Chapter Thirty-Five #2
Wells glances over. “What do you mean?”
I pull a paper free, one with a faded insignia and a name in blood-red ink. “You remember how they used to beat it into our skulls? That they were the Elders of F.U.C.K. and the founding Devils of Cliffside?”
“Every damn day of our lives.”
I hand it over. “Turns out that was a lie. According to this, the real founder was someone named Nikolai . No last name. No photo. No trail. Just… vanished.”
Wells frowns, turning the page. “This says he went off-grid over twenty years ago. No one’s seen him since.”
“Dash might be able to dig something up. If not, no one can.”
We start snapping pictures of everything, his lies, his debts, his desperation. This place is a mausoleum of failure wrapped in a silk suit.
And then I find it.
A file labeled Walker .
The second I open it, my lungs forget how to breathe.
Photographs. Dozens of them. Athens , at school, in her classroom, at the coffee shop, walking to her car. Some are weeks old. Some are from the night I touched her in her office.
“What the fuck?” I growl, each image fueling the inferno building in my gut.
“Who got this close?” I demand. “Who got into her life without us knowing?”
Wells leans in, jaw locked. “They’ve been tracking her longer than we thought.”
And then it gets worse.
I find a will. Signed by Henry and Kaia Walker.
My hands tremble as I scan the contents. “They left everything to her…”
Wells whistles low. “Even though she wasn’t blood?”
“They didn’t give a fuck about blood. She was theirs. ” My voice cracks under the weight of it. “And now they’re dead. Just like that.”
Wells pulls the will from my hand, scanning it fast. “Money. Power. And a girl who could inherit it all.”
“Still doesn’t explain how they got that rich.” I look to him. “You think Josie was in on this?”
“She’s knee-deep in it, one way or another.” His voice drops. “And this Nikolai? He’s not just a founder. He’s a fucking ghost with his claws sunk into every piece of this puzzle.”
I take a breath. A slow, dangerous breath.
“Get a shot of that will. I’m burning this place to the fucking ground.”
“What about the rest?”
“I’ve memorized every image of her. That’s all I need.” I shove the papers back into the safe and kick it under the desk like it’s nothing but trash. “Now…”
I turn toward the hall. My heart’s a war drum.
“Who else is in this house?”
“Couple guards. Staff. Loyalists.”
“Round them up,” I say. “In the kitchen. And make sure your video’s recording.”
Wells nods, but hesitates. “What’re you about to do?”
I glance over my shoulder. My voice is ice. “I’m setting this motherfucker on fire, with every liar and traitor locked inside.”
Wells nods slowly. “All of them?”
“Not Margret. The girl who helped Athens… get her out. She gets to live. The rest?” I shake my head. “I want them to burn. ”
Wells jogs off, already issuing commands.
I turn and stalk toward the garage, every step pulling me deeper into the flame.
Let them scream. Let them beg.
This house was built on blood, and tonight, it pays the price.
I flip the last tarp in the garage and there they are, exactly what I came for. Gas cans. Four of them, full. The Devil must’ve stocked this place himself.
I drag them out, the weight biting into my palms, knuckles white as bone. One slips from my grip, nearly smashing the concrete.
“You need a hand?” Carlos’s voice drips out of the shadows like oil. Of course he’s already here. That silent-footed bastard could be the wind if he wanted to.
“Stealth,” I grunt, tossing two cans his way. “That’s a skill we can use.”
He catches them easily, a wicked smile curling up his face. “That’s not all I’m good at.”
“We’ll find out soon enough. But first, this place? We’re burning it to the fucking ground. Staff, guards, secrets. It all goes.”
He raises an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise flashing across his usually unreadable expression. “You’re giving me the choice? Burn them alive or kill them first?”
“Yeah. Call it your initiation.” I tilt my head. “Survive tonight, pass your background check… maybe you get a seat at our table.”
His eyes go cold.
“I vote death first. They don’t deserve flames. They deserve justice . What they let happen in this house, what he did to Ms. Athens… it’s unforgivable.”
I stop mid-stride. My hand clenches the gas can tighter. “Abuse?” I ask, voice low and lethal.
Carlos nods solemnly. “Whenever she talked back, stepped out of line, looked at him the wrong way. At first, it was rare. Then it got worse. Regular. He’d drag her into that study like she was a fucking dog.”
My vision tunnels. “How do you know?”
“I checked on her. After. When no one else did. I patched her up when I could.”
A slow breath escapes me. My father, that fucking monster , left bruises. And she never said a word. She just took it.
Or maybe… maybe he made her forget .
I pop the top on one of the gas cans and begin pouring it across the lawn, the scent of gasoline coiling around me like fire waiting for permission.
“And after he hit her?”
“She’d disappear into herself for a day or two. Then… back to normal. Like it never happened. Like she didn’t remember .”
He was messing with her memory. Or hurting her so deeply that her mind just snapped it away.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
Carlos nods and stalks toward the east wing. We move in grim silence, splashing the soul of this house in gasoline until every wall, every corner drips in it.
By the time we meet again, the place reeks of judgment.
Back in the kitchen, I grab the last can and drown the hardwood in fuel. Each slosh sounds like something else in my head, Athens, crying my name while I drive into her, give her what only I can. The gas sounds like her. And I’m not okay with that.
“I need to get back to her,” I whisper. “Like I need to fucking breathe.”
I open a drawer. Fumble. Thank fucking hell, one of Karter’s lighters. Black, scratched, probably stolen. Fitting.
Standing in the doorway, I let my eyes roam the place that raised me, broke me, bled me. It’s not a home, it’s a tomb.
My mother’s laughter used to echo in these halls. But she’s gone. And so is every reason to keep this place standing.
I tear off a scrap of paper, flick the lighter, and light the edge. The fire snaps to life in my palm. Beautiful. Hungry.
I toss it inside.
Flames catch fast, racing across the floor like they’ve been waiting.
And then, screams. Sweet, perfect screams .
I turn and walk back inside. The scent of fear thickens the deeper I go.
Wells has them all gathered in the foyer, guards, cooks, cleaners. Kneeling. Trembling.
Carlos steps forward without hesitation. Raises his gun.
Bang.
One drops. Blood paints the marble floor.
“Some of you,” he says, calm as a priest, “don’t deserve the fire. But you all deserve death. I’m no executioner. I’m your fucking end .”
He fires again.
Then again.
Gasoline pours over the rest like baptism in reverse.
“You two,” he says to us, “upstairs. Finish the dousing. I’ll handle this.”
We don’t speak.
We just move.
Upstairs, we coat the halls, the bedrooms, the closets. And then we hear it, screams rising, frantic, agonized.
I smile.
It’s music.
The final choir of cowards, sinners, enablers.
Their prayers won’t save them.
Their bones will snap like kindling.
And when this place is nothing but smoke, Athens will be free from the last chain my father ever had on her.
Hell just got a little fuller tonight.
And I’m the one who opened the fucking door.
I flip the last tarp in the garage and there they are, just waiting for me like obedient little sins. Four red gas cans. Full. Heavy. Dangerous. Like they know exactly what they’re here to do.
The Devil himself must’ve stocked this place. Fitting.
I drag them out one by one, metal biting into my palms, my knuckles cracked and white. One slips, nearly shatters against the floor. Doesn’t matter. I’ll shatter worse tonight.
“You need a hand?” Carlos materializes out of the dark like smoke with a voice that slithers into your bones. Of course he’s here. He always is.
“Stealth,” I grunt, tossing him two cans. “Good. We need more ghosts like you.”
He catches them without a sound, lips twitching. “That’s not all I’m good at.”
My jaw ticks. “We’ll test that later. For now? We light this motherfucker up. Staff, guards, ghosts of the past? All of it burns.”
He blinks once. Twice. “You’re giving me the choice? Kill them clean or roast them alive?”
I stop. Tilt my head. “Initiation. You want to run with Devils? Earn it.”
He goes still. The change in him is subtle but sure.
“I say we kill ’em first,” Carlos murmurs. “They don’t get to scream. They get to pay . For what they let happen to Ms. Athens… They don’t get mercy. Just judgment.”
My grip tightens around the gas can. “What the fuck did you just say?”
Carlos meets my eyes. Steady. Cold. “Your father used to beat her. Not often. Not at first. But it got worse. Regular. He’d wait until no one was around, drag her into the study like she was less than nothing.”
My vision goes red.
“How do you know?”
“I checked on her. After. When she couldn’t move. I kept it quiet. Patched her up.”
I can’t breathe.
That son of a bitch touched her. Touched my girl. And she never told me. Or maybe she did, once. In silence. In the way she flinched when I raised my hand too fast. In the way her body froze before she let me in.
Or maybe he made her forget .
I unscrew a can and dump it across the grass, the gas splashing like blood. The smell is thick, biting, alive. The fire wants out. And I’ll give it what it wants.
Carlos trails beside me, matching pace. “She’d go quiet for days. Then act like nothing happened. Like her mind just... blacked it out.”
He broke her. Or carved out pieces she couldn't carry.
“Appreciate the honesty,” I say, voice dead.
“No problem. I’ll take the east side. Get it ready to burn.”
We move through the house like shadows armed with wrath. Every room is soaked. Every floorboard a coffin. The gasoline glugs out like a heartbeat. The house is breathing its last, and it knows it.
By the time we meet again, the air is heavy with fumes and dread.
I’m in the kitchen, pouring the last can over the polished wood, and I swear to God the sloshing reminds me of her. Of Athens. The sound of her need. The sound of me filling it.
I shake my head.
Not now. Not while this house still stands.
“I need to get back to her,” I murmur. “Like lungs need air. Like sin needs confession.”
I rip open drawers. Find what I’m looking for.
Karter’s lighter. Black. Scratched. Probably stolen. Perfect.
I walk to the front entrance. One last look.
My mother’s laughter used to echo off these walls. But that was another life. Another woman. Now it’s just ash and ghosts and things I’ll never get back.
I tear off a paper scrap, light it. The flame dances, hungry, bright, unrepentant.
I toss it in.
Fire roars to life. Like it’s been waiting for me. Like it’s been starving.
It races across the floor like a beast finally off leash.
Screams follow. Sharp. Guttural. Delicious .
I turn and head back inside.
Smoke chases me through the hallway like a lover. Fear seeps into the wallpaper. The scent of it clings to the air.
Wells has them all lined up in the foyer, guards, staff, a few left-behind stragglers. Kneeling. Weeping.
Carlos steps forward, calm as sin. Gun raised.
Bang.
One drops.
A body hits tile. Blood crawls across the floor like it’s trying to escape.
“Some of you,” Carlos says, voice like a damn sermon, “don’t deserve the fire. But none of you deserve to walk out of this house.”
He fires again.
Then again.
Three bodies. Three debts paid.
The rest get the gas.
Carlos douses them with holy precision. Their prayers come too late. Their guilt means nothing.
“You two,” he says, “upstairs. Finish the job. I’ll light it here.”
Wells and I don’t speak. We move. Hands soaked in gasoline, boots pounding wood that creaks like it’s begging for mercy.
By the time we descend the stairs again, fire licks the ceiling and screams curl through the air like incense.
I smile.
It’s a hymn now.
The death wails of cowards. Of liars. Of the complicit.
No one’s coming to save them. No absolution. No redemption.
Only flame.
And when it’s done, when the walls cave and the screams go quiet, Athens will be free of every chain that tied her to this house, to this history, to him .
Hell just swallowed a mansion tonight.
And I fed it with a fucking grin.