeps you waiting too long...” Her eyes flick over my body. “You might want a distraction.”

I glance at the napkin but don’t touch it. “Won’t be necessary,” I say, eyes still fixed on the dance floor below.

She lingers, lips curving into a knowing smile before she finally fades into the crowd, though I can still sense her gaze tracking me from across the room.

I finish my drink slowly, elbows resting on the cool metal rail as I look down at the crowd.