Page 139 of Just One Little Bargain

“That was rather the point.” He shifts, his knee pressing into mine. “Demons don’t give their true names freely. In the wrong hands, it can become a means of control.”

“And Milo?”

“Something I chose because it held no consequence.” His thumb passes over his palm, searching for the rest. “I only intended it as an alias. But here with you it feels more real than my given name. And I like Milo a whole lot better than the thing I was born to be.”

“I want to tell you part of my name,” he says. “I’d like you to have it.”

“You don’t owe me that.”

“I know I don’t. But it’s Zavian.”

I slide my hand from his chest to the back of his neck and kiss him, my fingers tightening in his curls as heat gathers wherever his thigh presses into mine.

“Zavian,” I murmur against his mouth.

His hand tightens in my hair, and he kisses me with sudden, ravenous intensity. His other hand grips my thigh, fingers spreading possessively over the denim as he pulls me closer within the narrow space.

If we were anywhere but this high in a metal box, I know where this would lead.

The wheel jolts back into motion.

We break apart as the mechanism catches and the gondola begins its descent, rotating back through the arc toward the ground.

Chapter 40

Milo

The corn maze entrance rises before us in a broad timber arch, its beams swaddled in fake cobwebs that lift and settle whenever the wind moves through them. Orange bulbs loop across the top, their glow catching on a hand-painted sign that reads BRINDLEWOOD HAUNTED MAZE: ENTER IF YOU DARE in letters streaked with enough stage blood to suggest the painter lost enthusiasm halfway through. A plastic skeleton slouches against the left post, one bony arm dangling into the path. Its jaw has come loose and hangs sideways, giving it less the appearance of the dead and more the expression of someone trapped in a meeting that should have ended an hour ago.

I’m immediately sold.

“No,” Evie says flatly.

“I haven’t said a word,” Maddie protests.

“You turned toward it. That’s enough.”

“We’re doing the maze, Evie.”

I’m trying to stay out of this, but it looks genuinely wonderful. Fog curls between the corn rows in dense white ribbons, spilling over the path and gathering around our ankles before thinning across the field. Somewhere inside, a scream rises above the rustle of stalks, only to fracture into breathless laughter as several people come stumbling through a gap farther down. I grin before I can stop myself.

A bored teenager stands near the entrance, half-heartedly directing traffic. Fake blood has dried across one cheek, and the sleeve of his torn flannel hangs by a few stubborn threads. Behind him, the corn shifts again. A pale mask flashes between the rows and vanishes.

“Milo wants to go,” Maddie says.

“Milo hasn’t said anything.”

“He doesn’t have to. Look at his face.”

They both turn to me.

“It looks fun,” I admit.

Evie narrows her eyes at me. “You want to go into the murder corn?”

“He’s desperate to go in.” Maddie grins.

Evie turns back to the entrance and considers it.