Chapter Thirty-One
Wyck
It’s been what felt like weeks since we moved into the asylum. Our new kingdom. A relic of madness reimagined for monsters like us.
Athens owns it now. Every cursed hallway, every crooked shadow. She’s carved herself into this place like she was born to reign in ruins.
At first, I gave her a couple of rooms, called it compromise.
Now?
The girl’s got an entire wing.
A theater for the theatrics she pretends not to love. A library with a hidden nook where she disappears for hours. An office that smells like vanilla and paper cuts. A closet that could swallow the sun. A mudroom, because apparently we track sin in like dirt .
And our room? It’s… hers. Dark-painted walls. White flooring. Stark furniture. Black silk curtains that kiss the ground like they’re mourning. And pink, fuck, the girl added pink .
I almost choked when she justified it.
"You represent the good kind of darkness in my life. The one where I see the light at the end of a tunnel. Your tunnel… because I am that light.”
I didn’t think I could fall harder.
Then she said that, and I fucking plummeted.
Dash’s whistle snaps me out of it. “Jesus, this is a lot of pink,” he mutters, stepping into her curated chaos like he’s trespassing in Barbie’s funeral home.
“Anything our girl wants, she gets,” I say without flinching. “If you think this is a lot, don’t walk into her office. I still haven’t recovered.”
Truth is… I don’t care how bright it gets, as long as she smiles, I’ll gladly live in her version of hell.
“I get it,” Dash says, eyes glinting with something darker. “We broke in her office last week after she cracked reading one of those journals. She needed an outlet. I gave it to her.”
His smirk is sharp. But short-lived.
We all know Athens hasn’t told us everything. She's holding onto secrets like they’re survival, and I’ve let it go long enough.
So I had Fred and Ryan go in after her.
They weren’t thrilled.
“Dude, we don’t need to read them,” Ryan had snapped. “We were there. ”
“Yeah, and I’d rather not relive any of it,” Fred added, face pale. “No one should have to remember shit like that.”
That got my attention.
“What do you mean?”
Fred hesitated. Then dropped the match. “Her dad didn’t just abuse her. Bash, your father, was grooming her too. Since she was a kid.”
My blood ran cold.
“What the fuck did you say?”
“There’s a journal in her office. Different handwriting. Not hers. We don’t know who wrote it, but it’s… bad.”
“And you were just never going to tell me?”
“It’s not our story to tell,” Ryan hissed. “But with Thanksgiving break coming… maybe it’s time she talks to her mom. And her sister. ”
“Sister?” The word tastes like rust.
“Yeah. Gaia.”
Fuck. Gaia.
How the hell did I miss that?
They don’t look alike. Didn’t act like it either. But now… now everything is shifting into focus.
How many others are there?
How many children did the Elder Prime scatter like rot?
I grit my teeth. “Read them all. Every word. I want nothing left behind. Not one fucking secret. Got it?”
Fred nods. “If it helps take Bash down, I’m in.”
“That’s all I ask,” I mutter.
Ryan rolls her eyes. “Yeah, whatever. I still don’t like it.”
“I don’t care.”
That’s when Gage steps into the room like he’s been summoned by the devil himself.
He clears his throat. “Niko has new information on your father.”
Of course he does.
“And?”
“There’s something else,” Gage says, avoiding my stare like it burns. “What do we do about Colt and Valentina? You know they’ll strike first.”
I don’t hesitate.
“I’m glad you brought that up,” I say slowly, each word coated in poison. “Because tonight… Devils’ business takes priority.”
My gaze locks on his.
And I tilt my head.
“Are you in, Gage?”
He blinks once. Then nods.
Good.
Because tonight, the monsters in this house aren’t sleeping.
They’re hunting.
Gerald Carmichael sits in his office with a cigar pinched between his yellowing teeth, a glass of scotch in one hand, and his wife’s sister, Tiffany, gagging on his dick like it’s her job.
It’s not.
But none of that matters now.
The second we took Valentina, I knew Gerald would retaliate. The when was always the question.
That’s where Conner came in. His aunt, our mole, was embedded deep inside the Carmichael estate. Their maid, their shadow, our eyes. She bled for us long before Gerald ever noticed the leak.
And when things turned bloody, we pulled her out like the extraction pros we are.
No loose ends.
Before we burned the trail, she handed us something better than intel, she gave us Gerald’s fucking schedule. His vices. His weaknesses.
The man upped his security after Valentina vanished, posted guards, ran drills, but made one fatal mistake.
He killed Kellan.
Replaced him with his spineless son.
By the time we confirmed Kellan’s death, his body was already cold.
But now?
Now both his children are gone.
And Gerald’s next.
Everyone wants a slice of what we built, but no one’s willing to bleed for it the way we did. We didn’t claw our way through hell just to be touched by a greedy bastard with no backbone.
While Gerald drinks and fucks his sister-in-law like a goddamn soap opera villain, we’ve been stacking his sins like bodies. Watching. Waiting.
And now?
Now we strike.
“He’s been getting sloppy,” I mutter, even though it’s obvious to all of us.
“Yeah,” Karter snorts. “Shit’s been circling the drain ever since his little angels got clipped. Oh wait, ” He lifts the black duffel and jiggles it. “They didn’t disappear . They’re right here. ”
Remains is generous. We’ve got Court’s body and Colt’s head. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Who gives a fuck? They’re dead, and they deserved worse.
“They got what they earned. Their father’s next.” Onyx’s voice is a low growl beneath the mask, emotionless.
We all wear them tonight, custom Devils gear. No cheap knock-offs. No ghostface shit.
These masks are matte black, stitched over the mouth, glowing Xs across the eyes. A warning. A game.
You see one of us?
You’re already dead.
“No one fucks with The Devils and walks away,” I say as I lower my hood.
“Ten minutes before he busts his nut,” Karter grins. “Let’s make it count.”
I nod. “Everyone knows their place. Once inside, kill anything that moves. No survivors unless they’re useful . House burns after we’re done.”
Heads nod like hammers. No fear. No hesitation.
This is war .
As we step from our crouch across the Carmichael lawn, four guards patrol the perimeter, rifles ready, but they’re not fast enough.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
Declan doesn’t miss.
Their bodies drop like dominoes at our feet.
We walk right over them.
“I see movement, north hallway, first floor,” Onyx mutters.
“Onyx, Dash, flank the sides. Wells, main floor. Karter, you’re with me. Top level. No mercy.”
My phone buzzes.
Gage: On route with the girl. Seven-minute timer starts now.
Perfect.
Karter and I breach the foyer just as three more bodies hit the marble. “Damn,” he whispers. “Wells moves like a ghost.”
“Make sure you don’t forget the bag.”
“Oh, it’s coming with,” he grins, patting the duffel like it’s a pet.
Upstairs, we pause at the landing. A shout cracks through the air.
“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT!”
The office door slams open and Tiffany stumbles out, hair a mess, face streaked in spit and mascara. She runs the other way, smart girl.
Wells’ red-glowing mask flashes in the dark ahead, one hand up.
Stop.
We wait.
A crash. A gurgled scream.
Another crash.
Then, wave.
Go.
We burst in.
Gerald is crouched beside his head of security, Steve or something, shaking his corpse like it’ll wake him up.
“I doubt he can hear you,” I sneer.
He jolts, spins, sees us.
“Who the fuck?”
I tear the mask off.
He pales.
“You know exactly who I am, Gerald. Don’t play dumb, it’s unbecoming. I’m Wyck. And you just ran out of time.”
He stands tall, but his face twists into something mocking. “Ah… the Devils of Cliffside. I almost didn’t recognize you. You’ve grown from that pathetic little shit your father dragged around into something halfway dangerous.”
Mentioning my father earns him a broken nose.
My fist connects with a wet crunch, and blood sprays his cigar-stained teeth.
“Wrong again. You heard plenty about us, from the Elders. But we’re not them. We don’t play pretend. We rewrite rules in blood.”
That’s when the door behind me opens, and Gage enters.
Dragging someone with him.
Perfect timing.
Erica.
Gerald’s face contorts when he sees her.
“Erica? What the hell are you-”
The shock. The betrayal. The fear.
Exactly what I wanted.
I grin.
“This is what happens when you try to steal from Devils. You lose everything, slowly. Painfully. And in the end, all that’s left is you… alone in the fire.”
Gerald stares at me like he’s finally seeing the truth.
That he was never in control.
He was prey from the moment he touched something that belonged to us.
And tonight?
We feed.
“The real question is, ” Erica’s voice cuts through the room like a blade. “What the fuck are you doing here, darling? Thought you were off playing executive in Chicago this week.”
Gerald lets off a tight, pathetic chuckle, fumbling for the lie. “I was. I… had to tie up some things here before heading back.”
“No,” I say, stepping forward, voice like smoke and razors. “You’re not heading anywhere after tonight.”
Erica doesn’t even blink. She circles him slowly, predatory, like she’s walking a carcass. “You always have a reason, don’t you? Always some bullshit excuse that falls out of your mouth like clockwork. I used to let it slide. Used to tell myself a pretty little lie to keep swallowing your filth.”
Gerald’s jaw tightens, trying to play unaffected. “And what lie was that?”
She stops directly in front of him, close enough he can smell the betrayal leaking from her smile. “That I loved you.” A pause. “But now? I remember why I stayed.”
“Please. Enlighten me.” He smirks, still thinking he has leverage. That he’s the man with his hand on the detonator.