“You know I don’t care about that.”

Hands tightened around my jaw. His look was so intense it almost frightened me. “Do you understand how lucky I am that you put up with all this bullshit? How fucking grateful I am? How much I love you?”

I stilled. His eyes widened. He hadn’t meant to say it. He was as surprised as I was. A low, deep shudder worked its way through my chest. My throat made a small, broken noise when I inhaled. I could barely get words out. “What did you just say?”

His eyes became unfocused. He blinked several times in rapid succession, then exhaled heavily, as if he was giving in, making peace with the idea. His gaze lifted and returned to mine. “I said I love you.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” I grabbed his hands and pulled them away from my cheeks.

He let out a strained laugh and nodded. “Very sure.”

I didn’t have to say it back; he knew my feelings better than I did. But to hear it from him? It was like I’d just been given an endless supply of cool water and, until I drank a sip, hadn’t realized I’d been wasting away in a desert, dying of thirst.

My head dropped against him, falling into the space in the center of his chest where his breastbone dipped. A space that almost felt like it was made just for me. Where I could feel his heart beating. His arms wound around my back. He pulled me closer and kissed the top of my head. And for a long moment, only the two of us existed, and nothing else mattered.

He loved me. How wonderful was that?

I wanted to stay like that, wrapped in his arms, feeling safe and good. But then I remembered the vial in my pocket.

I pulled away to look at Lon. “I need to tell you something important. When Yvonne left Jupe alone in the restaurant, it was because she wanted to be alone with some Hellfire guy named Evan—”

Lon’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Evan Johnson?”

“I don’t know. Jupe said you hate him.”

“Definitely Evan Johnson.”

I pulled the red vial out of my pocket. “She was buying this from him.”

A rare look of surprise crossed Lon’s face. He took it from me and studied it. “Is this . . .”

“Don’t know if it’s fake or real, but yeah. She admitted that’s what she was buying.”

“Evan’s the dealer?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Christ. He’s Hellfire. Just a regular club member— not an officer, and not all that active in the club.”

“Maybe he’s Telly’s original source. Do you know where the guy lives?”

“Yes, I know.” Lon nodded and pocketed the vial. “Guess you and I will be paying Evan a little visit.”

• • •

My biggest worry about confronting Evan Johnson was that he’d be wielding some juiced-up knack, but Lon informed me that Evan didn’t have one. It was one reason why Lon suspected the guy had never been a regular attendee of the Hellfire Club’s monthly Succubi and Drugs parties at the Hellfire caves. “Hellfire members without any special gifts tend to be ignored,” Lon explained. “They’re outsiders.”

Like I needed another reason to hate that stupid club.

Evan’s house was a few blocks from the hospital. It was almost midnight, but I reasoned since Jupe had overheard Yvonne telling the guy she’d stop by his place later, he’d still be up.

We rang the doorbell. When the door swung open, we found ourselves staring down the barrel of shotgun.

“Lon Butler?”

The gun lowered to reveal a dark haired, paunchy man who looked to be a little older than Lon. He might’ve been handsome, but his T-shirt and boxers weren’t flattering, and his eyes looked tired and panicked. A wary gaze flicked my way, then over our shoulders. “You alone?”

“Nice to see you, too, Evan,” Lon said, then slugged him in the face.

Evan hollered as he staggered backward, dropping the shotgun to block his face.

This was not part of our plan.

“What the hell?” Evan managed to spit out as he stumbled and collided into a wall.

Lon shook out his hand. “That’s for getting my kid drunk.”

Evan pulled his hand away from his face and stared down at the blood covering his fingers. Lon had got him good, all right. And as he stalked Evan down the hallway, he began transmutating.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Evan shouted, holding up his hands in surrender. “It was Yvonne who encouraged it, I swear. And I wasn’t trying to put the moves on her, or anything.” He made a pained noise. “Jesus, Butler—I think you broke my nose. Please stop. I can’t . . . just, please.”

Lon’s horns were out now. I pulled the front door shut so no one would walk in on us.

As I did, Lon cornered Evan against the wall. “I don’t really give a shit what Yvonne does, but I could have you arrested. My boy is at home sick. And on top of that, you’re selling Yvonne this?” He pulled the red vial from his pocket and shoved it in front of Evan’s face.

Evan made a sobbing noise. “Get that out of here! I gave it to Yvonne—I don’t want any part of it anymore. Please!”

Lon stared at Evan for several moments, reading his thoughts. “What the—” Lon flinched. His head swiveled toward an open arch that led into a living room. “Jesus!”

I peeked around the corner, desperate to see what Lon saw. The living room was torn apart like someone had searched it: drawers pulled out, cushions removed, furniture broken.