Chapter 9 #2
She cut me off. “Because Jett wanted to be a Night Son. And they never accepted him.” Her tone stayed light, as if she were talking about someone who’d cut her off in traffic and not a murder victim.
“He and his father paid Enzo to select Clarissa as his Fawn. I’ll never forget the night Jett stormed in here and threatened her, saying if she didn’t please Enzo, there’d be hell to pay. ”
My eyes widened, and I hugged the pillow to my body.
“Jett thought Clarissa could convince Enzo to reconsider and allow him to join the Night Sons, but his plan backfired, and Clarissa paid for it. Trust me, Jett didn’t want to protect you. He did it out of spite.”
She wandered over to the vanity, then suddenly stopped. “Oh.” Turning to face me, she held a black envelope between two fingers. “Looks like your demon admirer left you a love note.” She lifted a small box sitting beside it. “And a gift.”
I slid off the bed and crossed the room to her. I plucked the envelope from her hand and tore it open. A single piece of paper was inside. As much as I didn’t want to read it, I knew I had to.
The paper was black, and the words written in white.
His handwriting was sharp with restrained strokes. Too neat for such a violent man.
I only find red appealing when it’s your blood.
From this moment forward, you only wear black bows and ribbons.
Failure to listen comes with punishment.
I clutched the note to my chest, took a deep breath as I let it fall from my fingers, and stomped on it. The note crinkled beneath my heel.
Daphne watched my little rebellion with a smile before handing over the gift box, and I took it from her.
It was lighter than I’d expected. I turned the box over in my hands, eyeing the trash can beside the vanity and seriously considering slam-dunking it inside and pretending it never existed.
The wrapping paper was black. So was the satin ribbon tied around it. A small name tag dangled from it.
My soon-to-be Fawn.
With shaking hands, I pulled the ribbon loose and peeled back the wrapping paper, bracing to find something horrifying inside.
A finger, an eyeball, someone’s soul, a piece of Jett.
I let out a breath when I found none of those.
Instead, my ribbons were inside, lying neatly on black tissue paper. He’d cut each one clean through the middle. A clump of my hair sat on top of them.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t horrifying, per se.
But it was still fucked up.
A gasp tore from my throat as my hand went to the back of my head, my fingers combing through my hair in search of a missing chunk.
No fresh damage, so it must’ve been what he’d cut yesterday.
Inside the box was also another smaller one. When I opened it, I found a stack of black ribbons folded inside.
These ones weren’t shredded.
Daphne collected the note from the floor, read it, and peeked inside the box. “Saint Vale’s own Mr. Darcy,” she muttered.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
I dumped the ribbons, the hair, and the entire stupid gift straight into the trash and got ready for the day.
And no, I didn’t wear a black bow.
Enzo Marchetti would regret ever choosing me to be his Fawn.
I arrived at my American Gothic Lit class as early as possible.
Even before Professor Nelson.
I refused to have my back to Enzo again, choosing the same desk in the back row that he’d sat in yesterday.
Before leaving my dorm, I’d pulled my hair into a tight bun and tied a pink ribbon I’d borrowed from Daphne around it. The urge to pull it into a ponytail nagged at me, but I wouldn’t risk Enzo chopping off any more inches.
Daphne warned me not to do it while she straightened her hair. I knew it was a bad idea, but desperate times called for desperate measures. All I’d thought about was convincing Enzo to choose another Fawn.
Guilt dripped inside my belly—if he did, that meant he’d torture another poor girl.
If only we could stop him from choosing anyone.
I smiled at the thought of breaking Enzo’s legs. Pretty damn hard to terrorize someone if you couldn’t walk. Then again, knowing him, he’d probably find a way. The man seemed plenty resourceful.
My brain felt like mush as I sat there. Enzo was already mentally defeating me, and he’d yet to officially choose me. If this was only the beginning, I couldn’t imagine the nightmare waiting for me.
I pressed my palms against the desk and forced myself to control my breathing while giving myself a mental pep talk.
If you think it, you can believe it.
Manifesting and delusion are the same thing, right?
Goose bumps erupted on my skin as I looked around the lecture hall. I eyed the Gothic paintings on the walls, the heavy wooden furniture, and the dark wood paneling.
Yesterday, I’d considered it Gothic décor. Now, it felt like the Night Sons had chosen every detail.
Crafted by the same men who built the entire Fawn System.
Fuck, I detested those men.
My attention drifted back to the grotesque mural above the whiteboard. The one where angels were being sacrificed like livestock. I flipped it off just as a book slammed onto the desk beside mine.
I turned in my chair to find the guy who’d sat beside Enzo yesterday. The one who’d looked thoroughly entertained while Enzo tormented me.
He dropped into the seat. My pulse kicked hard when his dark brown eyes slid toward me, narrowing like I’d done something wrong.
The look made me contemplate skipping class.
I tightened my fingers along the edge of the desk as he leaned back in his chair with a smug half smile. He rolled his neck until it cracked, then pulled his phone from his pocket.
My brain started racing.
Is he Red Mask? Did he kill Jett?
Instead of the university uniform, he wore a black cashmere turtleneck, tucked into gray slacks. He leaned back in his chair, planting his leather loafers on the desk.
I turned away, shoving my hair behind my ear and forcing my focus anywhere but him. The windows. The clock. That weird-ass painting.
He popped his knuckles one by one. Then clicked his tongue. Whistling came next. Each sound he made crawled through my nerves.
He was doing Enzo’s dirty work in his absence.
I bent to grab my bag strap, deciding to ditch class, but before I could stand, students began filing into the room.
Professor Nelson shuffled in seconds later with damp hair and a scowl. He dropped his briefcase onto the desk and set down his Saint Vale mug on a coaster.
Maybe I should’ve given him the benefit of the doubt.
That thought lasted for a second before I changed my mind. I had no respect for him after he watched a male student harass a female student in the middle of his classroom and did absolutely nothing about it.
I frowned when something landed near my desk.
A single matchstick rolled to a stop in front of me.
I chewed on my fingernail, peeking at the guy beside me.
He was still on his phone, aimlessly scrolling.
Faking calm, I flicked the matchstick on my desk aside and opened my notebook.
When I reached down for my pen, another matchstick appeared. This one had a symbol scrawled across the thin wooden splint.
I lowered my gaze and squinted, but couldn’t make out the symbol. If I’d had my phone, I would’ve snapped a picture and Googled it.
With every move I made, I felt him watching me while pretending to focus on his phone.
I shoved the matchstick aside.
Since Enzo had stolen my MacBook, handwritten notes were my only option today.
Asking my stepfather for both a new phone and a laptop would be a headache. Money wasn’t the issue. He had plenty of that. He just hated any inconvenience involving me. I was surprised he hadn’t shipped me off to a school overseas. The farther away I was, the better.
The room grew crowded, but no one else sat in the back row.
By the time Professor Nelson started his lecture, Enzo still hadn’t arrived.
Good. Hopefully, the police were questioning him about his role in Jett’s murder.
Every clue led straight to him. If Jett had jumped out of the infirmary window, someone would have had to drag him up there first.
I anxiously tapped my pen against the desk, and out of habit, I wrote six words.
Six words that had lived inside me for years.
Six words stitched into my chest like another organ.
Words I’d tried to forget more times than I could count.
But they always came back.
Writing them now eased a nervous tic inside me. A strange comfort, like going home. An unhappy home but still familiar.
I will atone for my sins.
I wrote it again.
I will atone for my sins.
I will atone for my sins.
I will atone for my sins.
My pen flew across the page.
A clock ticked loudly in the background, but the chatter around me faded as I wrote, slipping back into my old world.
Nelson’s nasally voice disappeared. Even the guy sitting beside me vanished from my thoughts.
“Boo!”
I jerked upright. The pen fell from my fingers and rolled across the desk. My teeth sank into the inside of my cheek as I slowly lifted my head.
Enzo stood in front of me. He invaded my space, blocking my view of the lecture hall. I curled my shoulders forward and glared at him.
While he wasn’t wearing his neon mask, he still wore one. Only a different kind.
One that concealed how truly demented he was behind a cruelly beautiful face.
His knuckles were split open, and when he lifted his hand, I noticed dried blood on it. Our blood.
I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at my own. My skin was raw and tender from scrubbing it last night.
My eyes returned to Enzo.
His black shirt stretched across his broad chest, the red stitching along the collar resembling blood. The top buttons were undone, revealing a sliver of tanned skin.
He reached down and plucked the notebook off my desk.
“No!” I lunged for it, the edge of the desk jamming painfully into my stomach.
He ignored me, flipping through the pages, wetting his finger before each one. His neck flushed as he read the same sentence repeated hundreds of times.
I will atone for my sins.
Over and over and over.
How stupid of me. I’d set myself up for that.