Chapter Five
Wyck
The moment I killed the call the house seemed to shrink around me, airless, coffin tight.
I am a jealous man. Not because I doubt my worth; I doubt the world’s restraint. Athens isn’t a woman you “share.” She is an orbit, every Devil is just another moon circling her gravity, pretending we’re not all owned by it.
I pace the study, rage coiling tighter every lap. Karter knows sex isn’t the medicine she needs right now, she needs truth, but he still had to bury himself in her first. Typical.
I’ll break his jaw for that.
I yank the liquor cabinet open, pour a double shot of whiskey, knock it back. The burn barely registers, just adds heat to the fire already eating me alive.
The front door creaks. Laughter follows, her laugh, soft and bell clear, dragging nails down my spine. Tiger bounds toward it; my feet follow.
I catch them in the foyer: Athens kneeling to pet the beast, Karter looming behind her with a box of journals under one arm and that shit eating grin spread across his face.
Something inside me snaps.
I cross the marble, fist first, hammer Karter in the gut, then drive another into his mouth. He staggers, coughs, blood on his lip, still smiling.
“Wyck! What the hell?” Athens shrieks.
I don’t answer. I swing again until Maeve wedges her tiny body between us, brogue sharp as broken glass. “Touch him once more an’ I’ll skin the pair o’ ye!”
Gage hauls me back. I’m shaking, muscles loaded, starving for more violence.
“You had no right,” I snarl at Karter, knowing I’m wrong but past caring.
He wipes blood from his mouth, gives me that lazy Devil grin. “I had every right. She asked me to take the pain away, and I did. She’s not just yours, Wyck. Accept it or I’ll ram it through your thick skull.” He leans close enough to bleed on my shirt. “And next time, I won’t stop.”
He turns, guides Athens toward the stairs. She rounds on me, eyes blazing.
“You didn’t even ask what happened. You just swung, like always. I’m done with it.”
They disappear. The silence afterward feels like a tundra.
Maeve clicks her tongue. “Well, ye bollixed that proper, didn’t ye?”
I ignore her and shove past, heading outside to retrieve the journals. Gage trails me.
“Not my place, sir,” he says, voice calm, “but I watched my best friend murder my mother, and I learned one thing: ask questions before you swing. Keeps regret to a minimum.”
I stop. The words land harder than Karter’s grin. I breathe once, only once.
“I never planned to share her,” I admit. “But the day I found her again, I knew I couldn’t keep her.”
Gage nods, steps aside.
I pop Karter’s passenger door, haul the box out. Heavy, full of the history they stole from her.
Whatever’s in these pages, we’ll pry it open together, bleed the truth dry, and nail the corpses of every liar to the gates of Cliffside.
Because if Bash, or anyone, tries to script her life one more time?
The Devils will write the final chapter in blood.
And I will start with my own father.
“He overheard a conversation between Athens and her… Aunt,” I say the word like it tastes sour. “He thought the journals might shed some light on what she’s unraveling.”
“If he thinks so, then I back it,” Gage replies, trailing me into the shadows of the manor. “What do you think she’ll find in them?”
I pause at the base of the stairs, my hand grazing the banister like it might ground me.
“I don’t know,” I murmur, voice low, dangerous. “But whatever’s in that box… it’ll either stitch her back together or rip her apart completely.”
The air grows colder between us. I glance at Gage, debating. He’s been solid, reliable. Maybe even trustworthy. Close enough to share a sliver of rot from my past.
“There was a time my father nearly beat me to death,” I say, calm as a confession. “Said I was soft. A disgrace to his legacy. Said if I couldn’t become the monster he bred, I wasn’t fit to wear the name.”
Gage stiffens beside me.
“He called himself a legend,” I scoff, dead behind the eyes. “I call him what he really is, decay wearing a crown. I’ve spent years dismantling his empire, brick by bloody brick.”
“Fuck, Wyck,” Gage breathes. “I had no idea…”
“I don’t want sympathy,” I snap. “I want rage. I want your loyalty. I want someone beside me when we burn what’s left of him to ash.”
His answer is instant. “I’m in. I’ll help you finish it.”
A smirk creeps in. “Good. Because once we go down this road, there’s no turning back. There’s no normal. Only fire.”
We share a look. A pact.
“Anything you need, I’ve got you,” he adds.
I nod once. “Then let’s start simple. I need to know what makes you tick. What made you want to become a Devil, and what your superpower is.”
He blinks. “My superpower?”
“Yeah,” I grin darkly. “Every Devil’s got one. Mine? I bend people to my will. No matter how strong they think they are.”
He chuckles, but there’s unease beneath it. “I’m good with my hands. Breaking. Rebuilding. I fix shit that’s already gone to hell.”
“You’re gonna fit in just fine,” I say, voice low and edged. “We’ll need you. Got a place in mind, out past the cliffs. Abandoned estate. Perfect for expanding. But first, we take care of the rot inside our own walls.”
He nods, full of that same grim fire I see in the mirror. “Say the word. I’m with you.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “I’ll hold you to that.”
But now? I have ghosts to confront.
I make my way up the stairs, feet heavy with the weight of too much history. My gut tells me to go to my room, but my darkness pulls me toward Karter’s instead.
I’m halfway there when I hear her.
Athens.
“Every time I try to give in, to his needs, his bullshit, he ruins it with something fucking stupid like that stunt downstairs.”
Her voice is hot. Sharp. Full of venom.
Then Karter’s.
“He means well, you know that. He just… doesn’t know how to show it.”
“I don’t care,” she fires back. “He acts like a damn alpha-hole.”
I snort, almost breaking the silence.
Karter laughs. “An alpha-hole? That a thing now?”
“Yeah, so?” she snaps back, bratty and smug.
God, I can see her, hand on hip, head tilted, too damn pretty when she’s pissed off.
“You are such a fucking brat,” Karter says, and the next sound is skin against skin, the rhythm of bare feet and her giggle echoing off the walls.
Then, “Karter! Put me down!”
And him, voice low, dark with fondness. “Not a chance. I live for that laugh.”
It’s like knives to my chest.
I back away before I hear more. I can already feel the crack forming in my ribs. The temptation to storm in and relive the bloodbath from earlier is too strong.
I head to my room.
I toss the box of journals onto my bed like it’s full of bones.
Whatever’s in there, it belongs to her now.
But I can’t stay in this house. Not tonight. Not with them beneath the same roof.
I pull out my phone and fire off a message to a different thread. The other Devils. The ones who don’t ask questions, only move when it’s time to destroy.
Tonight, I don’t want a fight.
I want a fucking war.
Wyck: Who’s coming out tonight?
Gage: I’m in. Need to blow off some steam.
Dash: Wouldn’t miss it.
Onyx: Me three. Already dressed like a problem.
Wells:...
Cairo: I have 3 exams this week ??
Fred: Can I come? ??
Wells: Who the actual fuck added her to this chat?
Fred: Why don’t you come say that to my face, baby?
Wells: ????
Fred: WELLS I WAS KIDDING. Do NOT come in here, Wyck come get your psycho!! ??
Wyck: Wells. Not tonight. Everyone else, be here by 9. Don’t make me come find you.
I toss my phone onto the bed, the screen still glowing with unread tension, and drag the box closer. It’s heavier than it looks, like the weight of it already knows it’s holding something I shouldn’t be touching.
One violent flip and the contents spill out.
Journals. Dozens of them. Leather-bound. Some cracked at the spine, others pristine like they’ve never been opened, never dared to bleed.
I crouch down, running my hand across the covers, each one marked with a year. Neat. Controlled. Like whoever wrote them wanted someone, me , to find them.
There’s a part of me that says wait for her . That these belong to Athens. That reading them without her is a betrayal she doesn’t deserve.
But I’m not built for patience. Not when truth is in arm’s reach. Not when lies are all we’ve ever known.
I start shoving them back in the box, until one slips from my grip and tumbles off the bed, landing with a thud and flutter.
It cracks open.
One word, scribbled in frantic ink like a scream caught in paper, “Daddy.”
Everything in me stills. My chest tightens. My skin goes cold.
I’ve felt fear before. Real fear. But this? This feels like something more.
Slamming it shut, I shove it beneath the others and try to ignore the way my hands are trembling. But now I have to know. I sort them fast, scanning dates, putting them in order, lining up years like bones for the autopsy of her past.
By the time I’m done, sweat clings to my back and I can hear my pulse in my ears.
I should stay here. Crack them open. Go full grave robber.
Instead, I reach for my phone and shoot off a message to Dash.
If what’s in these pages is what I think it is, we’ll need more than whiskey and fists.
We’ll need blood.
Me: Need you to dig up everything on Athens’ parents.
Dash: Names?
Me: Henry and Kaia Walker. Start there. Don’t stop till you hit bone.
Dash: Copy that. I’ll gut whatever records are left standing.
Me: You rolling out tonight?
Dash: Fuck yeah. Feels like the calm before a storm. Let’s light it up.
Me: Bet. I’m out.
Dash: See you in hell, brother.
They say curiosity killed the cat and I’m starting to think I may be the cat because the need to know more is killing me.
I can’t stop picturing them. What he’s doing to her. What she’s letting him do.
It’s fucking with my head. So, instead of spiraling, I grab my spare key and head down the hall. Fred’s room. Distraction wrapped in chaos.
The lock clicks open with a satisfying snap.
“Wells, I said I was sorry, now go away!” Her voice is sharp, but it wavers. Trembles like she’s holding back a scream.
“I’m not Wells.” I step inside. She’s crouched by the bed, gripping a lamp like it’s a goddamn weapon. “Fred… what the fuck were you planning to do with that?”
She glances at the lamp, then at me, wide-eyed and guilty. “Bash his skull in?” It comes out like a question. Even she knows how ridiculous it sounds.
“That lamp wouldn’t leave a scratch.”
She shrugs. “It’s the thought that counts.” Tosses it on the bed like a spoiled child discarding a broken toy. “So, what’s this? You come to bask in my imprisonment? Bring me a gift? A bullet, maybe?”
Smartass.
“You wanna get out, don’t you?”
Her whole face lights up like I just handed her the goddamn key to the universe. But she reins it in fast, shaking her head like that’ll protect her from disappointment.
“Get ready.” I turn to leave, but she freezes at the threshold.
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch. Just throw on something decent before I change my mind.” I don’t wait for her to argue.
I slam the door behind me, hard enough to rattle the frame, mostly to drown out the voice in my head telling me this is a mistake.
But fuck it. We all need a little sin to survive. And tonight? She gets to sin with us.