Chapter 7
The Trickster
A shiver travels down my spine as I appraise the cage in front of me. I groan when my fingertips trail over the cold metal bars. Each joint welded to my exact specifications, each measurement calculated to the millimeter.
The structure dominates the back wall in my bedroom, a stark testament to purpose over aesthetics. Beautiful in its utility, perfect in its promise of containment. I tap a bar with my knuckle, listening to the hollow ring that echoes through the room.
It’s large enough for comfort, small enough for psychological effect. I’d considered many designs before settling on this one, classic bars rather than mesh or glass. I want her to feel the cold metal beneath her fingers when she inevitably tests her boundaries.
My Bride-to-be needs to understand that no matter how clever she thinks she is, the only thing sharper than her mind is my revenge.
I grip one of the vertical bars with both hands and pull, using my full strength to test for weakness. The metal doesn’t yield, doesn’t even creak. Good. I move methodically around the structure, repeating the test at each junction point.
I whistle a melody as my eyes travel the length of the bars again, cataloging each element. The hinges, the lock, the small opening I’ve engineered for passing food or water without opening the main door.
“Almost time,” I tell the empty cage, my voice dropping to a pitch reserved for prayers or threats.
With the cage complete, I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Ned’s number. My thumb hovers over the screen for a moment as I admire my handiwork one last time. The bars cast thin shadows across the carpeted floor like prison stripes, a preview of the containment to come.
Ned answers on the third ring, his voice carrying that particular blend of efficiency and boredom.
“It’s done,” I tell him without preamble.
“The love nest?” His voice carries a trace of amusement that would earn anyone else a warning. From Ned, I allow it. He’s seen me at my worst and stayed, and that buys certain privileges.
“The cage,” I correct, running my free hand along one of the bars. “Everything’s in place for when I bring her home.”
“And when will that be, exactly?” There’s a rustling on his end of the line—papers being moved, perhaps a drink being poured.
“After The Black Wedding.” I move to the window, looking out at the darkening grounds of my estate. From this vantage point, the garden looks fucking dead, which, to be fair, it is. Anything that grows out there’s nature’s doing more than mine.
I took an instant liking to this property when I saw it for the first time back in April. Since Ruby’s death, I wanted something more remote than my apartment in Manhattan. And to be closer to Eve who lives here in the Bronx.
This two-story gothic revival mansion is everything I never knew I wanted. The weathered black stones and steep pitched rooflines are perfect. As are the tall, black-trimmed windows and ivy crawling up both sides.
A turret with a round stone balcony extends from the back corner, overlooking the private yard at the back. The driveway at the front is all cracked stone and overgrown, and the entire property is framed by wrought iron fencing.
It ’s like a place taken right out of a horror movie, which is part of its charm. The floorboards groan even when you’re still. The shadows gather like they know something. It’s a house made for haunting—now it just needs a ghost.
Another part is the rumors that circulate amongst the locals here in Riverdale. People talk in hushed whispers about the previous owners who died in a dramatic murder-suicide.
And if I’m honest with myself, that was what hooked me. When the real estate agent informed me of the property’s history, I couldn’t say no. A murder-suicide, exactly what Ruby did.
“Dude, are you still there?” Ned’s voice pulls me out of my head and I refocus on the phone call.
Instead of wondering what he might have been saying while I wasn’t paying attention, I ask, “Is your sister confirmed for the bridal preparation?”
“She’s in.” His response is immediate, assured.
“Happily so?” I ask, already knowing she isn’t.
Ned grimaces. “No, man. She’s still heartbroken after losing her… boyfriend or whatever.”
I nod along. “Do you know who it was?”
He shrugs. “No clue. Never met the guy and she never gave me a name. I just know she’s still not over it.
But she’s made sure Eve attends, and that’s all that matters.
” He swallows thickly. “She knows her place, Jack. Even if she’s not happy about it, she’ll handle the dress alterations, makeup, hair—everything to get your Bride ready for the ceremony. ”
“Good, I’ll make it worth her while,” I state dryly. “The dress will be delivered tomorrow. I don’t know if she needs a look at it to—”
“I’ve already shown her the picture,” Ned says, interrupting me.
“Perfect.” I allow myself a moment to imagine my Bride in the dress, the dark fabric against her pale skin. It’ll be theatrical in the best fucking way.
“Something you should know,” Ned interjects, his tone shifting slightly. “I ran into your Bride-to-be outside the apartment complex this morning.”
My interest sharpens. “And?”
“ She was pissed. Like, nuclear-level angry.” There’s a hint of admiration in his voice that I don’t particularly care for.
“Her little friend apparently has a broken arm and a concussion. They kept him overnight for observation at the hospital. But when he was discharged, he refused to let her help and apparently blamed her for his injuries.”
I feel my lips curve into a cold smile. “Did he now,” I muse. “Well, I suppose that’s fair. If he hadn’t been in her life, I’d have no reason to hurt him.”
Ned chuckles darkly. “Good point. But you should have seen her, Jack. She was spitting fire when I passed her.”
Frowning, I ask, “Did she tell you all that?”
“Nah, man. She was on the phone when I walked past her, and I might have lingered a bit.”
“Anything else I should know?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral despite the annoyance clawing at me. I don’t care if Caleb’s angry with her, that’s not my problem. But it bothers me if his tantrum is loud enough to drown out the sound of me in her head.
When he tells me that’s all, I let him know I’ll stop by as soon as I’m done here. I don’t know if Eve opened her invitation, and it’s important that she does. After that, I end the call and toss my phone onto the bed.
Alone again, I let my mind drift back to Eve in that hallway. The way her body had tensed when I pinned her wrists above her head. The initial resistance when my fingers slid between her legs, followed by the damning evidence of her arousal.
Her cunt was wet. So fucking wet. She tried to lie, to trick me with her fucking mouth, but her body folded like a prayer—open, trembling, begging. Not for mercy. For more. And that’s something I hadn’t expected at all.
I’m not oblivious to Eve’s attraction. She’s devastatingly beautiful, with curves that could make a monk weep. But until last night, I never considered playing with her body. Her mind, yes, but now, her reaction to me has changed the game.
My cock hardens at the memory, pressing uncomfortably against my zipper. I groan quietly as I cup my erection. It would be so easy to jerk off, maybe even do it inside the cage and leave my cum for her to sit on …
No, I’m not a fucking teenager that needs to introduce his hand to his cock every hour. The next time I nut, it’ll be inside her. This isn’t just about want. It’s about debt, about what she owes me.
Instead of hanging about, I reach for my black duffel bag. My mask and gloves are already inside, so I just add another box with a rose in it. After putting on my leather jacket, I shove the second invitation into the inner pocket. Then I head to Ned’s.
When I get there, I take the fire escape two steps at a time. Reaching the right floor, I tap on his window, and the fucker actually grins as he lets me in.
My answering scowl just makes his smile wider. “Is she—”
He waves me off. “She’s in there.” He points at the wall they’re sharing. “Watching some horror movie or some shit, judging by the sounds.”
After placing the bag on the floor, I press my ear against the wall separating the two apartments, and he’s right. The shrill scream, maniacal laughter, and sounds of a chainsaw confirm it.
I check the clock on my phone, finding there are still a few hours left until midnight and I don’t want to disturb her until then.
“Want anything to drink?” Ned offers, and I accept an ice cold beer.
Unzipping my leather jacket, I make myself comfortable on his couch. We don’t really talk about anything of substance. He thanks me again for setting him up here, but I just shrug off his gratitude.
“It was nothing,” I say before taking a large swig. “I needed eyes and ears here.”
“Come on, man,” he argues. “Even if you didn’t need my help, I know you would have helped out when I got out of jail. So just accept my fucking thanks. Plus, you helped look out for Shelby. That won’t be forgotten.”
Ned served six years in jail for drug possession and a few other charges, which is bullshit, since the stuff wasn’t even his. But the prosecutor had a hard-on for putting him away, and I was too busy being hated by my dad to really pay attention.
Sometimes I don’t get why the hell he’s loyal to me. My dad killed his pa rents, only leaving him and Shelby alive. Yet, he’s never blamed me or Nick. It was never a secret he would have loved to be the one to kill daddy dearest. But so would most of NYC I’m sure.
“It was the least I could do,” I grunt. I’ve known Ned forever, so it makes me really uncomfortable to be thanked for doing something he had a right to expect.
“How’s Nick?” he asks, changing the subject.
“Busy living his best life,” I reply, not offering details.