Chapter 6
Pain. That was my first conscious thought as awareness slowly returned.
Not the dull, familiar ache of a hangover, though that was certainly there too, but the sharp, insistent throb of genuine injury.
My face felt swollen, my ribs protested with each breath, and my knuckles were raw and crusted with dried blood.
I cracked one eye open, immediately regretting it as winter sunlight stabbed through the bay windows of an unfamiliar room.
The cream walls and floral decor momentarily confused me before it clicked where I was.
Courts House. The memories of the previous night came flooding back in disjointed flashes: the empty whiskey bottle in Covenant House, the snow falling as I stumbled through campus, the bar fight I'd practically begged for, Melody's disappointed face as Syndicate Regents hauled my pathetic carcass to safety.
"Fuck," I muttered, the word scraping past my dry throat.
I pushed myself upright on the plush sofa that had served as my bed, my body screaming in protest. The blanket someone had draped over me, probably Melody, slid to the floor.
The Courts House living room was mercifully empty, though the evidence of Christmas celebrations remained: half-dismantled decorations, a towering tree in the corner with presents still scattered beneath it, abandoned plates of cookies.
My phone lay on the coffee table, screen cracked from when I'd slammed it down at the bar.
I reached for it, wincing as my bruised muscles protested.
Twelve missed calls from Cole. Three from Ryder.
Even two from my father. The shame that had been lurking at the edges of my consciousness surged forward, impossible to ignore.
I'd abandoned them. In the midst of the worst crisis we'd ever faced, I'd surrendered to self-pity and alcohol, leaving Cole and Ryder to carry the weight alone.
What kind of leader was I? What kind of friend?
What kind of man who claimed to love Cadence would fall apart when she needed him most?
A soft knock at the door pulled me from my spiral of self-loathing. Silvia Blake stood in the doorway, a steaming mug in her hands and concern in her dark eyes.
"I heard you moving around," she said softly, stepping into the room.
"Thought you might need this." She approached carefully, as if I were a wounded animal that might lash out.
Given my behaviour lately, I couldn't blame her.
I accepted the coffee with a nod that sent fresh pain lancing through my skull.
She reached into a pocket and pulled out a packet of painkillers and handed them to me.
"How's the head?" she asked, perching on the edge of an armchair across from me.
"Been better," I admitted as I downed two of the tablets dry and then took a scalding sip of coffee. The bitter liquid burned all the way down, the pain almost welcome. "Thanks. For this. For last night." Silvia shrugged, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
"Melody did most of it. I just cleaned you up a bit."
An awkward silence fell between us. I'd never spent much time with Silvia before Cadence disappeared.
She was a first year at Regents, and I had been preoccupied since the year started, but I knew she was a good friend of Cadences.
She was also Dominic Blake's daughter, which made her both fascinating and slightly terrifying by association, but she'd always seemed.
.. separate from her father's world. Quieter. Gentler.
"How's the search going?" she asked finally, her voice careful, neutral. I let out a harsh laugh that hurt my ribs.
"It's not." The words tasted like ash. "All this fucking time and we've got nothing.
Not a single lead." The intrusive thought that had been haunting me for days pushed its way forward again: Cadence is dead.
She has to be. No one survives that long.
Not without a trace. I must have let something of that thought show on my face, because Silvia's expression softened with sympathy that made me want to crawl out of my skin.
I didn't deserve sympathy. I deserved punishment.
"It might go better if we could get a hold of your father," I said flippantly, immediately regretting the words. Bringing up Dominic Blake to his daughter was a low blow, even for the wreck I'd become. But instead of offense, Silvia's expression shifted to confusion.
"You can," she said simply. "He's at The Palace."
I froze, the mug halfway to my lips. "What?"
"He got back from whatever 'business trip' he was on about six days ago," she continued, making air quotes around "business trip" with a grimace.
There was a serious air of distaste around the way she spoke of her father that made me respect her more.
The fog of self-pity and hangover cleared instantly, replaced by razor-sharp focus.
Dominic Blake, the man with fingers in every dark and corrupt corner of the Trivium world, had returned home, and no one had told us.
"Are you sure?" I demanded, setting the coffee down so hard it sloshed over the rim. Silvia nodded.
"I saw him yesterday morning at his house, before I came back here.
He wanted to give me my Christmas present in person.
" Her mouth twisted with distaste. “It’s been tradition since my mum left him.” My mind raced.
Blake had connections everywhere, access to resources that made even my father's criminal empire look amateur.
If anyone could orchestrate a kidnapping that would leave no traces, it was him.
And we knew he had an interest in Cadence, especially after the Legacy dinner a few months ago.
"Silvia?" I asked carefully, meeting her eyes. "Do you think your father could be involved in Cadence's disappearance?" The pain that flashed across her face was answer enough, but she spoke anyway, her voice barely above a whisper.
"It would break my heart," she said, "but it wouldn't surprise me." I could see real pain behind her words. How could it feel to suspect that it was your bloodline that was responsible for the pain and destruction of a friend?
I was on my feet before I realised what I was doing, ignoring the protest from my battered body as I grabbed my phone. Cole answered on the first ring.
"Where the fuck have you been?" he demanded, his voice tight with anger and worry. "I've been calling you all night,-"
"Dominic Blake is back," I interrupted, cutting through his justified tirade. "He's been in Manchester for almost a week. He's at The Palace right now." The line went silent for a heartbeat.
"How do you know?" Cole asked, his voice suddenly deadly calm.
"Silvia told me. I'm at Courts House." Another beat of silence as Cole processed this.
"Get Ryder," I continued. "Come pick me up. We're going to The Palace."
"Logan-"
"Now, Cole." I hung up before he could argue, turning back to Silvia.
"Thank you." She nodded, her expression troubled.
"If my father is involved..." She trailed off, then squared her shoulders.
"Find her, Logan. And if he hurt her, make him pay.
" The daughter of Dominic Blake, giving me permission to go after her father.
"Just be careful. If my father is involved.
.. he's dangerous, Logan. More dangerous than you know. "
I downed the rest of the coffee in one burning gulp.
"So am I."
For the first time in weeks, I felt something other than despair. It might not be hope, I wasn't sure I remembered what that felt like anymore, but it was purpose. Direction.
A target.
Cole and Ryder arrived ten minutes later, both looking like hell.
Cole's eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, his usually immaculate appearance dishevelled.
Ryder was worse, gaunt, unshaven, with a manic intensity in his eyes that bordered on unhinged.
Neither commented on my own battered state as I slid into the back seat of Cole's Range Rover.
"Blake's been back a week?" Cole asked as he pulled away from Courts House, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Why didn't Killingham tell us?"
"Maybe he didn't know," I said, though I didn't believe it for a second. The Trivium's High Lords kept tabs on each other. If Blake had returned, Killingham knew.
"Or maybe he's protecting him," Ryder said from the passenger seat, his voice rough from disuse.
"Maybe they're all in on it." The possibility had occurred to me, too.
We'd trusted the Trivium to help us find Cadence, but what if they were the ones who'd taken her? What if this had been some elaborate test or punishment that got out of hand? Or what if they took the matter of her not being Legacy, despite what Ryder’s mum had said, had been enough for them to break the one rule about no harm coming to a Consort?
"Let's not jump to conclusions," Cole said, ever the voice of reason, even as tension radiated from his rigid posture. "We need to talk to Blake first."
The drive to Manchester passed in tense silence.
The city streets were nearly deserted on Boxing Day morning, allowing Cole to push well beyond the speed limit without concern.
My mind raced with possibilities, with questions, with the faint, fragile hope that we might finally get answers.
And beneath it all, the fear: what if we were too late?
What if, after five weeks of searching, we found Cadence only to discover we'd failed her in the most fundamental way?
I pushed the thought away. One step at a time.
Find Blake. Get answers. Then find Cadence.
The Palace loomed ahead, its elegant facade hiding the corruption within.
According to the public, it operated as an exclusive members-only club for the elite, with big events and galas.
Even the not-so-secret sex club in the lower levels were probably more common knowledge than they should be.
But it was the levels below that held the true horror.
The lower basement, aptly named the Underground, transformed into something far darker, a playground for the wealthy and depraved, where anything could be bought for the right price.
All this was owned by the bastard we were here to see.
Cole parked in the alley behind the building, away from the main entrance where we might be seen.
None of us spoke as we exited the car. We'd been here before, many times, for Trivium functions and celebrations.
Cole had practically grown up here, in those horror-filled levels. We knew the place well between us.
"If he's involved," Cole said quietly as we approached the service entrance, "if he has her..."
"Then we'll get her back," I finished for him, the promise like iron in my voice. "Whatever it takes."
The door was locked, but like that was going to stop us.
Ryder pulled out a small black pouch that contained his lock-picking kit.
I had no doubt that Blake would have nothing but the best security, but Ryder was also pretty adept at breaking even the most superior security systems. Except maybe today.
I watched as he pulled out the tools, his hands shaking.
“You want one of us to do it?” I asked. He didn’t even glance back at me.
“Fuck you, Bale,” he spat as he got to work.
I was about to respond, but a pointed look from Cole told me not to push it.
I was already in enough shit with these two; I didn’t really have any high ground.
But even with the tremor, Ryder had the door open in minutes, and we all made our way into the building.
The service corridor was dimly lit and deserted, the skeleton staff of Boxing Day morning nowhere to be seen.
We moved silently, guided by memory and instinct toward Blake's private office on the upper level.
For Cole, I knew, every step in this building was agony.
The memories of what he'd endured here as a child, the abuse at the hands of men like Blake, would be pressing in on him from all sides.
Yet his expression remained stoic, his steps steady.
His strength humbled me, made my own self-indulgent breakdown seem even more pathetic by comparison.
We reached the ornate door to Blake's office without encountering anyone.
No guards, no staff, no obstacles. It felt too easy, which only heightened my suspicion that we were walking into something planned.
I exchanged a glance with Ryder and Cole.
No words were needed. If Blake had Cadence, if he was responsible for her disappearance, then whatever awaited us on the other side of that door was worth facing.
I didn't knock. Why extend a courtesy to a monster?
Instead, I turned the handle and pushed the door open in one fluid motion, Cole and Ryder flanking me as we entered.
The scene that greeted us was both mundane and grotesque in its casualness.
Dominic Blake sat behind his massive mahogany desk, one hand resting on the head of a young blond woman kneeling between his spread legs, her face obscured but her purpose unmistakable.
He looked up at our entrance, not with surprise or alarm, but with the mild irritation of someone interrupted during a business call.
"Gentlemen," he said smoothly, making no move to stop the girl or cover himself. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?"