Chapter Thirteen
Wyck
“This isn’t about the journals,” I say, tone flat. “But it damn well might be connected. I was going to wait, but timing’s a luxury we can’t afford anymore.”
They’re all watching me now, the air sharpening around us like a blade.
“Felix and Niko caught my father getting the shit kicked out of him by Karter and Onyx’s dads.”
“What?” Karter, Dash, and Wells snap at the same time.
“And that’s not the worst of it,” I go on, deadpan.
“Turns out my father secretly married Athens . Drugged her to do it. She has no memory of it, nothing. He thinks she’s his golden ticket out of whatever financial hell he’s crawled into.
I want to know what kind of money mess he’s in that requires selling her like that. What’s his fucking endgame?”
“So we’re just gonna glide past the fact our fathers are playing puppet master again?” Dash says, venom curling under his voice.
“Hell no,” I growl. “That’s why I said we needed to make this time with her count . Because soon we’ll be knee deep in blood, and I intend to wade through every last drop.”
I let the next bomb drop. “We’re moving.”
Karter narrows his eyes. “Why?”
“Because The Devils of Cliffside are growing, and we need a compound worthy of what we’re building. Isolation. Secrecy. Power.”
“What about the staff?” Onyx asks, his mask unreadable.
“We’ll talk soon. Gage will scout it with me. I want an outside opinion, someone who’s not one of us.”
I glance over to Athens.
She’s too quiet. Too still. I know that look, she’s on the edge of crumbling, and if she breaks, none of us are walking away clean.
Her voice cracks. “I need to get the fuck out of here. I’m sick of the journals, the whispers, the fact you’re talking about me like I’m not in the room.
And now… you tell me I’m actually married to that monster ?
I can’t.” She bolts up from Wells’ lap, rage and heartbreak bleeding from her every step as she storms out of the living room.
Dash watches her go, then mutters, “Well, guess that was the straw that snapped the spine.”
He’s not wrong. It was a lot. But it needed to be said.
I scan the room. “Anyone think I should’ve waited?”
Silence. Then one by one, nods.
Minutes drag.
Karter finally stands. “Come on.” No one questions it. We rise like shadows behind him.
We search the first floor, kitchen, den. Empty.
I stop. “I know where she is.”
I don’t wait for them to catch up.
When I reach my room, the door is shut. That alone confirms it, Athens never closes the door.
I push it open slowly.
She’s there. Curled beneath the covers like a ghost trying to disappear. Her soft snores fill the room, uneven and heavy. I step in, unable to help the dark smile tugging at my lips. Even now, she has me by the throat.
Mascara streaks her cheeks like war paint. She’s still the most fucking beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Let her rest,” Dash says behind me. “She’s earned it.”
“I’m not waking her.” I nod to her slumbering form. “But if one of you wants to stay with her until I get back, now’s your chance.”
Karter and Dash strip off their shirts like wolves claiming a den. They climb in on either side of her, moving carefully but deliberately.
Onyx pulls up a chair, crossing his arms, eyes unreadable.
Wells gives her a long look. Something raw flickers in his expression before he turns to me.
“I’ll come with you,” he says.
I shut the door behind us and we step into the hall.
“She needs to finish those journals,” I mutter. “Make sure Karter gets that through to her. She’ll listen to him.”
Wells nods. “He’s her soft spot.”
“And I’m the one that burns.”
“Where are we headed?”
“A while back I had our Devils running point on different ops. Leads. Loose ends. I’ve been distracted... Haven’t checked in.”
He smirks. “Love does that. Has a way of making killers act like saints.”
I stop walking. Look him dead in the eye.
“Who the fuck said I was in love?”
He laughs. “Please. You’re all in. We all are. Dash and Onyx just haven’t gotten their turn yet.”
I ignore the truth of it and keep walking.
“So what’s the plan?”
I exhale. “I don’t know. I want that marriage annulled. I want her moved into the new house. And I want my father dead. But that’s just the beginning. Because when Gerald Carmichael and Gio Greyskin find out we killed their bastard sons? They’ll try to erase us.”
“They won’t get the chance,” Wells says, voice cold. “They’ll be corpses before the news finishes echoing.”
“Not good enough. I want them begging. I want their fear to taste like copper in their throats when we slit them open. We deliver death in person.”
“Now that…” he grins. “That I’m down for.”
He exhales. “Nothing more we can do tonight.”
“Yeah. Let’s get some sleep.”
But I don’t head upstairs.
While Wells climbs the steps, I descend.
Down to the basement.
Where the walls know my rage, and the silence listens better than most people do.
Where I can think.
And plan.
Because when this war starts, it won’t be a storm.
It’ll be a fucking reckoning .
Mondays are bloodthirsty.
The city claws itself back to life after the chaos of the weekend, hungover, cracked open, crawling toward some false sense of order.
But not us. We thrive in the aftermath.
While the sheep scramble to reclaim routine, I’m already thinking five moves ahead, about masks, war, and the mess we’re about to unleash.
Little Fox. She’s the only softness left in me.
I think about her, strung out on pleasure, wrapped in silk and sin, all those broken pieces we tried to glue back together over the weekend. But now? Now it’s time to sharpen the blades again.
It’s time for The Devils to come out and play.
Down in the basement, where the walls bleed silence and truth, I came up with a plan. A reckless one. My favorite kind.
We’re throwing another party at the old mill. But this time? No initiations. No masks for the masses.
This one’s a proclamation .
Not a whisper. A roar .
A warning to every fucker watching us from the shadows: the Devils aren’t just real, we’re unavoidable.
We’re not revealing our identities… not yet. That time’s coming. But for now, the masks stay on. I like the way they distort fear, how the eyes behind them are the last thing you see before everything goes black.
And speaking of masks, it's time for an upgrade.
I shoot off a text to the boys. Gage will handle the mask commission. We need something new. Sharper. Hungrier.
Meanwhile, I’ve got flyers to pass out. Old-school. In your face. Unignorable.
Before I get started, I dial Fred.
She answers on the third ring with enough attitude to peel paint off a wall.
“What?” she snaps. “I’m in the ladies’ room dealing with hormonal warfare.”
“Didn’t ask,” I reply. “But when you’re done bleeding out, I need something.”
Her groan rattles straight out of Hell. “Of course you do, chosen one . What divine favor do you require now?”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“Too late.”
“Fred.”
“Wyck.” Satan, reincarnated with cramps.
“I’ll make it worth your while. I’m talking crack-level chocolate. Imported. Dangerous.”
She squeals. I grin. Hook, line… “But only after you say yes.”
She growls like the feral little gremlin she is. “You better not be lying about that chocolate, Wyck. I’m talking dark. 85%. None of that weak-ass Hershey shit.”
“How would you even know what crack tastes like?”
“Focus, spawn of Lucifer. What am I doing?”
“We’re throwing a party. Bigger. Dirtier. Louder . No recruits this time, just fear. I need you to plaster the flyers across campus. Dorms, lecture halls, sorority bathrooms, go full guerrilla.”
“More eccentric than last time?” she scoffs. “The last one looked like a cult-themed orgy inside a sauna.”
“Yeah, well, this isn’t about fun anymore.” I pause, voice dropping. “Everything we’ve believed in, every lie they fed us, it’s crumbling. The Devils are done waiting. It’s time people learned that we’re not some fucked-up myth.”
A beat of silence. Then, “Badass,” she whistles. “Where?”
“The library.”
She snorts. “Do you even know how to read?”
“Keep talking and Wells won’t be the only Devil haunting your dreams. I’ll carve your initials into your spleen while you’re wide awake .”
“Jesus. What have I signed up for?” Click.
She hangs up.
And I smile. Wide. Unhinged.
There’s nothing like the buzz of anarchy coming to life, plans unfolding like wings beneath the flame.
This party? It’s not a celebration.
It’s a warning. A declaration.
To anyone who’s ever doubted us. Mocked us. Betrayed us. The Devils of Cliffside aren’t a rumor anymore.
We’re the reckoning.
We’re clearing our names, rewriting the rules, and breaking every bone that stands in our way.
If anyone’s got a problem with that… Well. I’ve always been good at solving problems.
And these days? There’s no such thing as mercy.
Only masks. And war.
Time’s moving too damn fast, and I can’t decide if that’s a curse or a gift.
Classes blur into each other, just white noise between the moments that matter.
Like her.
Like my Little Fox.
I haven’t seen her since this morning, and that was barely a taste. Long enough to make me crave more. Long enough to remind me what it’s like to feel alive , before reality dragged me back under.
She drove herself today. Insisted on it. Said she needed the space.
So I let her take one of my vintage beasts.
My '56 Jaguar. Black as sin and twice as rare.
“Be careful with her,” I told her. “She’s as delicate as you are.”
“I know you love her,” she said, smiling from behind the wheel like she didn’t know I loved her more. “I’ll take care of her. You’ll see.”
That damn smile still echoes through my skull. I should’ve followed her then.
But I didn’t.
Now I’m changing course, cutting through the courtyard and straight toward her classroom, because something in my chest has been buzzing since I woke up.
Fifteen minutes left in her lecture. I’ll wait. I’ll take what I can get.
Until, “Sir, we’ve got a problem,” Blake says, jogging up like he knows better than to run around me.