Chapter 11
1328 Words
The night draped itself over the city like a velvet curtain. Gas lamps flickered on street corners, and the moon shimmered across puddles from an earlier rain. DJ and his crew moved through the Chicago streets like silent shadows, ghosts reclaiming a city that had forgotten them.
They weren’t after blood tonight—just a message.
A group of Wyatt’s thugs were cornering an old cobbler’s shop near West Monroe. Shaun spotted them first.
“They’re hittin’ Mr. Jacobs’ place,” he muttered, pointing with his chin.
Before DJ could even nod, Lamar was already cracking his knuckles.
It was fast. Brutal.
A few shattered ribs, a dislocated jaw, and some broken pride later, Wyatt’s punks scattered, crawling off into the night like the rats they were.
“You boys want to act tough?” Aron called after them. “Do it somewhere else.”
By the time the streets calmed, the crew had stomped out three more of Wyatt’s low-level plays—corner boys harassing grocers, arson threats on a tailor shop, a lookout trying to case a church-turned-night school.
Word was spreading.
The Black Devil was back.
And Chicago would breathe again.
Later, walking past a quiet alley tucked between a bakery and a closed candy store, Dwight froze and tilted his head.
“You smell that?” he asked, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. “That’s jazz and illegal liquor, my brothers.”
A flickering red lantern marked the rusted metal door. A single bouncer stood there, thick as a refrigerator and about as talkative. When DJ stepped forward, the man crossed his arms.
“No password, no entry.”
Aron rolled his eyes. “Come on, man. We ain’t tourists.”
The bouncer didn’t move an inch.
Just as DJ was about to turn away, a voice called out from behind them.
“Hey, hey! They’re cool! That’s DJ—Black Devil himself!”
The man sprinting up wore suspenders and a toothy grin: Manny, from the diner. He gave the bouncer a nod, who grunted and stepped aside.
“Welcome to The Hollow,” Manny said with a wink. “Realest speakeasy left in Chicago.”
Inside, the place breathed a different rhythm—alive, raw, golden. Colored bulbs bathed the room in rich tones of red and amber. A live band played on a small stage in the back, all brass and soul. Cigarette smoke curled in the air like ribbon, and the clink of glasses mixed with low laughter and whispered secrets.
Every race, every kind of person mingled here—shoulders brushed without hate. It was one of the few places that felt free.
DJ and the boys settled into a round table near the bar. Dwight ordered whiskey, Lamar went for bourbon, Shaun sipped on gin with a lemon twist, and Aron nursed a rum drink, scanning the room for women.
But DJ barely touched his drink.
He was still. Quiet. Watching. As always.
The laughter, the dancing, the soft glow of the chandeliers—it was familiar but distant, like a memory on the edge of a dream.
He stood up and wandered toward the bar, needing air or maybe silence in the noise.
And that’s when he saw her.
“Boy, you need to go,” a voice whispered at his side.
He turned and blinked. Maybelle.
“Maybelle,” DJ said coolly.
“You need to leave. If she sees—”
“DJ?”
The sound of her voice—soft, familiar, trembling—cut through the music like a memory made flesh.
DJ froze.
Turned.
And there she was.
Aurelia.
She stood behind him in the low-lit bar, framed in warm amber light, and for a moment, DJ thought he was dreaming. Like the ghosts that haunted him were finally stepping out of his past.
She wore a cherry-red flapper dress, silk clinging to her like it had been stitched by sin itself. The neckline dipped into a delicate V, exposing the soft swell of her full breast—skin like ivory kissed by candlelight. The dress hugged every curve, from the cinch of her narrow waist to the generous flare of her hips. A slit on the side ran high up her thigh, revealing smooth, toned legs that went on forever.
Her blonde hair was swept up, curled loosely and pinned with a ruby clip, though a few rebellious strands framed her heart-shaped face. Her lips, painted deep red, parted into a familiar smile—gentle, sweet, and genuine. But her eyes… those soft, crystal-blue eyes—DJ had seen oceans that looked calmer—still held that warmth, that innocence, though something older now shimmered underneath.
His breath caught.
She’s not a girl anymore.
She was a woman.
Beautiful.
Dangerous to the heart.
And still, somehow, his.
Aurelia took a shaky breath as she looked at him.
DJ Spencer.
No—Devon.
It had been nearly a decade, but he still stood with that same silent strength. Taller now, broader—his presence took up the whole damn room. He wore a sharp black pinstripe suit tailored to his body like it was sewn onto his muscles. The blood-red dress shirt beneath it made his deep brown skin glow like polished bronze. His face had matured—his jaw stronger, sculpted like stone, framed by a well-trimmed mustache and light beard that hugged his sharp cheekbones.
But it was his eyes that broke her.
Dark. Heavy. Guarded. Still.
But when they landed on her—when they really landed—something cracked. A flicker of the boy he used to be, the boy who snuck through her window during storms and clung to her under the covers, surfaced for just a breath.
Aurelia took another step, her voice trembling but soft.
“The rumors are true… you’re back.”
DJ said nothing at first. He just looked at her like a man watching the sun rise for the first time in years—like something that beautiful couldn’t possibly be real.
“You’ve… grown,” she added quietly, eyes scanning his strong frame. His chest filled out the jacket, his shoulders wide and steady. His hands—those rough, calloused hands—hung loosely at his sides, but she remembered what it felt like when they once held hers.
DJ’s lips tugged into a small smirk.
“You too.”
His voice was deeper than she remembered. A warm, low rumble that made her knees feel weak. Just like always, his compliments were quiet but sincere—no sweet-talking, no games. Just truth.
She flushed.
That same innocent blush he used to live for.
He noticed her hips, fuller now, her thighs thicker, her waist still delicate in between. Her breast really filled out, full and perky. She had blossomed, and every inch of her was woman now—ripe, radiant, divine. And yet, she still had the same shyness in her smile, the same sincerity in her eyes. She hadn’t lost who she was.
She noticed how he moved now—controlled, heavy, like he was used to being the strongest man in the room. The cut of his suit only emphasized the lean power underneath, every step exuding purpose and threat. The little boy she taught to read… was now a legend.
Aurelia stepped closer, eyes never leaving his.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“I said I’d come back,” DJ said softly, his eyes not cold now—but wary. Longing. Hungry.
The jazz band shifted to a slow tune. Smooth, smoky.
Aurelia hesitated, then smiled—nervous, excited, glowing.
“Would you… like to dance?”
DJ's heart fluttered.
How could someone who'd seen death, pulled the trigger without blinking, walked through fire and blood for years—how could she still make him feel nervous?
He took her hand.
“Always.”
And just like that, the city fell away.
- Writer
