Chapter 34
CROSS
THREE MONTHS LATER
“This is probably a little sick,” Tyler says.
I roll my eyes. “I gave you the option to bow out.”
“You said, ‘Don’t make me do this alone. I’ll probably fuck it up.’ And then you gave me fucking puppy dog eyes.”
“And then, I said, ‘But you don’t have to if you don’t want to.’”
“Who could resist that half-hearted offer?” He sighs. “It’s fine. We’re here. Let’s just do this.”
I look down at the crowbar across my lap then back at the house. It’s dark. The whole street is silent at this time of night. We saw him enter almost an hour ago, and the lights in the upstairs window went out.
“So, we’re sticking to the plan, right?”
I nod firmly. “Of course.”
“No seeing red and going off track…”
“Would I do that?”
He snorts. “You’re insufferable.”
He gets out of the car and heads up the walkway.
He seems so chill that I don’t think anyone would suspect we’re up to no good–if anyone is awake to peek out their windows, anyway.
He looks around the porch, crouches to peek under the mat, then expands his search.
He finds a fake rock–I’m assuming–and holds something up.
I get out of the car, stride across the street, and join him on the porch.
He lets us into the house, and we both click on our flashlights. We make quick work scouring the first floor for signs of life then head upstairs.
From the bedroom comes loud snoring. The sort that probably would require medical intervention.
I adjust my grip on the crowbar and approach the bed.
Tyler shines his light on it, illuminating the sleeping pube face.
And the light catches his eyes flying open a split second before I bring the crowbar down on his stomach.
He doubles up, and I hit him again for the hell of it. While he’s wheezing, Tyler and I grab him and throw him onto the floor. I grab his wrists, yanking them to the small of his back.
“Tape?” I grunt.
Tyler kneels down and winds duct tape around his wrists. By the time he blinks away the delirium of sleep, he’s bound, and we’re out of kicking range.
“What the fuck?” he roars.
I motion to Tyler, who flicks on the overhead light. The dick-for-brains cranes his head around and gets a glimpse of me, and his mouth gapes open. Closed. Open. Like a fish out of water. He kind of flops around like one too.
The bedroom is pretty sparse. There’s a dresser, the bed, and a closet. Nightstands on either side. His sheets are black–ew–and there’s the faintest smell of sour sweat in the air.
“Maybe you should open a window once in a while,” I comment. My nose wrinkles. “Or wash your sheets.”
“Focus,” Tyler admonishes.
“Can you find us a chair?”
My best friend eyes me. I hold up my hands in surrender until he’s out of the room, then I crouch down and grab Nicholas Thomson by the hair. I wrench his head back until he meets my eyes.
“Do you know why we’re here?”
“F-for the money?” He struggles, but he has no leverage. “Some sick prank?”
“For Scarlett,” I say softly. “I’m your fucking reckoning.”
He pales.
Tyler’s footsteps thump on the stairs, and I release him just as he reappears. Together, we haul the slimy bastard up and force him into the chair. We tape his ankles to the front legs of the kitchen chair, and I take a seat on the edge of the bed.
Tyler withdraws his phone, and he nods at me when he starts recording.
“Let’s go over what happened last year,” I say. “You want to tell us the truth, don’t you, Nick?”
The guy doesn’t seem very convinced. Or scared. Yes, he’s tied up, but he probably doesn’t think we’re going to do anything seriously harmful.
I get up and scan the few photos on top of his dresser. One seems to be his high school graduation with his parents, complete with a dark-blue cap and gown. Another is him in football gear.
“You play?” I hold up the photo. “For Yale?”
He makes a face. “Yeah. Why?”
“And what else do you do for fun?”
“I’m in a fraternity–and those guys will find you and tear you down if you don’t cut the shit.”
I sigh. “Right. Of course. They probably know about that night with Scarlett, right? Your buddies might’ve even heard your plan beforehand and had a laugh over it?”
“I–”
“No lies,” I interrupt. “I’m so fucking sick of your voice, but I want to hear what you did. And then maybe you’ll walk out of here. Or maybe, your precious Yale will find out about the fighting. Do you think they’d take you off the football team? Would the frat have no choice but to kick you out?”
“My life will be just fine,” he snaps.
I smile, but all I feel is an icy rage. “Will it?”
He sees something in my expression and sits up straighter. “Listen. I didn’t do anything with the cash yet. It’s in my closet. You can have it–”
“Yeah, we’ll be taking that on our way out. But first…”
I come closer and press the pointed edge of the crowbar under his chin. The cold metal digs into his skin, and fear widens his eyes.
“Tell us about that night. You had no problem telling me in the cage.”
His gaze flicks to the phone in Tyler’s hand then back to me.
I lower the crowbar and take a seat again.
“Fine,” he says on a sigh. “Scarlett loved to play hard to get. She rebuked me a few times, but she would always come to the parties with her friends. So, yeah, I thought I might give her a little something extra to help me win her over.”
“And…”
“And when she finished the drink, her eyes could barely open. I helped her upstairs. And nature took over.”
“Nature,” I repeat. “With…an unconscious girl.”
He frowns. “She wasn’t passed out.”
“No, you drugged her to bring her right to that edge of oblivion.”
“Exactly!” He pauses. “But she wanted it. She was moaning.”
My stomach twists, because I’ve heard her moan, and I bet it was nothing like what came out of her mouth that night.
“I’ve heard enough.” I stand. “Tyler, shut it down.”
He pockets his phone, his eyebrows raised.
This is the part where things go off the rails.
“I hope every step is painful for the rest of your life,” I say quietly. “I hope the agony can’t be fixed, and you’re constantly reminded that this is because you made a strong woman vulnerable. You ripped away her ability to feel safe around men.”
“I–”
I bring the crowbar down on his knee.
His plea, whatever it was going to be, is cut off in a howl of pain. I take my anger out on his leg until there’s no fucking doubt that I’ve shattered something. Bone or joint–I don’t care. He screams, over and over, until Tyler catches the crowbar and yanks it out of my hand.
Tyler darts forward and punches him, hard, in the temple.
It’s an easy lights out.
His head drops onto his chest, and we’re left staring at the bloody mess of his leg. It doesn’t even really look like a limb anymore.
“That was not in the playbook,” Tyler says slowly.
I shrug. “He crossed the line first.”
“We should get out of here.” Tyler pulls me back then slowly cuts our captive free. He unravels the tape and stuffs it in his pocket then pauses. “What he said was disgusting.”
I nod.
He shoves him, and the big guy crashes to the floor.
“Okay. I feel better.” Tyler leads the way outside. “Now what?”
“Now, we let Scar decide.” I tip my head. “Eh, plus a little extra.”
He groans. “Great. Improvising again.”
“You love it.”