Chapter 25 #2
I shade the edge of the wing darker, trying to perfect the symmetry. I don’t look at her until she speaks.
“You’re such a weirdo.”
My lips twitch under the mask. “And you let me come inside you a couple times tonight.”
That earns me a shove. Half-hearted. Her hand ends up over my heart, anyway.
“Yeah, well,” she mutters, her voice husky. “It was dark. I was emotionally compromised.”
“Mm.” I cap the pen and close her diary with care. “Should’ve waited until I started explaining mitosis in butterfly sperm.”
She laughs. Real. Unpolished. Almost girlish. And it fucking guts me. I don’t deserve to hear her laugh like that. But I will. Over and over. As many times as it takes to convince her that I’m the only one who sees her clearly.
Because I am.
It’s always been me.
Her eyelids flutter as her face grows slack. I reach over and hide her diary in the drawer again, then turn off her lamp. Our breathing matches as we rest together. But I’m not going to sleep.
When I think she’s out cold, she whispers into the dark, “You’re more dangerous now than when you’re fucking me.”
“Why?”
There’s such a long pause, I think she’s fallen asleep when she mumbles, “Because you make me want things.”
My throat tightens at that. If only she knew how much I want her to want everything because I’m going to give it to her. Everything this pure soul deserves.
When she’s dreaming, eyes twitching behind her lids, I shift her head onto the pillow, then pull the covers over her frame. I watch her serene expression, then lift my mask and show her my true face.
The one that will betray her.
I press a desperate kiss on her forehead and listen to her for another moment, trying to memorize it for when we’re apart.
Then, I slip back into the night, carrying the haunting weight still heavy between us.
The wind is biting, the lake roaring with it as I cross the rear of the cathedral. Behind a cluster of oak trees, I catch a glimpse of what I believe to be a flowing mantle. But when I look again, it’s gone.
That cloaked fucker almost cost us everything. If I catch him again, I need to be prepared to end him. What’s his game? Helping, then harassing me?
Chaos?
When I hacked into the NU morgue’s database, something caught my eye. Buried among the photographic evidence of the victims was one image I couldn’t shake.
The sister found on the kitchen counter—the one with no surveillance footage of her death? Her intestines had been removed. It was noted in the report.
But not just some of them.
What was missing had been cut into a perfect triangle.
Combined with what happened to the Sigma on Massacre Monday, this seems to be another ritual bloodletting… Another organ piece missing in a symmetrical shape.
Is the caped man responsible?
He didn’t kill those Omegas. No. That was all on video. But was he hanging around for another reason? And if he’s removing body parts…
Why?
I don’t like that he’s getting close to Olivia. He’s also seen me with her several times… The cloaked figure is a problem. One I need to handle before too much time passes.
My steps quicken through the darkness until I slip in through the back door of Delta house.
It’s rowdy, as always. Some guys are preparing their poker games for Wicked Wednesday.
It’s not taking place for a few weeks, but they need to practice the cheats ahead of time to make sure no one suspects a thing.
The house always wins…
When I reach my room, I freeze. The door is ajar.
Creeping around the corner, I pause as a shadow moves slowly through my room. I should be carrying. Why don’t I ever have my gun?
“It’s me, freak. Get in here,” Apollo yells, and I heave a sigh of relief.
As soon as the door is shut and the bolts drawn, I rip off my mask and take a deep breath. “What are you—”
He holds up a green envelope with a golden seal embossed with a ‘2,’ and my chest tightens. Am I having a heart attack?
“Yeah… Your new assignment. The one you promised to make up.”
“Did you open it?”
“No. It’s addressed to you. Again.”
Apollo tosses his black hair out of his eyes and stands up, his regular suits and button-downs replaced with black joggers and silk slippers with some embroidered logo on them that probably cost him a fortune.
It’s strange, being best friends with someone who would be considered middle class. I hadn’t experienced people like him until I came to Northview, having been homeschooled for most of my life. My family has all the money.
But I’d never buy those ugly-ass slippers.
“Want me to stay here while you look it over, or want to tell me later?”
“I don’t want you involved at all.”
“Ultimately, it’s my—”
“Responsibility, I know.” Presidents of the houses have to oversee things. But they don’t get to do the actual dirty work. That’s left for members and initiates. “I’ll just let you know when it’s taken care of.”
He slides the envelope into my hand, then heads to the door. It’s difficult to hear him leave because of the blood gushing through my ears.
I sit at my desk and rip it open, taking in each word carefully. Before the world stops spinning.
I’ve been tasked with an assassination mission. A quick clean and kill.
My target?
Olivia’s father.
Xavier Cardell.