Chapter Nineteen
Wells
The night clings to me like a second skin as I slip through the trees behind Atkinson’s estate. I stick to the shadows, where I belong, unseen, unheard, a fucking phantom stitched into the fabric of dark deeds.
Flattening my body against the stone, I edge toward the back of the house. Light floods the windows, but I know where to step. I’ve cased this place enough times to walk it blind.
I scale the lattice like it’s muscle memory, slipping through the cracked window on the second floor without making a sound. Every movement is calculated. Precise. The way a Devil moves when he knows he’s walking into enemy territory.
I land on the hardwood like a whisper, crouched, silent. The house is empty, staff sent home hours ago. I watched them leave. Then I watched the monsters arrive.
Branson.
Desmond.
Vaughn.
Our fathers. Once legends. Now just shadows in suits, still clinging to power that doesn’t belong to them anymore. They don’t know it yet, but this is their funeral. They’re just waiting on someone to throw dirt.
I move through the upper floor, tracking their voices like blood on snow. I already know the layout, spent too many nights hiding in this house as a kid. Back when I still believed in bedtime stories and fathers who gave a fuck.
I crouch low at the top of the stairs, keeping my body still, my breathing even.
Then I hear Branson:
“It would appear our sons have more balls than we do.”
No shit.
“We’ve been reduced to hiding in plain sight, not living up to our name, doing unimaginable things. All at what cost?”
Desmond’s weak-ass voice cuts in, “We were instructed to wait.”
Branson snaps, voice like a rusted blade, “Fuck waiting. The boys are already taking over. Soon, we’ll be obsolete.”
I tilt my head, just barely peeking through the banister.
That’s when it happens.
From the corner of the room, the shadows move.
And something worse than any of them steps forward.
A masked figure. Drenched in darkness. Silent until he isn’t.
“You dare disobey a direct order from your Prime?”
My stomach knots. Every instinct screams to retreat, but I force myself to stay still. Listen. Watch.
“Don’t get quiet now,” the figure hisses. “Moments ago, you were ready to defy me. Now you cower.”
A chill slides down my spine. His presence is thick, suffocating. That’s not just a man. That’s something else.
And then Vaughn moves.
Fucker’s coming this way.
I don’t hesitate.
I’m gone before he reaches the stairs, feet flying silent over the landing. I slip back through the window, descend the lattice like the shadows themselves are holding me, and disappear into the trees.
It’s only when I slam the car door shut and peel off down the gravel road that I exhale.
But I don’t waste time breathing.
I hit the Bluetooth on the dash.
One ring. Wyck answers.
“What up?”
I floor it onto the main road, tires screaming beneath me. “We’ve got a fucking problem.”
His voice sharpens. “Go.”
I spill everything, the meeting, the betrayal, the masked Prime, and the weak-ass excuses they’re still hiding behind.
By the time I finish, I’m already thinking ahead. Already planning.
Because this?
This changes everything.
They still think this game belongs to them.
They don’t know it yet… But we’ve already stolen the board.
“So let me get this straight,” Wyck says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and razor sharp. “You snuck into Atkinson’s house and caught the Elders mid-meeting… and some cloaked, faceless motherfucker crawled out of the dark and started emasculating them one by one?”
I nod once. “Yeah.”
His brow twitches, but he doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink. Just watches me like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle he already knows the edges to.
“What made you go there in the first place?”
“I couldn’t shake the feeling.” I crack my knuckles, jaw tight.
“Ever since we rolled up on your father’s place and saw the others sitting comfy in his living room, something didn’t sit right.
So, I started tailing mine. Noticed a pattern, same cars, different houses. Quiet meetings. No digital trail.”
He says nothing. Just waits.
“So tonight, I followed Vaughn. Figured it was time someone found out what the fuck they’re hiding.”
I walk him through everything I saw. Every word, every twitch, every threat from the masked bastard in the shadows. Wyck listens like a predator sizing up prey.
When I finish, he finally speaks. “Athens is tangled up in this shit deeper than she realizes.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face. “And I don’t like her walking blind into it. We need answers, fast. But she’s not gonna do well with being backed into a corner.”
“I’m not throwing her against a wall for answers,” he replies, voice calm, but there's a dangerous edge. “But someone’s gotta pry her open, gently.”
“Then let Karter try,” I offer. “Or Dash. He’s been playing the long game lately. Softening her up.”
A beat of silence.
“Yeah,” Wyck says slowly, eyes darkening. “Yeah, I’ve noticed that. I’ll plant the seed. But first…” He stands, rolling his shoulders like he’s about to break someone’s neck. “It’s time to collect.”
I grin. “Fuck yeah.”
“The Devils are about to stir the pot, and flip the fucking table.”
“Just the way I like it,” I say, already itching for a little chaos. “So what’s the move?”
“You, Dash, and Onyx grab some of the Devils and head to Baker’s Field Mill. Rally the right kind of reckless. Karter and I will hit the ones who owe us. We’ll see who still bleeds Cliffside red.”
“Copy that.” I pause, one foot already out the door. “One thing.”
“What.”
“When are you gonna push her to read the rest of the journals?”
His jaw ticks. “Monday. After tomorrow, she might come to us for answers. But whether she wants them or not…” His voice drops to a growl. “She’s gonna get them. We just make sure someone’s always there. Watching.”
I nod. “Agreed.”
He glances at me, a twisted grin finally tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s get to work.”
This… this is what I fucking live for.
Plans in motion. Blades in shadows. And Devils crawling out of hell to collect what’s theirs.
It’s freezing inside Cliffside Haven. Cold like a morgue. Sterile. Hollow. The kind of chill that sinks into your bones and reminds you, this is where secrets come to die.
Wyck and I step through the doors like ghosts returning to a place that never really forgot us. Connie, the front desk banshee, greets us with that snake oil smile of hers.
“Evening, boys. Here to see Liam?”
Wyck flashes her that devil-may-care charm that always seems to work on women like her. “We’ve got some… unfinished business.”
She nods, eyes glinting with unspoken understanding. Everyone in this place plays a role, even the ones who pretend they don’t. Connie isn’t just a secretary. She’s Liam’s first line of defense and his personal reaper dispatcher.
“I’ll let him know you’re here. He’s downstairs…” she adds with a sly smirk, already canceling tonight’s appointments before disappearing into the back.
I shoot Wyck a look. “You sure this is the guy?”
He doesn’t even glance my way. “This is where Liam’s superpower shines. Just wait.”
The hallway is long and lined with locked doors, quiet tombs for the broken. At the end, Wyck pushes through an unmarked door that leads to a narrow stairwell. The deeper we go, the louder the screaming gets.
Music to my goddamn ears.
When we enter the basement, it smells like sweat and rot and scorched metal. A symphony of blood. And there he is, Liam Holster, former Devil of Cliffside, now resident mind-fucker and part-time executioner.
“Wyck. Wells. What brings you boys to my playground?” Liam doesn’t even bother turning around. He’s busy peeling the soul out of a man strapped to a steel chair, flesh torn and weeping.
“Please! Stop it!” the man howls.
Liam slaps him across the face. “You knew the cost of betrayal. You knew the price of picking the wrong side.”
I step closer. Blood’s dried in thick layers on the floor like paint. The man’s name is Barron. That hits. I’ve heard it before.
“Barron?” I echo. “Ain’t that the pig that disappeared years ago?”
“Dirty cop. Former Devil,” Briggs answers from the shadows. “Should’ve rotted in the Wastelands. Instead, he’s been living like a fucking king.”
Wyck cocks his head. “Please tell me you’re not working for my father too, Barron.”
Barron lifts his head, defiant. “You little fucks think you’re running shit. Your fathers are the real power here. You’re nothing but shadows playing gangster.”
I grin. “Funny. You won’t be laughing when we carve your tongue out and feed it to the dogs.”
Wyck ignores the outburst. “Liam, what’s he told you?”
“Not much. But I’ve barely warmed up.” Liam grins, licking blood from his knuckles.
Barron spits at him. “You’re all fucking insane.”
Wyck crouches, jabbing a finger deep into one of Barron’s fresh wounds. He doesn’t scream, but his body jerks, and that’s enough.
“You won’t live long enough to tell anyone what you’ve seen. You should’ve picked our side, pig.”
Barron roars, “Fuck you!”
“No, fuck you.” I snarl, spitting in his face. “You rats always bark loudest before the blade hits bone.”
Liam steps forward, pulling out his phone and hitting a button. It dials instantly.
“Yes, sir?” a distorted voice answers.
“You in position?”
“Yes.”
“You have eyes on the woman and the kids?”
“Affirmative.”
I glance at Barron. The way his face shifts, he knows.
“When I say go, burn it all to ash.”
“No! Not my wife, my children!” Barron’s mask crumbles. He thrashes against the restraints, panic flooding him faster than the blood spilling from his wounds.
“You brought this on yourself,” Liam hums, almost gleeful. “You wouldn’t talk, so now your family will.”
“You’re lying! My wife, she’d never-”
“Oh, but she already has.” Liam circles him like a vulture. “Your nanny reports everything to me. Your wife’s been done with your shit for years. She won’t mourn you. She’ll be relieved.”
Barron sobs now. A broken man. But there’s no redemption waiting.
“Liam’s not the monster,” Wyck says, voice low. “You are. He just finishes the story.”
“Now…” Liam turns to us, “what can I do for the new kings of Cliffside?”
“We’re testing loyalty,” Wyck answers. “Calling in favors. Seeing who still bleeds Devil red and who needs to be bled dry.”
“I’m in,” Liam says, no hesitation. “Always have been.”
“Good,” Wyck smirks. “When you’re done, I want his body in pieces. Delivered to me. Neatly labeled.”
“Consider it done.”
Barron screams something about justice, about loyalty, about the Elders.
Wyck just laughs. “Those who aren’t with us… die.”
We leave the basement, the screams echoing behind us like a hymn.
This is the world we built. Dark. Merciless. Ours.