Chapter Thirty-Six
Athens
My eyes crack open, slow, reluctant, like they already know something’s wrong.
A yawn claws its way out of me as I stretch, my limbs stiff like they’ve been in a coffin, not a bed. “Why the hell am I so stiff?” I mutter, voice sandpaper and confusion. My neck creaks as I roll it from side to side. Feels like I’ve been asleep for a hundred years. Or drugged.
“Now is not the time to punk out, Athens. Get your shit together.”
With effort, my eyes finally open, and it’s not as dark as I thought. That was my brain playing tricks on me. Or maybe I never opened them at all. Doesn’t matter.
Because this room?
This isn’t my room.
The realization slithers down my spine like a snake made of ice.
I sit up fast, breath catching as the sheets pool around my waist, silk. Expensive. Five hundred thread count or more. They smell like cedar and sin. For a second, I pretend I’m some dark fairytale bitch waking up in the Devil’s bed. Snow White in stilettos. But that’s not the part that matters.
What matters is, I don’t remember getting here.
The last thing I do remember? Devil’s Lane. The girls were taking me there after everything at the asylum went sideways. Wyck and the Devils weren’t gonna make it in time. So the girls made a call.
But they never came.
I was alone.
And now… I’m here.
Wherever here is.
The room’s too quiet. Too still. Like it’s waiting for me to breathe wrong. I throw off the sheets, legs dangling over the side of the bed as I hesitate. My feet hit cold hardwood and I sway. The dizziness hits me like a whisper dipped in poison.
What the hell did they give me?
I shuffle to the window, tugging the curtain back. Expecting light. Hoping for it. But instead… Wood. Nailed shut.
“What the fuck…” I whisper. The boards are thick. Industrial. Someone doesn’t want anything in, or out .
My fingers go to my back pocket on instinct. No phone. I pat my hoodie. Jeans. Nothing. Bile creeps up the back of my throat.
I dig beneath my shirt, chest tight. I sometimes hide my phone there, muscle memory. But no. Empty.
Panic sets in like a second skin.
I need to call Wyck.
I need to get out .
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
The voice cuts through the silence like a rusted blade. Low. Ragged. A throat full of gravel and secrets.
I freeze. Turn.
He steps out of the shadows, calm as a corpse.
He’s tall, built like a steel trap. Long black hair, dark eyes rimmed in kohl like a grunge reaper. His face is littered with tattoos, jaw to temple. His wife-beater clings to him like sweat and sin.
I don't move.
“You forgot the most important question,” he says, lips curling around the words like they taste bitter. “Everyone always asks who, what, where ... but never why .”
I swallow. Hard.
“Okay,” I say slowly, playing along. “Why?”
The silence that follows is suffocating.
He steps toward me, slow, deliberate.
I back up fast. My spine slams against the boarded window. Trapped.
His arms shoot out, bracketing my face. His body presses into mine, a wall of heat and rot.
“You didn’t ask me… why you’re still alive .” His teeth flash, sharp, perfect. Wrong. “You look surprised. Why? Not used to people hating you unless they wanna fuck you?”
He hisses the last word like it’s personal.
My hand snaps up. Slaps him hard across the face. His head jerks sideways, spit flying.
“You don’t know a fucking thing about me.”
I don’t wait. I launch my head into his nose with enough force to crack something, either his or mine. Doesn't matter.
He stumbles.
I knee him in the balls with everything I’ve got.
“You fucking bitch! ” he howls, collapsing like a sack of cement. “You’re gonna pay for that!”
“Get off the floor first, fuck face,” I spit, then roundhouse kick him in the temple so hard my old cheer squad would throw a goddamn parade. He collapses, but he’s not out for long.
I run.
Down the hall. No idea where I’m going, but I know where I’m not staying.
The bastard’s up behind me. “ I’ll kill you as soon as he’s done with you! ” he shouts, heavy boots pounding the floor.
I tear around the corner, left, then right. No stairs. No exit. Maze-like halls stretch on endlessly.
“This isn’t a house,” I gasp. “It’s a fucking trap.”
I find a door at the end of the hall, dive inside, and slam it shut. It’s quiet.
Too quiet.
And then… “Cressida?”
She’s on the bed. Pale. Hollow. Eyes wide with something between regret and madness.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh, Athens…” Her voice is a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
My stomach drops. “You didn’t bring me here. Right?”
She won’t meet my eyes.
“Cressida?” My voice sharpens. “ Right? ”
“He made me do it,” she murmurs. “I didn’t want to play his games. But he’s cruel. You don’t understand.”
“Who?” I demand.
A voice behind me answers.
“If you say one more word, I’ll kill you both.”
Before I can turn, he’s on me again, grabbing my hair, yanking me back like I’m nothing but a rag doll.
“You’re gonna learn respect the hard way,” he sneers.
“LET ME GO!” I scream. “Cressida, help me! ”
But she just stares.
And then… smiles.
Something in her snaps , her whole face morphs.
“You want help?” she laughs, dark and brittle. “I’m the one who brought you here. You’re finally gonna get what you deserve.”
I freeze.
“What the fuck are you talking about?!”
“You’re the reason Bash takes everything out on me ,” she snarls. “He worships you. Do you even realize that? You’re the weakness he tries to break out of me.”
“ What does Bash have to do with this?! ” I scream, struggling, nails digging into my attacker’s arms.
“Everything,” she spits. “Because I’m Bash’s daughter .”
My blood turns to ice.
“Surprised?” she taunts, sauntering closer. Her hair’s a mess, her smile worse. “You stole him from me. And now, you’ll pay for it. ”
And suddenly, I get it.
I’m not in a trap.
I’m in a cage.
And every Devil has a keeper.
How the fuck could I have been so blind?
Trusting her of all people.
Cressida.
I should’ve run her name through Dash’s database the second she batted those pretty little lashes and pretended to care. I knew nothing about her. Just another pretty face playing the innocent game while feeding Bash my every move behind my back.
I taste blood. Could be mine. Could be rage.
“You bitch. You fucking bitch! ” I don’t even remember slipping from Deebo’s grasp, I just know I did. One second he’s got me by the arms, the next, I’m airborne.
I launch myself at Cressida like a bullet with teeth. We hit the floor hard, her skull thudding against it as I claw at her face, fingers curled like talons.
“You were watching me the whole time? Feeding him details like some diseased, little spy? You’re his daughter! ” I scream, fists cracking against her jaw, her cheek, her ribs.
She tries to curl away, but I’m not done. Not by a long fucking shot.
My fists feel like justice until I’m ripped back, spine arching in pain as Deebo yanks my hair and jerks my head so far back my throat’s exposed like a sacrifice.
Then something cold kisses my neck.
Metal.
“If you don’t stop squirming,” he rasps, breath hot and cruel, “I’ll say you provoked me and slit your fucking throat.”
“ Do it! ” I snarl through clenched teeth. “Do it, you limp-dicked ogre. I dare you.”
He laughs, a real one. Low. Unhinged.
“Oh, I won’t kill you,” he whispers in my ear. “Not when I can fuck you first. I’ll take the punishment for that. Happily.”
“Fuck me ?” I bark out a laugh. “You’re not getting these cookies, Deebo the Destroyed. ”
Stupid? Maybe.
But it buys me the split second I need.
I snap my head back with all my strength, smashing the crown of my skull into his nose. There’s a sickening crack, and he howls, dropping me like I’m toxic.
“Fucking hell! What are you made of?” he roars, blood gushing from his face.
I stumble, adrenaline scorching through me. “Good genes, asshole.”
Cressida is smirking now, blood smeared across her lip. But I’m already moving.
A window, unboarded. Finally.
No hesitation. I run, and I jump .
No plan. No landing strategy. Just blind, feral escape.
“ Fuck !”
The wind rips past me as I drop like a rock, heart jackhammering in my chest. My eyes slam shut.
And then, impact.
White-hot pain shoots through my ankle as I crash to the ground.
I roll, coughing, wheezing, gripping my leg. “Son of a whore! ”
My foot’s fucked. Bone-deep pain. Can’t tell if it’s broken or just shredded.
I try to stand.
I collapse.
I try again.
Collapse harder.
“Fuckity fuck!” I hiss, crawling through dirt and broken glass. There’s no cover. No exit. Just open field and distant trees that feel ten miles away.
I reach into my bra, yes . My phone. Miraculously still there.
I call the only Devil I trust to burn the world down for me.
Karter.
He picks up on the first half-ring. “Brat. Where are you?”
“I don’t know. I'm hurt, Karter, how do I send you my location, fast ?”
“Messages. Drop a pin. Now. ”
I swipe, trembling fingers doing their best to obey.
But right as I hit send… The phone is ripped from my hand.
“You little cunt. Who the fuck were you calling?” Deebo snarls, face bloodied, breath coming in hard bursts.
He throws the phone to the ground and stomps it until it’s nothing but glass and circuits.
“You piece of shit! ” I scream, kicking at him. He grabs my arms and hauls me up like I’m made of paper.
The scream rips from my lungs. “ MY ANKLE! ”
He doesn’t care.
“Shut the fuck up,” he grunts, scooping me into his arms like some twisted fairytale villain. His grip is iron. His voice turns gleeful .
“I’m gonna cuff your pretty little ass to the bed, take a good look at that leg, and when I’m done patching you up…” He smirks down at me. All teeth. All hate . “…I’m gonna have fun. ”
His meaning isn’t lost on me. Neither is the evil behind that grin.
I go still.
Silent.
But in my chest?
A heartbeat is roaring, and it’s not mine alone. Because somewhere out there, Karter’s coming. And when he finds this place?
It won’t be a rescue.
It’ll be a fucking massacre.