Chapter 13 #2
He’s moved on to brushing his teeth. An electric toothbrush buzzes, and the sound makes me delirious.
Buzz. I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head to get rid of it.
Like a fly around my face. Buzz. Every muscle tenses at the sound.
Buzz. I’m just going to have to burst in there and take him. Maybe throw him in the tub.
Buzz.
Damn it! Who invented those things? I can’t fucking take this.
Malik deserves to be killed for making so much noise before bed.
Finally, the water drips on, though the blade still shakes violently in my hand.
He gargles. Like a human. A person unaware of the horror about to befall him. What am I doing? Is there a way out of this?
This is what they do. Mano e mano.
The Seventh Society rules us all.
Each moment that passes takes one of my breaths with it. There’s nothing left in my lungs except terrified anticipation. Adrenaline rips through my sweat glands until they seep with some unknown feeling.
Rage? Yes.
Regret? Possibly.
Maybe someone will stop me. Maybe there will be an interruption, and I won’t be able to do this.
Can I be saved?
Malik’s tears injected themselves into the corners of my own eyes.
The water shuts off, and I stiffen. This is it. Vanq on.
He flicks off the light in the bathroom and strolls next to me, stopping suddenly in the pitch black.
I move.
Silently, I grab him by the neck as he makes a choking sound. His hands reach for my arms, but I cut his in doing so.
“Fuck!” he yells, agony cracking his voice as the warm spray hits my covered face.
In his motion to get away, he stumbles back and falls over a chair.
As soon as he lands on the ground, I’m on top of him, blade to his throat.
Pale moonlight streams through the window and highlights his widened eyes.
Eyes filled with life and fear.
He’s guilty.
“I-Is this about Naomi?” he asks, and I freeze. “They sent you to take care of me, didn’t they?”
The words aren’t loud. They don’t have to be. They slice cleaner than my knife. I stare down at him, my grip loose now.
He knows about Naomi.
Olivia’s best friend and this guy, the camera footage that Theta has, probably disposed of by the enforcers to protect the guilty… Malik saw too much.
His voice on the phone outside, talking about the sacrifice. They thought it made him a liability. But I know it makes him a witness. Maybe even a brother who can work with me.
“How do you know about that?” I ask on an exhale, though it’s more plea than threat. All pretending I don’t know… If I can get him to admit he saw the footage, maybe there’s hope. How much can I get him to talk? “What did they tell you?”
His face shifts from fear to something far worse. Recognition.
Like we’re both stuck in the same rigged game, and he’s just now seeing my number, too. But he doesn’t speak. His lips form a solid line as if he’s decided I’m the enemy. Coward.
Or maybe survivor.
The blade dips closer to his pulse. Not cutting. Just toying with the idea of sinking it deeper.
I want to believe this is still salvageable. That I can fix it. That this doesn’t end in another name etched on the ledger of the forgotten. But that buzzing’s still in my head, louder now. Not from his toothbrush. From the memory. The scroll. The oath.
Failure is not an option.
Fear is for the guilty.
Vanq wants to obey only to stay alive.
Valen wants out.
Using his shoulders, I shake him roughly. “Fucking say something. Give me a reason.” It comes out as a sob, and I hate that. If he’d just admit it, I could get him on my side. But the man isn’t saying a word.
His eyes dart to the door. Not in a warning—just panic. The sheer human desire to escape. And that’s when it happens.
Crash! The door bursts open behind me.
“Yo, anybody got some—”
Carl. Fucking Carl. He freezes at the scene now fully aglow with the incoming light from the hall. Condoms in hand. Eyes wide. A beat of silence passes, so thick it could crack bone.
And then, Malik releases a primal scream.
My entire glove slaps down on his mouth as I whip my head toward our new guest. He stands there like an idiot, plastic wrappers spilling onto the carpet, gaping, eyes darting from me to Malik, to the blade in my hand.
He moves.
But I’m faster.
Darting up, I shove his body to the side as he comes at me, while Malik staggers to a stand.
I kick the door closed with my boot, just as Carl moans from hitting his head on the corner of the dresser.
Malik lunges at me, but I knee him in the groin until he grunts and falls forward in front of the floor lamp.
I hold the blade at his throat and dare Carl to move. “Not one fucking inch.”
Carl slumps against the wall, holding his hair and a hand up to tell me to stay away.
Using the cord, I quickly bind Malik’s hands behind his back, then turn to the man who accused my Chrysalis of murder.
“You’ve got a big fucking mouth,” I tell him.
“What?” he asks, attempting to slide up to stand. Malik works on his temporary handcuffs, swaying his body left and right.
“Accusing people of murdering Hunter Remington. What led you to the conclusion you did, huh?”
“Who the fuck are you?” he asks, and I crouch to shove the blade against his windpipe.
“Your silence.”
“I-I…” he whispers, eyes glancing down at the sharp end. “He and his woman always got into fights. Figured I’d start a rumor that he was dead to mess with the Betas down in the dungeon. Remington’s probably on some island getting head by a local, man. I made it up.”
My face scrunches. Do I believe him?
“Are you Beta? With the, uh, the Cardells?” he asks carefully.
It’s a good guess on his part. Which means he likely did make it all up. If he knew the truth, he’d believe I was someone else… The one directing the video, if he got hold of it. Even if he lied, he said Olivia’s name with blood. That’s enough.
“Nope,” I say, and his shoulders relax. Leaning in, I plunge the knife straight into his throat, then drag it through the muscles sideways as he grabs at my wrist. Lowering my voice to a shaky whisper, I press my mouth over his ear. “I’m the real killer.”
Malik gasps as I finish Carl off with a deeper cut, his body shaking violently before slumping in a pool of his blood.
“Don’t, man. Just stay there. I won’t say shit,” Malik begs. Snot runs from his nose as he cries between words. Vanq doesn’t hesitate. Vanq doesn’t doubt. But I’m still here, under the mask, pulse sick with what I’m about to do.
I’ve already made up my mind.
Standing over him, I cut the cord loose, and he scrambles to sit up. When I grasp his arm, he pulls back, but I grit out, “Hold fucking still.”
I slice through his cut from earlier, carving an upside-down seven.
“No, no, no, no, please, no!” He spies my handiwork and covers it immediately.
“Cheer up.” I swipe the dirty blade across his jeans. “You’ll live. But you’re marked. You’re not lucky. You’re useful.” It’s the mark of a traitor to society. He’ll walk around with it and a target on his back. But I saved him.
Dipping my gloves in the mess left on Malik’s forearm, I douse them with his DNA, then swipe it all over Carl’s still-warm corpse. Done.
I take my parchment from my pocket, press Malik’s thumb to the bottom, and grab a pen from his desk. He sniffs and holds the gash while eyeing me carefully.
“You just condemned me. They’ll find me.”
I shrug. “Maybe not.”
Then, I inscribe their order with my own:
One body for the Order.
One spared for the Game.
Your move.