Chapter 32
Adrenaline rushesthrough me as I shut my bedroom door, and head downstairs. Jackson just texted me.
We caught a mouse. He’s waiting for you in the basement.
But even with the excitement rushing through my bloodstream, my thoughts drift back to Lux. I hate leaving her like that. Her anger is like a bolder sitting on my chest, making it hard for me to breathe. And I can’t even fucking blame her. That’s the worst part. Her anger is justified.
Lucas meets me in the kitchen, pulling me out of my self-pity. “Yo,” he says, a flicker of excitement sparking in his eyes. He loves this shit. We both do. More than we probably should. He flicks his chin at the closed basement door, which is under the kitchen staircase. “The guys are waiting for us downstairs.”
With a brisk nod, I follow him down to the basement where we have a gym set up. But on the far side of that room is a mirror, and that mirror hides a sinister secret about this house.
Lucas slides the mirror, and that reveals a thick, vault door that’s cracked open. The pathetic squeaks of a dying animal drift out of the hidden panic room, so named because anyone inside is fucking panicking.
My great-grandfather had the room built sometime after the turn of the twentieth century, and for exactly the purpose we’re using it for today. Burning Crown business can get messy, and when it does, it’s useful to have a room like this.
I guess I can’t blame everything on my dad. The dark sludge that oozes through my veins goes back generations, and this room stands as a tribute to that darkness.
Beyond the vault door is a chamber, where our mouse is being held. The room itself is all cement with a drain in the middle of the floor, and a porcelain utility sink suspended on the south wall. The perfect room for eradicating vermin.
Inside the room, gagged, and tied to a metal chair is said vermin. Tyler. The fucking cunt. His eyes go wide as I step closer to him, peering up at me through the bruises on his face. It looks like the guys have already gotten to him because blood is dripping from every orifice on his weasley face.
Christian, Jackson, and Lucas step up beside me, so we’re surrounding Tyler.
Jackson has his arms crossed over his chest. “We found him hiding out in the Performing Arts building.”
The Performing Arts building is a converted house owned by Exeter University West. It’s one of the many old houses on this street that have been swallowed up by the university over the last century.
But Tyler isn’t in performing arts, which means someone helped him. Someone gave him access to that building.
I kneel in front of Tyler. “Who let you into that building?” I say evenly, despite the white-hot rage simmering in my gut.
His accomplice could have been a friend outside of the Burning Crown, but I doubt it. The truth is, none of us really have relationships outside the society. It’s easier that way.
Tyler swallows and glares at me through his swollen eyes. “No one helped me,” he says, his speech slightly slurred from the damage the guys have already done to his jaw. “I broke in.”
I laugh under my breath because I know that’s not true. Tyler isn’t clever enough to do something like that. “You’re lying.” Rising, I hold my hand out, and Lucas places the hilt of a knife in my palm. I tighten my hand around it, testing the weight of it.
Yup, this will work.
Holding the tip of the knife to Tyler’s cheek. “This is how this shit is going to work,” I say stoically. It’s better to be clear and straightforward, so there’s no question as to what is going to happen next if he doesn’t talk. “You’re going to tell me who helped you, and why. But if you lie to me, Tyler, then I’m going to start taking pieces of your face until you’re compelled to start telling the truth.” I drag the tip of the blade up until it’s resting just below his left eye. “Starting with your eyes.” Because I fucking hate that they’ve ever settled on Lux.
A look of panic comes over his face, and he pulls against his restraints, nearly toppling over in the chair. “Come on, man. You don’t have to fucking do this. I’ll leave. I’ll go away. You won’t ever fucking see me again.”
I smile when I see the fear in his eyes. “We already gave you a chance to leave.”
“Two chances,” Jackson chimes in, and I can see the flicker of excitement in his eyes. He lives for this shit. Out of all four of us, he can be the most violent, which isn’t surprising, considering his past.
My gaze never leaves Tyler. “Right. Two chances,” I say. “And I remember making a promise to you the night of the Preference Ceremony.” I push the tip of the knife into the delicate skin just below his eye. He flinches, so I grab his jaw with my free hand to keep his head from moving. “Do you remember that promise, Tyler?”
He looks panicked, shaking his head as much as my hard grip will allow. I get right in his face, squeezing his jaw as I speak. Maybe I’ll snap it in two. “I said if you ever touched Lux again, you were dead.”
Tyler squeezes his eyes shut, trying and failing to twist his face away from the knife. “I didn’t touch her, man, I swear to fucking God.”
I shove his face, the movement so violent, that he almost tips backward in the chair. Lucas steps forward. “There are cameras in that fucking frat house, dude. We have you on camera putting something in Lux’s drink. Witnesses saw you as well.”
Tyler shakes his head, but there isn’t an iota of remorse in his cold gaze. This asshole hurt Lux, and that’s a capital-fucking-offense in my world.
“This is fucked up,” Tyler says. “That bitch is nothing.” He leans forward, screaming that last word like it fills him with rage. “And whatever it is you think I did, is it really any worse than what you motherfuckers do on the daily?”
I grab the manila file folder from Jackson and open it up to a random page. “We did our research on you, Tyler. We’ve read your police report, and yeah, what you’ve done is a fuck-ton worse.” I scan the first report I open up to. “Sexual battery.” I flip the page. “Oral copulation with a minor...” Flip to another page. “...lewd and lascivious acts with a child under 14 years of age…” I glance at him. “And somehow, miraculously, all charges were dropped. Every victim, every statement…retracted. Wierd, right?”
He tilts his head back and screams. “She fuckin’ lied about her age, man. They all do. They’re all lying fucking cunts.”
“Like Lux lied about you attacking her?” I say, murderous rage building like a smoldering fire in my gut. “Except, I saw you, Tyler. I saw what you did to her. What you were about to do.”
Tyler swallows, visibly shaken by the anger that’s seeping out of me with every measured word.
“You should have left after the tribunal. Why didn’t you?” I ask. It was a dumb-ass move for him to stay. He knows I don’t take any shit, so why continue to torment Lux? Unless…he had the support of someone he thought could protect him.
“I’ll leave now,” he says, repeating that same old plea. “I swear to God.”
I lean down in front of him again, and smirk. “It’s too late for that. You fucked with Lux, and now I have to kill you.”
I’ve done a lot of horrible things over the years—all for the integrity of the Burning Crown—but this will be the first time I’ll kill someone. I’m not sure I’d even fucking bother, normally. No girl has ever mattered enough for me to dirty my hands like this.
I believe what Tyler is saying. If I let him go now, he won’t show his face around here again. But my thoughts keep getting pulled back to Lux in the emergency room, lying motionless on that fucking hospital bed. Someone needs to fucking atone for that, and that someone is this cunt.
Tyler’s head lolls back onto his shoulders, and already his face is bleeding and swollen—new bruises mingling with the old ones like a watercolor painting. Like a twisted sunset.
Pulling back, my fist connects with his jaw, and I savor the sickening crunch of bone under my knuckles. His head whips back, and blood spurts from his mouth.
My knuckles are raw, but the pain only fuels the energy that catches like wildfire in my bloodstream.
When Tyler lifts his head, dazed, he laughs manically. “God damn, bro. You are so fucking pussy whipped.” He shakes his head, looking right at me. “Finally, the king has fallen,” he says sardonically. “It’s too bad there are people who want her gone. And if you think getting rid of me is going to keep her safe, then you have no idea how deep this shit goes.” Then his voice lapses into a sing-songy tone. “Death the queen,” he chants. “String her up and watch…her…swing.”
My gaze roves over him, slow and deliberate. Then I lean down, and whisper in his ear, “I’m going to enjoy watching you choke on your own blood.”