Chapter 13
13
Raze
Present
B etween finals and the fast-growing shit list the Syndicate keeps dropping onto my lap, I haven’t had time to make it to the cells and speak with our new prisoners. The paranoid part of me thinks that’s by design. That they somehow know I’ve got a hand in all of it. Though the other, more realistic part of me knows it’s because this whole thing is being run by fucking idiots.
The argument over whether we should kill them, torture them, or release them has been stretched over a week now. The council has kept their capture to themselves for the time being, although Divina Ellery has raised hell over their secrecy.
She wants to put her niece on a full-blown trial before the rest of the Midnight Syndicate and I can’t figure out why she isn’t rushing to kill her herself.
They’ve found her to be so insufferable, she’s been banned from their meetings until further notice.
I haven’t been so lucky. I’ve suffered through mind-numbing debates whenever I have free time outside of my finals. They often get cut off prematurely when the argument gets too heated between Supremes and fingers are pointed.
They waffled over offering her a position in the Syndicate to keep her controlled and quiet, the same way they had for Divina. Even if they don’t know for certain that she’ll end up a threat to their power, they aren’t willing to lose the potential of sharpening her into a weapon for their own personal gain—same as me. Their eyes light up at the prospect of using someone with the power of all six bloodlines against anyone who dares to question them. Eventually, they decided to give it a try, and James went to deliver the offer himself.
My brilliant little nightmare must have ripped him a new asshole, because he returned to us in an irritated huff.
“She needs a little motivation,” he promised, just to save face. But I knew her better than that. The following evening, they sent out for all three of her friends to be brought down to the cell across from her first thing in the morning.
Still, she didn’t budge, and the reality that they might not be able to snap their fingers and get exactly what they wanted from her was starting to show through.
Then, just to flex their muscles and show their over-reaching hand, they had Matilda drug from her shop one snowy afternoon and took her down there too.
That move pissed my mom off, given that she and Matilda are lifelong friends. It also spooked some people in the rebellion. Matilda is an active member. If she’s been caught, there’s no telling who else they’ll grab.
They managed to settle down when I calmly explained that the Midnight Syndicate wouldn’t recognize a rebellion member if they stood before them with a gun to their chest. Their egos can’t comprehend the fact that there are people out there who truly detest them.
Matilda was only chosen because the four were seen in her shop a month ago, and they’re throwing anything at the wall to see if it sticks.
Each day has uncovered a new victim for them to pull in and get a reaction out of Sonny. It’s led to more names being added to the ever-growing list of lives I’ve taken—none of them actual rebellion members. At least, not until I show up at their door and offer a second choice.
It’s bullshit.
Especially when all I want to do is talk to her .
It feels like a piece of me was left behind with her in those dungeons. As if I’m missing an arm or a toe, setting me off balance. Though I have the luxury of coming and going as I please, I feel tethered to the campus, unable to leave for any long period.
I can only hope she sees how desperate they are and manages to bide her time a little longer while we scramble to get her help.
Every second I spend standing in front of a classroom of legacies or listening to the Supremes bicker is a test to my self-control. I’ve given every student a passing grade on their finals simply because I can’t bring myself to focus long enough and actually score their exams. No one cares, anyway. Not when the people who would discipline me over it are too busy weighing the pros and cons of allowing a group of their own legacies to survive another day.
I have a sinking suspicion that I won’t be here next semester to deal with the consequences of my student’s incompetence. If anyone tries to lay a hand on what’s mine, the thread that my control is hanging on will snap, and no one will walk out of this place alive.
While talking is off the table, I’ve managed to sneak down there, shrouded in shadows without the Syndicate’s knowledge, and deliver leftovers from the cafeteria. It’s not much and I have to be careful not to bring anything too fragrant that will catch the wrong attention. But hopefully enough to keep them all alive, since I heard their captors weren’t bothering with it.
The leaders of the Midnight Syndicate possess many things, but regard for human life is not one of them.
And based on the most recent quarrels between the Supremes, it seems they might be testing the limits.
I’ve finally convinced them to pause their childish arguing long enough to allow me to speak to the unlucky few who have been caught scheming against the great Midnight Syndicate. To see if maybe I can pull some more information that they might glean as useful, because this stalemate is going to cost everyone.
Holiday break will begin in a few days. I know Sonny doesn’t have family that gives a fuck, but the others do. When their parents find out they're being held captive beneath the university, they’re going to raise hell.
Which is exactly what I told them.
The prospect of answering to the people who pay their bills has the Supremes reluctantly agreeing and announcing a recess while we sort this out.
I have twenty-four hours.
Of course, they’ve found a new way to piss me off in that short time, though.
Brody and Niles stand outside the door of my interrogation chamber—a small room in an offshoot of the dungeon cells, where I take my especially difficult victims.
James only sends them in when he wants to get under my skin because they’re utterly useless. The two together hardly make up one single brain cell.
“What are you doing here?” I bark out at them as I approach the room.
I already recognize this for what it is: a message to tread lightly. Brody and Niles are not here to help me. They’re here to report my every move.
I guess James doesn’t fully believe that Sonny was just a simple fuck.
“Here for reinforcements. We heard the little one’s feral,” Niles lies.
“Yeah,” Brody laughs. “Heard she even got a hit in on you.”
Niles chuckles beside him, but before he can add anything, I take a warning step toward them. Both of their smiles falter, their eyes dropping to their feet in submission.
I fucking hate dealing with these two. Officially, the Syndicate uses them as a warning before they decide to eliminate someone altogether and send me in. A little slap on the wrist to keep everyone in check. I avoid crossing their paths at all costs for fear of catching their stupidity. They’re simply a muscle that is flexed to show power over the weak.
And as Nulls, their muscle is truly the only thing they’re good for.
“I can handle her myself,” I say through my teeth.
Even if Ellery were a true threat, there’s nothing they could do to thwart any attack. Especially nothing worse than what I can do myself.
Brody shrugs. “We’ll hang out here in case things get dicey.”
“Why don’t you go grab her and bring her to me?” My lips curl into a knowing smile when they share a terrified look.
“Is that a problem?” The question isn’t asked as Dr. Whitlock—annoyed and shrewd. It’s posed as the Viper, a.k.a. the weapon of the Midnight Syndicate. It’s said as a threat.
They shake their heads. “No,” they say in unison. There’s a beat of hesitation before I raise my eyebrow in question, and then they turn on their heels to head toward the dungeon cells.
I don’t waste any time. Slipping into the interrogation room, I keep my movements controlled as I pace around the space, noting every hidden lens. I’ve already got their positions memorized. All thirty-two of them. Each time I come in here, I perform the ritual for the rare instance I may need to take them out.
Today is finally that day.
I slide the table across the floor twelve inches and switch the chairs to opposite ends, just enough to throw off their perfect shot. Then I fall into the seat that faces the doorway.
It takes Brody and Niles an obscene amount of time to return, and when they finally do, I see exactly why.
Ellery is thrashing against them at every step, throwing her fists and elbows around. She even lifts her legs and stomps her heels against the doorway molding to stop them from passing through. They blindly shove her forward, shouldering their way into the room so roughly, I’m afraid they’ll snap her legs. Once they’re in, they throw her onto the floor before backing out with their hands in the air. Brody is sporting a brand new scratch stretching across his entire right cheek, and Miles has a bloody nose.
My little walking nightmare doesn’t settle until the door is tightly closed. Her breathing is labored, chest heaving with every exhale that passes through wheezing lungs. She’s leaning back on her hands, still facing the door and unaware that she’s not alone.
I fight the instinct to go to her and identify her injuries. To touch every inch of her skin and undo the harm that’s been done.
But I can’t do that. Not when we still have an audience.
And not when she’s been convinced I’m her enemy.
Instead, I still my breaths and give her a few moments to recover. Now that she’s here, I run through each camera lens and send out the thought to disable them, one by one. When that’s done, I reveal myself by releasing a long, deep sigh.
She reacts immediately.
Spinning around to face the sound, she crouches on her knees and bares her teeth like a threatened, wounded animal.
“Surely you know that if I was going to hurt you, I’d have done it by now,” I practically laugh, raising my brows at her.
“You,” she snarls, lifting her chapped upper lip in disgust.
Now that she’s facing me, I can see that Brody and Miles must have gotten a few hits in on her as well. She’s got fresh blood leaking from her ear and a gash at her hairline that’s staining crimson down her temple and onto her jaw.
And that weird noise from before has to be a collapsed lung.
The sight of it ignites an anger I haven’t known in years.
But I stamp it down and play the part.
“Have a seat,” I say in an overly-cheerful tone, gesturing my hand toward the chair across from me. “It’s time you and I had a chat.”