The Bedlam Boys: Complete Series

Chapter Eleven

Rainey

I woke early the next morning and watched the sun rise on Bedlam University.

Roan was correct about my short reprieve. Jacques came home and brought me down to the doghouse. He wasn’t shy about making me change into my home clothes, either.

It didn’t bother me as much as it should.

Which bothered me.

I dozed on and off throughout the night. Sleeping, I lay half in the doghouse. Awake, I snuck snacks from the kitchen, munching and thinking.

What did it say about me that I didn’t put up much of a fight at wearing a collar and sleeping on the floor in the living room? What did it mean that I looked at Roan and saw both the devilish imp and the vicious manipulator? I saw cold, arrogant Jacques and the man who cracked his knuckles, beating a guy who threw a drink on me. What did it mean that violent, rough rape-fantasy sex had become the staple of my relationship with Cairo, and as much as years of social programming said I should, this didn’t make me fear or hate him?

There was a darkness in these men I both responded to and was able to see past to something more underneath. I kept asking myself why both Letter Men chose me, and now I had to ask if it’s because they saw darkness in me too.

Jacques came down into the kitchen while the sun was still rising. He didn’t say another number at the sight of me, so I guessed sitting out, leaning on the doghouse, was allowed.

“You couldn’t sleep either?”

He slowed, cast me an unreadable look, and continued on. I watched him move around the kitchen, setting up the blender.

“What’s in that shake you make?”

I didn’t expect him to answer. I was mostly just talking at him after too long a night in my head.

“Kale, spinach, banana, cucumber, apple juice, and cocoa nibs,” he replied.

“Wow. That sounds... gross.”

He made a noise in his throat. Was that a laugh?

“Can I try it?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he repeated. “Starvation isn’t a part of your punishment. Besides, it is only logical to consume a diet that provides the maximum nutritional value in every meal.”

“Sure, but everything doesn’t have to be logical, does it?”

“Explain.”

“Well, uh.” My goodness, is this the longest conversation I’ve had with Jacques that doesn’t include fighting?

“Comfort food, for example,” I said. “Hot, greasy, salty, fried loveliness. We all know it’s not good for us, but when you had a terrible day, it makes you feel better to veg on the couch with buttery popcorn. Couldn’t you say the positive impact on your mental health is worth it? What good is it being the healthiest man on earth, if you can’t enjoy the little things in life?”

“Interesting theory.” Jacques threw a handful of spinach in the blender. “The production of dopamine and serotonin from junk food derives its own benefits in regards to stress relief. Stress itself is a negative factor toward health, so the pros and cons should be weighed,” he said. “Your supposition has merit.”

My brows shot up my forehead. Did he just say I was right in genius-speak?

“Although,” Jacques continued. “The continued overproduction of dopamine lessens its impact on the human body. Therefore, to reach the same high, we must consume more and more junk food. Leading to addiction.”

“Absolutely the ‘eating junk food to feel better’ idea can only go so far. But that’s why we say everything in moderation. You can drink your green smoothies every day, but once a week, eating your favorite maple donut can do you some good too.”

“I agree with your reasoning.”

Holy hell. That was definitely genius-speak for you’re right.

I studied him. “What’s it like in your head, Jacques?”

“I’ve been asked that question many times.”

“I’m sorry. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

Now he studied me—a long, probing look that made me shift on my dog bed. “Now that question, no one has ever asked me.”

“Curiosity can make people insensitive. We forget just because we want to know something, it doesn’t mean we treat people like animals in a zoo.”

“Yes, courtesy is often discarded in favor of intrusiveness,” he agreed. “But to answer your question, no. It doesn’t bother me. I understand humans are naturally curious beings. They seek to understand so they can categorize. Labels make people comfortable. Once I was given the title genius, people felt less uneasy around the small child spouting facts he shouldn’t know or understand.”

Jacques spoke about people like we were a different species. To be called humans was better than cattle, though it made me wonder if it stemmed from people treating him differently.

You’re doing it again, de Souza. Trying to make a wounded bird out of an emotionally closed-off man.

“I can’t speak to what it’s like in other people’s minds, but the closest comparison I can think of is a warehouse of file cabinets,” Jacques said. “Some are small, labeled, and near the entrance. Others are miles back and ten stories high. Every event, detail, fact, and the resulting conclusions I’ve made or experienced in my life are in the cabinets, but I do not have an eidetic memory. I cannot recall them at will.

“I have to build systems, networks, and shortcuts to get through the maze. I create ladders to get the information high above me. It is not a simple process, nor is it painless,” he said. “But to disregard sections of it like others can is impossible.” Jacques touched his temples. “I can feel it. Always. Every day. Every minute. My life will not be deleted.”

“I can’t imagine what that’s like,” I said softly.

Jacques hit puree on the blender. It seemed our conversation was over.

I watched him while he made his breakfast, and a few times he glanced up and looked back at me. Smoothies done, he brought over two mason jars and handed me mine.

It was disgusting, just as predicted. He must’ve used unsweetened dark chocolate nibs, because they made the situation worse. Even so, we slurped in an almost companionable silence. I wouldn’t say I understood Jacques Stone completely, but in one thing I could relate.

No one knew what to do with him till they found a comfortable, recognizable label to slap on his head, and what had I been doing the entire night if not looking for a similar solution for the Bedlam Boys? And for me.

Maybe I didn’t need to understand why I craved every woman’s worst nightmare as a fantasy. Obviously, I didn’t want sex forced on me in a situation I couldn’t control with a person I didn’t want. But with Cairo, Jacques, Roan, Legend, and Arsenio, it was different. With them, I was in charge of my fate. I decided when it broke us.

I thought of losing Gran, Ivy leaving, the Letter Man’s grip on my life, and the body at Black Widow Hill.

When in my life have I ever had control? When have I been able to make the bad things stop?

Jacques set his empty glass on the table. “Hands and knees. Face the doghouse.”

I did as ordered. I was up to ten for running off and not telling the guys where I went yesterday.

He secured my leash to the hook, then tugged my thong down. It was hardly getting in the way, but by Jacques’s erection the day before, he liked the view.

Thwap!

Stinging pain ricocheted through my cheeks. My body responded even as I hissed.

“One.”

Over and over, the leather tasted my skin, drawing my arousal to dampen the belt and get me in trouble once again. It was a never-ending cycle my wanton pussy was more than happy with.

“Six.”

A moan escaped. I bit my lip harder to hold them back.

“Don’t do that.” Jacques slipped his fingers inside me. “You don’t get to hold back what’s mine.”

He worked me effortlessly—crooking his fingers and teasing my clit with his thumb. Did you have to be a genius to achieve that level of dexterity while whipping someone’s ass? Because I was very impressed.

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

“You shouldn’t be enjoying this so much.”

“You shouldn’t add a third finger. Ugh, I hate that.”

He chuckled, and the sound was a straight shot to my core. No matter what he did. Even if you witnessed him burn the world down. You could not think of Jacques Stone as anything but an angel when he laughed.

Jacques gave me my third finger, stretching me to the limit. Soft sounds fell from my lips, mixed with hisses from each snap of the belt. It hurt so terribly and felt so amazing at the same time, and yet I knew I couldn’t have one without the other.

Roan was right. Pain and pleasure were two sides of the same coin.

Thwap!

I came screaming, waking the whole house up. I reached behind and grasped his zipper to return the favor.

Jacques caught my wrist and gently returned it to its place.

“One,” he said.

He walked off, eroding my bliss with confused frustration.

What did I tell you?The other guys tromped down the stairs, filing past him. Jacques is not a wounded bird. He is never going to make it that easy for me.

I eased onto my sore backside, waiting for one of my boys to bring me breakfast, then carry me up for a thorough, intimate bath.

Yes, they were mine. The fact was setting in stone with every day I spent with them.

It was a mistake to think of them as soft men underneath who needed love to bring them out, but it was becoming clear how they saw me. I was their wounded bird—albeit wounds of their own making. I was theirs to tend, to cage, to punish, and to defend.

And although they did not understand it now, that kind of devotion led down a single path. One day, they would be as much mine as I was theirs.

I decided our fate.

We don’t end until I say we do.

“DO YOU GET BAGELS EVERYmorning?” I asked as we entered the student union.

“It’s not about the bagels,” Legend said. “You can’t keep a close enough eye on your kingdom from the tower.”

“Ah, I get it. You’re surveying the serfs.” I mumbled something uncomplimentary under my breath.

“Heard that.”

Legend snaked an arm around me, drawing me close and pulling taut the leash around Cairo’s wrist.

“Has anyone told you that those lovelies are the perfect little handful? Not too small, but still big enough a man can suffocate between them.” He brushed his finger over my nipple, discreetly, so you could almost believe he wasn’t feeling me up in public. “Can’t wait for another go.”

“So, just to be clear,” I said, “your whole gentleman routine is a complete act.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He popped a kiss on my lips. “Actually, after this let’s...”

Legend trailed off as he stepped out onto the deck.

The New Boys gathered up the remains of their breakfast, getting up to toss it.

The New Boys was the name I gave Jeremy, Bentley, Micah, Gael, and Jonah that morning while I overheard the guys discussing them. It seemed like the appropriate name for a band of violent, hot troublemakers threatening to take over, and currently sitting at their table.

There were only four of them that morning, and they weren’t alone.

A group of people were chatting with them, leaning on their chairs and laughing like they just hit the punch line of the joke.

“Oh.” Green Hair— Jeremy made big eyes, clapping his hand over his mouth. “I’m so sorry. We meant to be out of here before you arrived.”

The crowd dispersed quickly. Some of them moving too fast for people just hanging for a friendly chat.

What do you look so guilty about?

“What’s this?” Jeremy fixed on me. “If it isn’t Miss Get The Fuck Off My Property. I wouldn’t have pegged you as a woman who lets someone put her on a leash.”

“Two,” said Jacques.

“What’s that supposed to be?” Jeremy asked.

“That’s how many teeth you’ll lose if you keep talking to our girl,” Cairo replied. “And what was it you said? Oh yeah, get the fuck off my property.”

“Oooh,” one of them crowed.

“Yes, master.”

“Sorry, master.”

Bowing and scraping, they got up from the table, eliciting a few chuckles from the crowd.

“Kind of you,” said Arsenio. “Hey, what’s the update on the murder investigation? Just spoke to the sheriff and he mentioned you five were his main suspects.”

The smile froze on Jeremy’s face. “Don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do.” Arsenio’s grin oozed charm. “Ruckus Royale. The guy you stabbed was set on fire after swearing he’d kill you. Sheriff said something about how strange it was you sank a knife in that guy, but the other sacrifices were just hassled. You two must have a history.”

The deck fell silent. Even the bugs in the trees stopped making noise.

“There is no history,” Jeremy gritted. “I never met the guy, and my lawyer told your hick sheriff the same thing. The Crows had nothing to do with his death.”

“Soooo,” Arsenio drew out. “You just go around stabbing innocent people for fun? Totally random guy already having a bad day, and your first thought was to carve him up?” He shook his head. “I’m not buying it. No wonder the sheriff didn’t either.”

“I didn’t do that because I had beef with the fucker,” he snapped. “That was to teach you—”

“Teach me? Let me get this straight, you stabbed an innocent man just to intimidate us? You needed to prove how tough you are that badly?” Arsenio whistled. “Wow. Maybe you are worse than we’ll ever be. I mean, not even the Bedlam Boys attack unprovoked.”

I bit my lip, afraid a “Damn” would come out.

Arsenio maneuvered him so expertly in his place, if I wasn’t watching, I would’ve missed it.

Jeremy’s eyes flicked around, seeing in those faces what I was seeing.

Doubt.

New Kings were all well and good, unless you’re next on the stake.

“The Crows didn’t kill that man,” Jeremy said. “I believe he died from the fire your boy lit under him. That’s for sure the cause of death Sheriff Daddy has written down. Not stab wound. I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, pushing the blame for your crime on us, but thank you for confirming this for me—you don’t attack unprovoked. When I figure out your motive, we’ll see how far nepotism gets you.”

Arsenio clicked his tongue, grinning. “It’s gotten us pretty far,” he said, not letting his words float to our audience. Louder, he replied, “Doesn’t matter because we’ve been cleared. The cops know we were framed by someone who wants the Bedlam Boys taken out.”

Not quite the reason.

“We’ll be watching you.” Arsenio closed the distance, towering over Jeremy with all six feet, one inch of him. “We won’t let you hurt anyone else in this town.”

“Yeah,” someone said.

Nods went around the deck.

Jaw ticcing, Jeremy came closer still, leaving a hair between their chests.

“You’re smooth, politician’s boy. Got a nice way with words that have even me almost doubting myself, but that only works for so long. Eventually, this town is going to wake up and remember they hate you. They hate running when you snap your fingers and bending their necks for you to wipe your feet.

“Between you and me, the wake-up call is coming soon, and when it does, I don’t actually have to be a nice guy as long as everyone thinks I am.” He flicked to Legend. “By the way, that was a sinister show you put on yesterday, but I set my alarm, and I’m not missing anything.”

“Aren’t you?” Legend brushed past me and leaned over Jeremy’s ear. “Where’s your brother?”

“Micah? He went home to get something.”

“Did he?”

I’d never seen that expression on Legend’s face. It kicked my fight-or-flight impulse into gear.

“Yes,” Jeremy snapped. “He texted me that—”

“—he couldn’t find his watch and took a quick trip back to HC to see if it’s home,” Legend finished.

Jeremy blanched.

“Oops,” Legend breezed. “Hope he finds it.”

“You piece of shit! What did you do with Micah?!”

Legend threw up his hands, the picture of innocence. “Do? What could I have done?” His voice was too low for anyone but us to hear. “I was home all night and morning. Wasn’t I, guys?”

The boys nodded.

“Tell me where he is or—”

“I’ve already told you.” The sickly sweet tone clashed violently against the glint in his eyes. “You can skip the blustering and shouting, and drop to your knees now. I’ll take a kissed boot and a ‘Sorry, Mr. St. James’ while you’re down there.” He lifted his foot, wiggling it at him. “Chop, chop.”

Jeremy flew at him. A wild punch cut the air, heading for Legend’s jaw.

Legend snapped back, caught his arm, and used the momentum to spin him around and secure him in a headlock. The whole thing happened so fast, Jeremy couldn’t stop it.

“Son of a bitch! If you hurt my brother, I’ll kill you!”

“Whoa,” Legend said, lifting his voice. “Calm down, buddy. We’re just talking.”

“Where’s Micah?!” He thrashed in his grip. “What did you do to him?!”

The Crows tried to help him and Arsenio, Jacques, Roan, and Cairo blocked their way four to three. Actually, eight to three as other guys jumped to break off the impending fight. Suddenly, they remembered who they served.

Legend tossed Jeremy at a pair of guys. “Escort them out. They’re done ruining everyone’s morning.”

“You’re next, St. James!” Jeremy’s spittle showered the deck, his shoes leaving scuffs on the deck. “You’ll burn! You’ll all fucking burn!”

I watched him go, mouth hanging open. Arsenio maneuvered him into losing the chess match, then Legend got him to blow up the board. There was no coming back from a scene like that. He may turn sympathy by saying he lost it over his brother, but that was real, frightening hatred in those eyes. You don’t forget a look like that for as long as you live.

I can promise you.

“Legend,” I began, “what did you do to his brother?”

The more than just a rich boy slung his arm around me, giving my nipple another quick tweak. “Had a couple guys pick him up this morning, drive him out of town, and drop him on the side of the road. No phone, of course. It’ll take him a good ten hours to walk back. Long enough for Jer-Bear to learn some humility.” He nuzzled my cheek. “Like I was saying before we were interrupted, I’ll have another go on those lovelies before class. Eat fast.”

The Bedlam Boys reclaimed their table with a smugness that bordered on obscene. I had mixed feelings, to say the least. Legend didn’t hurt Micah, but then the lesson was for his brother, not him. If it was my sister, I wouldn’t make it ten hours before dropping on my knees and begging Legend to tell me she was safe.

A brutal lesson. Even so, I can’t forget the Bedlam Boys didn’t start this war with the Crows, and they’re not interested in being in it. These guys keep getting in their faces. If they want so badly to play on their level, they’ll face the consequences like the rest of us.

Joining them, I lifted Cairo’s hand and sat on his lap. My butt still hurt like a motherfucker, so it took some wiggling to get comfortable. His cock twitched a hello.

Once I was settled, I faced him full on, silently challenging him to move me onto the floor.

“You’re getting bold, baby.” He gave me a quick nip kiss that was over too fast. “I don’t dislike it.”

Cupping his jaw, I turned him back to me and molded his lips to mine—stealing the deep, dizzying kisses he denied me. Cairo responded, moving in rhythm with me, teasing my lips apart.

He clamped on my bottom lip, breaking the skin.

“Ow.”

Cairo licked my blood from his mouth, looking every inch the wolf I named him. “Don’t get carried away.”

“Asshole,” I muttered.

“—leave it.”

“No!”

A cloud of Shalimar perfume invaded my nose.

“So, it’s true.” Quinn Cunningham planted herself in front of us. “You dumped me for this bitch.”

“No,” Roan said. He didn’t look up from his texting. “We dumped you. Then we hooked up with this bitch. We were through with you before we met her. Two separate events.”

That didn’t stem the rising color in Quinn’s cheeks. I don’t think it was meant to.

“I thought this was a joke. Another one of your stupid punishments for whatever shit you imagined I did wrong.”

Quinn really was beautiful. I didn’t know many people who still looked pretty with a curled lip and tomato-red cheeks.

“I’m not putting up with this. You don’t get to throw me over for farm-girl trash over here—”

“Hey,” I said.

“—and think I’m going to let you get away with it.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Legend asked.

Cairo’s phone went off. “I want you to fuck my mouth, Cairo.” His ringtone sounded clear as day. “Make me choke on your cum.”

Now I wished I was on the floor. It would be easier to hide my face.

Poison burned her glare. “You’ll see.”

She stormed off and was dismissed as quickly as she left.

Legend eyed Roan. “Who are you texting?”

“Oh, you know.” He winked. “A boy.”

Legend moved under the table, and Roan hissed—face screwing up in pain even as his eyes glazed in pleasure.

“Just kidding, baby.” Roan tugged him by the collar. The X-rated kiss he gave him made me cross my legs. In the tiny little black dress the guys squeezed me into, they could see I was wet from space.

Cairo’s phone went off. He glanced at the screen and something flashed across his face.

“Hello?” He listened. “Yeah. Yeah. I got the message.”

My ears perked up, listening for a hint of who was on the other end.

“No,” Cairo said. “He forgot to mention that. Yes, we’ll take care of it. I said we’ll take care of it.”

He ended the call.

“Off,” he ordered. “Go to class, Rain.”

Cairo helped me along by standing and tossing me off his lap.

I headed out. I needed to find something less nightclub to wear to my bankruptcy class anyway.

“We have a problem,” I overheard him say. “Must be dealt with tonight...”

You have problems?

Out of their orbit, my attention focused on my impending deadline, and the increasingly angry psychopath waiting for a name.

I have to warn them. His threats be damned. They have to know their lives are in danger. Especially Frankie. Her husband is a walking shitbag, but he wouldn’t refuse watching the kids and getting them out of town until I find this guy and stop him.

In four days.

The majority of my two weeks were eaten up and there was nothing I could do about it. All I had was a theory about Sam Dillion, and if I was wrong, there was the final guy in their old crew and Cavendish’s girlfriend.

What do I do if looking for these people turns up nothing?

I didn’t know Cavendish. Who knew how he spent his time, or who he got close to after he killed his best friend and the others drifted away? The Letter Man could be his long-lost frickin’ brother who recently bonded with him over their shared love of blood and torture, and after big bro died, he decided to take up the mantle.

I stopped outside the building, taking a deep breath and holding it. Playing the what-if game wouldn’t do me any good. I needed a real, solid plan that didn’t rely on sudden mania and a perfect window of opportunity. The Bedlam Boys were hardly going to set that up for me again.

I’d change, spend the last hour till class in the library, and put together the pieces of Scott’s life. That night, I’d break away from the guys—punishment be damned—and tell Paris, Bella, and Frankie they were in danger and why. A twisted sadist stalking and threatening to kill you wasn’t something you shot off in a text.

They’d most likely demand we go straight to Sheriff Jack. Hell would open up at my feet before I sat in the same room with the man. I was prepared to tell my story to one of the Hunter’s Crest officers and show them the letter detailing in no uncertain terms what they’d do if I didn’t kill someone in two weeks.

The cops would assign them protection. My friends would be safe.

For how long?a chilling voice sounded. How long can any of us be safe from a shadow?

I looked down, throat tight, as doubt fought its way in.

It’s always behind you.

MY FIRST TIME IN THEuniversity library, and it was becoming my favorite place.

A light scent of vanilla wafted in and out of the stacks. This library wasn’t like most I’d been in. Huge overhead windows and skylights dispelled the dark corners. There were study tables and couches placed everywhere, and in the front of the building, a little café that served me a chicken pesto panini that hit the spot better than Jacques’s logical breakfast smoothie.

I was dressed in a hoodie and sneakers from a girl who literally gave them to me off her body. I went up to her in Homer Green, asked if she was a size seven and how she felt about a trade for my pair of Manolo Blahniks. She whipped them off so fast, she took off barefoot so I wouldn’t have a chance to change my mind.

A thousand times more comfortable, I found a spot near the back and did a deep dive into the life of Sam Dillion.

Local Teens Injured During Fake Bomb Threat.

Sam Dillion’s name was added to that piece of news after Douglas ratted out his friends. That was years later, and another year after that, he left town.

My search into Dillion ended there the first time around. He wasn’t around, so I focused on the friend that was: Scott Cavendish.

Where did Dillion go? What finally drove him to leave?

And did he come back after a certain man’s death?

I typed in “Sam Dillion Hunter’s Crest.”

Most of us Bedlamites had a hard time getting too far. It was worth a shot.

Munching on my sandwich, I poked around the top articles. Two mentions of Sam Dillions, none were him.

My next try was the nearest town to the south, Beckerburg. I scrolled down and clicked the LinkedIn page for Samuel Noah Dillion.

I sat up straighter.

Clear under education was Bedlam University.

This is him.

I clicked out and typed in his full name and town. The top result was the Beckerburg Journal. I realized what it was before I clicked on the article. I opened it anyway.

Samuel Noah Dillion, age 25, passed away last Sunday. He is survived by his parents, Donna and Jerald, and his siblings.

I stopped reading there. Why go on? Samuel was not the Letter Man. My last hope hung on the chance the Letter Man was now the Letter Woman.

What was his girlfriend’s name again? Hannah? Hailey?

Stomach churning, I put in Scott Cavendish. The first thing a vulture reporter would’ve done was run to their house to interview the grieving girlfriend and ask why would anyone want to burn her man alive?

There was always the chance she was involved in this. I considered it when I was standing outside their house, watching the two pull into their driveway and move about through the windows. The more I learned about Cavendish, the more I let suspicions of her go.

He had a shady past and death connected to his name. She spent most of her time chatting animatedly on the phone in her living room and blasted music on her way home. It was too hard to see that happy, social person as the sad, sick man who sent me those letters.

Maybe I dismissed her too quickly. For all I know, they were a match made in heaven.

Heather.

The name came to me just like that. Heather Mitchell.

I typed in her name. My eyes widened at the top result.

Heather Mitchell Commits Suicide.

I stabbed the button, opening the article. Nestled in between her history, family and friends, was the story of losing her boyfriend and how she couldn’t recover from the shock. Last week, Friday morning, her body was found in the bathroom by her mother.

A chill set in my bones. I had no proof. There was less than nothing to go on. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling it wasn’t bad luck, depression, or coincidence that explained why people kept dying around Scott Cavendish.

Did the new Letter Man kill Scott’s girlfriend? Why would he do that?

Why would he ask me to kill an innocent? I am not dealing with a person who—

A shadow moved on the other side of the stacks.

I shot up, quickly clicking out of the window. “Who’s there? I’m warning you. Don’t fuck with me today.”

“Whoa. Easy, mama.” Jeremy’s smooth baritone floated through the books. “I just want to talk.”

Clutching my chest, I dropped back in my seat. The chances weren’t high the Letter Man would leap through the books and attack me in a brightly lit library with dozens of witnesses around, but you couldn’t blame me for being jumpy.

Everyone with the misfortune to know Scott Cavendish ended up dead or gone. Now his replacement had me in his sights.

My days of fooling around at the farm without a weapon or people knowing I’m there are over, I thought as Jeremy came around to face me. My days of going anywhere at all without a weapon or backup had to be over. The next obituary in the Bedlam Post would not be mine.

“I don’t know where your brother is,” I said.

“I didn’t think you did.”

“Then what can I do for you?”

“I’m here to ask you that.”

Jeremy slid in his seat, draping one arm behind the chair and adopting a casual air beautiful people make look effortless.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jeremy looked me up and down. “The girl who ran into me in the woods is not the same one shivering on a leash in the corner like a whipped dog.”

“You don’t know me, New Boy.”

“I know the Bedlam Boys chained you. I can set you free.”

I pushed aside my borrowed laptop. Jeremy had my full attention. “How exactly can you do that?”

“Tell me what you want,” he said. “Name it. It’s yours.”

“You can’t give me what I want.” I turned away, gathering my things. “And if you haven’t learned by now, here’s a tip: the Bedlam Boys have minions everywhere and they’re not above reporting your movements. Jacques told you what will happen if you talk to me,” I said. “I’d warn that those guys don’t bluff, but you figured that out by now.”

He grabbed my arm. Gentle, but firm. He towed me back in my seat.

“Money,” he said. “My dad’s loaded. I can transfer fifteen grand into your bank account by the time you finish your panini. And that’s just my daily limit. Another fifteen grand could be yours tomorrow.”

I flashed him a hard look. “And you want to give me thirty grand why? Because you feel sorry for me? Why don’t we start with what you want, and then I’ll decide what it’s worth.”

He smiled. “If it’s not worth thirty thousand, then it doesn’t look like you come at a price. I’ll skip ahead to what you truly want.

“De Souza Farm.”

I stilled. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. The farm’s been tied up in legal issues and murky questions of ownership since your grandmother passed and the company that was supposed to buy the farm went under. The bank isn’t about to hand it back to you, so it’s just sitting there waiting for someone else to move in. Your family home. The de Souza name on its sign for six generations.”

Each word stuck a pin through my heart.

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t give anything to get it back. At the very least, if you had somewhere to live, you wouldn’t be bunking in a doghouse.”

I yanked free of him. “How do you—? Of course. You broke into their place.”

“One of the school’s custodians cleans their house. You may not have a price, but they do,” he said. “I know how awfully they treat you and that you want to get away.”

You know nothing, New Boy.

“My father is on the board of a few development companies. One word and they cut through the red tape, buy the farm, and put the deed in your name. No one will take it from you again.”

“Let me see if I’m understanding this. You’re going to convince your dad to buy my farm... and then hand it over to me. De Souza Farm is twelve acres for eight thousand and seven hundred dollars an acre. That’s just for the land.

“To get the farmhouse, barn, chicken coop, and animal pens on top, it’s five hundred grand,” I said. “That’s not a guess. It’s a quote from Cruella herself. Over half a million dollars, and it’ll be a gift? Daddy Warbucks is going to make that happen?”

Jeremy didn’t blink. “That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

“Then again, I have to ask, what’s in it for you?”

“Nothing sinister. I just want you to keep an eye on things for me. You’re living with— under them,” he corrected. “You overhear their conversations. You snoop in their rooms. You’re as close to the Bedlam Boys as anyone can be. Tell me what they’re planning, and you get your farm back. Simple.”

The first crack in his mask appeared. “You can start by getting St. James to tell you where my brother is. I broke into their house and he’s not there. I’ve sent my guys to their houses too. If I’m missing a place, find out where it is.”

“Everything you said sounded simple, but it’s not,” I replied. “You know what is? Giving Legend what he wants. I’m surprised you haven’t swallowed your pride by now. This is your brother we’re talking about.”

“So help—!” He cut the shout off, clearing his throat. “Help me. We both hate these guys. Help me take them down.”

“Why do you want them out of the way? What are you planning?”

The frown twitched. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d make it this difficult. I’m handing you everything you want on a silver platter. Don’t tell me— Shit. Are you in love with those guys? They treat you like garbage. Scratch that. They treat you like an animal.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” I said, tone even. “No, I’m not in love with them. It’s not about them. You haven’t asked me why I call you New Boy. It’s not because you just transferred here. New Boy is short for New Bedlam Boy. Far as I can see, your Crows are no different from them. Getting deep with you would be taking the leash from their hands and putting it in yours.”

“That’s not true.” Jeremy ran a finger up my thigh. “I’d never treat you the way they do. You’re a goddess, Rainey. The Crows would worship you.”

I folded my legs, knocking him off. “If you’re so different, prove it to me. The Bedlam Boys aren’t honest with me. They haven’t told me a thing about what they do in this town or why. If I’m supposed to trust you, then you can trust me. Tell me what you guys are doing here.”

Jeremy held my gaze for five, ten, fifteen seconds. He looked away.

“That’s what I thought.” I stood to go.

“Wait,” he hissed. “Obviously, I’m not going to spill my guts in a crowded library when you just told me their spies are always watching. You can trust me, de Souza, I swear. Agree to help me out and everyone gets what they want.”

I hummed. “If you did that much research on me, it should’ve come up that I’m prelaw. I’m not entering into any land agreement without a written contract signed by your father and his company stating upon purchase of the farm, ownership will transfer to me. Once that contract is in my hand, I’m willing to hear exactly what you want from me and why. If that’s not possible, you weren’t really serious in the first place.

“As for your brother, stop racking up breaking and entering charges and go to Legend. He’s your freaking blood. He should not have to wait as long as you’ve made him.”

Picking up the laptop, I marched off.

“Bitch.”

“Not off to a good start,” I tossed over my shoulder.

Jeremy’s unwelcome distraction aside, it was still an unproductive morning. Sam Dillion was dead. Heather Mitchell was dead. There was the final friend of Scott and Douglas, Nathan Wade. I didn’t expend too much energy looking him up again.

I found out the first time around he got married after his expulsion, and his wife was currently expecting a baby. His Facebook photos put the two of them in Hawaii for a babymoon on Ruckus Day. According to the pics, they were still there.

These letters are hand delivered. It’s not Nathan Wade. What now?

Questions went round in my head all through my classes. Bankruptcy and land transfer were small classes with less than twenty students. Unfortunately, it was easy for my professors to tell my mind was elsewhere. They called on me more than usual. It was a relief to get out of my last class and walk across Homer Green.

There was no air in those damn rooms. How could I do what I had to do next if I couldn’t breathe?

I lay flat on the grass, watching the shapeless white blobs dancing in a blue, red, and orange sky. Once, when I was little, I told Ivy I wished I was a cloud. She said that was silly. Why would I want to be something that wasn’t alive? I told her they were alive. I could see them move. See them change. See them bloat with rain and stamp out the sun. Maybe the clouds looked down on us dots, flapping about all day doing nothing, and wondered if we were real.

She said I was a cute little weirdo and kissed me on the forehead. Two weeks later, on my birthday, I woke up and discovered she made clouds out of fairy lights on my ceiling.

That’s Ivy. She teased me like all big sisters did, but when I needed her, she always knew what to do.

I dialed her on the off chance. Who knew? Maybe today was a day for forgiveness.

The dial tone rang and rang till the voice mail picked up. I didn’t leave one. I had other calls to make.

No more stalling.

Ring. Ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Paris. Is now a good time?”

“For sure. What’s up?”

“I was wondering if we could meet up tonight? Dinner at Sassafras on me.”

“Oooh. Is this the big date to tell me you’re into me? You’re hot, Rainey D, but it takes a gear shift to rev this engine, if you know what I’m saying.”

I snorted, braying an unattractive noise. “Not at all. You don’t know much about cars, do you? That’s not how that works. Don’t guess what tonight is about. I promise you, you’ll get it wrong.”

“Mysterious, but I think I can guess. It’s something to do with my brother, isn’t it?”

“It’s complicated. I’ll tell you everything tonight. Are we good for eight o’clock?”

“Yeah, eight’s fine. Do you want me to—”

The phone slipped out of my grip.

“Cancel that. Rainey’s got plans tonight.”

I flipped over, gaping up at Arsenio.

“Trust me,” he said. “It can wait.”

Arsenio hung up the phone and slipped it in his pocket.

Looking at him from that angle, I traveled up and up and up—skimming over his dips, curves, and bulges. Climbing his full lips. Sliding past his deep, unreadable eyes, and then getting lost in the halo of curls shining in the setting sun.

“—with me.”

I started, coming back to reality. “What? Arsenio, give me my phone. You don’t understand. I need to speak to Paris, it’s important.”

“Nothing is more important than what we have to do now. Don’t argue. Get up and follow me.”

He strode off, expecting me to follow. With my damn phone in his pocket, what else was I supposed to do?

I had to call Bella, Frankie, and Paris to tell them to meet me at the diner. Telling them all at once made more sense than wasting even more precious time running all over town.

“Arsenio.” I raced to catch up to him. “This is serious. Give me my phone and then give me a ride while you’re at it. I need to be at the diner at eight.”

He stopped dead, pulling me up short. “Let me make something clear to you. The amusing back-and-forth you have with Cairo, you do not have with me. I told you two things. Do not argue and follow me.”

I folded my arms. “Or?”

Arsenio looked around us, catching sight of all the people watching the perfect mayor’s son. “I don’t make threats,” he said. “I don’t give ultimatums or second chances. There is no or. You will come with me.”

He leaned back, an amused glint lighting his eyes. “But not because you’re afraid of me. You’ll come”—he put his lips to my ear—“because you’re curious.”

Arsenio set off.

I stood there—determined to make a point, and damned if I knew what. Cursing, I chased after him.

“Will we be finished before eight?”

He narrowed on me.

“That wasn’t arguing. I was asking a question.”

To which I didn’t receive a reply.

I blew out a breath. “Would it make a difference if I said this affects Paris’s safety? She’s your best friend’s sister. I know you care about her.”

“No. It makes no difference.” He pointed to a vintage Chevrolet Corvette shaming every other car in the lot. “Get in.”

Penning in my retort, I slid in the car. Why was I arguing with this guy? If I had to, I’d slip away when we got to wherever we were going.

I would be at that diner tonight. I had the short version of my torment under the Letter Man, proof to show the police, and four days to get them off their asses and arranging protection for three women and two children. If the Letter Man wasn’t going to stop me protecting them, neither was Arsenio Creed.

“Where are we going?”

“Ever been to the Highland Arms?” he replied, surprising me.

“Old-fashioned Scottish pub on the other side of town. Never had a reason.” I ran my fingers over the dash, swallowing what would’ve been an embarrassing sound. “1957, right?”

“That’s right.”

Was I imagining it, or did he sound the tiniest bit impressed?

“My gosh, I can’t believe I’m sitting in this. This car is a work of art, Creed. It is an act of blasphemy to put a single scratch on it.”

“On that, we agree,” he said. “When I fuck you over the back of the seat, I expect you to be careful.”

“Is that what you’re whisking me away to do?”

“No. Highland Arms, like I said.”

I eyed him. “Why haven’t we...?” I trailed off, leaving him to pick up my meaning.

“You’re not ready for me yet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means what I said.” Arsenio looked me in the eye, traffic and all. “You’re not ready.”

A sensation went up my spine. Good or bad, I wasn’t sure, but I believed him.

“When will I be ready?”

“When you obey without argument.”

I shook my head, leaning into the leather. “Did Quinn hop, skip, and jump before you gave the order? Because looking at the girl who bitched you out today, I didn’t get that impression. You guys don’t actually want submissive women,” I stated. “You want women who’ll argue, and fight, and push back to make it more satisfying to break them. It’s no fun punishing someone who just sits there and takes it.”

“How would you know?”

He weaved in and out of traffic. Arsenio stayed under the posted speed limit, and still the engine revved and hummed, blissed for its day out.

“So that’s what you want,” I whispered. “Obedient. No fight. No struggle. I drop to my knees for master. I put my ass up when he demands. I spread my legs on his order. You want me when I’m broken in.”

“Hmm. Interesting.”

“What is?”

“Going by the dripping pussy I’m smelling from here, you want that too.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“The first time I have you, I’ll make you come all over these seats, then make you lick every inch clean.” He could’ve been talking about the weather for all the inflection. “I’ll walk you around town on your leash and fit you in vibrating panties. You’ll sit at my feet like a good girl, not making a sound while I claim every drop for all of Bedlam to see.”

“Arsenio.” I squeezed my knees, pulling my borrowed hoodie lower. “Stop.”

He tsked. “I thought you knew that wasn’t how this worked. Open your legs.”

I opened my mouth to argue. Arsenio flashed.

He pinched his fingers in my cheeks, hooking my open jaw. “Don’t even think a refusal. Panties off. Now.”

I didn’t think a refusal. Wiggling my thong down my hips, I let it pool around my ankles.

“Feet up,” he said. “Give me a reason to be... impatient.”

The word poured like honey from his lips. My feet dug in the red leather. Letting my legs fall open, I was as exposed as the open-topped car.

“Ask me what else you want me to do to you.”

What is happening?

We drove by the square, zipping around the lovely couples and families enjoying an evening stroll. The most wholesome picture, and Arsenio was getting me wet to slide me off this seat.

Why is this working? I am not the “yes, sir, no, sir” girl.

“What do I want you to do to me, Arsenio?” I asked, cheeks flaming. The Bedlam Boys were teaching me a lot about myself.

“You want me to put a glass of water on your back, and fuck you from behind. Every time you spill, that’s longer I’ll hold back your orgasm. You don’t come until I say.”

“Ah.” I flicked my clit, nipples pebbling in their safe cocoon.

Arsenio stopped at a traffic light, which reminded me of the half dozen we had to go to get to the Arms.

“You think Cairo, Roan, and Jacques haven’t shown you mercy? I’d have you drink from a real bowl. Ass up and butt plug tail wagging.”

I jerked—an involuntary muscle contraction that drove my fingers deeper. Were butt plug tails a real thing? I was more curious to find out than I’d admit.

I don’t have to. Arsenio isn’t asking. He’s telling.

“Faster,” he ordered. “Four fingers.”

Head falling back on the seat, I stretched my cunt to the limit. My face relaxed and I caught it, scrunching into a grimace. If the person in the car idling beside us looked over, she’d see a woman about to hurl, not a woman about to orgasm.

I picked up speed, soaking myself in my own arousal and skin tightening at the sound. I was getting turned on, from Arsenio turning me on.

“I told you to persuade me.”

Shifting on the seat, I leaned on the door and faced him.

Arsenio was rock hard and desperate to replace these fingers with himself. Even so, I sensed the kind of patience in him that I wasn’t familiar with.

He wouldn’t touch me until I gave him exactly what he wanted. No compromises. No settling for a quickie on the couch. A man like this had to own me body, mind, soul, and body.

“I’m ready for you, Arsenio. You can have me anywhere and any way you want.” I spread my folds, drawing his eye off the road and nearly killing us. “I’ll be your faithful, obedient pet.” My foot slid across the seat, seeking his crotch.

He shoved me back. “Not interested in a pet. These lapping dogs are on every street corner, begging to please the mayor’s son.”

“I’ll be your whore.” The words felt wrong coming out—because they came so easily. “I won’t beg for it. I’ll wait for you to give me whatever I deserve. Hurt me. Punish me. Spank me. Slap me,” I moaned. “I’m yours, Arsenio. The girl you’ve been waiting for.”

He made a noise low in his chest. “I’ll find out.”

I sensed I pleased him whether he’d admit it or not.

“Come.”

The command was a second ahead of me. I came screaming, uncaring of the cars driving past, my head hanging dangerously out.

Arsenio curled around my wrist, and licked me clean one digit at a time. My skin heated all over again.

“Give me your thong.”

I did. Arsenio stuffed it in his pocket without a word.

Sore-assed and bare-assed. My life was not this intriguing when I was just a farm girl chasing my feathered bobbleheads.

“What’s at the Highland Arms?” I asked after a spell.

“A guy named Axel Verlice,” he replied. “What have the guys told you about what we do?”

“They’ve told me exactly nothing. I’ve been going off the rumors I’ve heard over the years, and they aren’t flattering.”

“Then, this should be a treat.”

“Are we collecting money from him? Cairo said during Ruckus that everyone in town pays you a cut.”

“They do.”

“And...” I chose my words carefully. “No one has complained to Mayor Creed?”

“I don’t go on collection runs. They want to claim I’m involved, they better have proof. Why would my mother entertain anything less?”

I bobbed my head. “Why are we going to the Arms if you don’t do collection runs?”

“Who said this was one?”

I stopped asking questions, because he might just answer me.

Why meeting Axel Verlice was the most important thing we had to do today—more important to Arsenio than Paris’s safety—wasn’t something I wanted to know. Heavens knew why he sought me, of all people, out and dragged me along. It didn’t matter because the plan remained the same. Wait for a good time to duck out the door and not return until my friends were safe. When the truth came out about the shadow stalking Paris, the guys would understand. Some things were bigger than penance.

Like Redemption.

Arsenio was a handsome blur out of the corner of my eye. I avoided looking at him directly, half afraid he’d glance at me and see my escape plans written all over my face.

Another secret to hide: my conversation with Jeremy.

What if his father truly could give me the farm back all in exchange for the snippets of nonvital conversation they have in front of me? Could I really pass that up?

Another selfish choice made at their expense. Yes, I could pass that up, but not when it came to Gran. She wanted a de Souza on that farm till a meteor struck and ended the human race. If there was even the slightest chance Jeremy was writing up that contract, I wouldn’t fail her again.

“Arsenio, did your spies tell you what happened in the library?”

His tone sharpened. “What happened?”

“One of the New Boys came to see me,” I said. “Jeremy. He offered me a bribe to report on the Bedlam Boys for him.”

“Makes sense. You are the only person he can hope to turn. I’d respect him even less than I already do if he hadn’t approached you.”

“That’s not the reaction I was expecting.” I fixed myself better, smarting up in the mirror as we neared the Highland. “I thought you’d be calling the guys to break his teeth.”

“Did you agree to do it?”

“I told him to come back with a better offer. If he does, I’ll agree and pass on whatever bullshit you guys tell me to.”

“Hmm.”

I was beginning to understand his grunts and hums. That was definitely pleased.

“You might be worth keeping around, de Souza.”

“That was never in question.” A sassy reply for a man who stood no back talk, but we covered that a meek little flower wasn’t what the Bedlam Boys wanted.

His chuckle proved it.

“One more thing,” I said. “You may want to hire someone else to clean the house. Or skip the cleaning services completely. Thirty-thousand-dollar bribes are pretty effective.”

“Noted.”

Arsenio turned on the street leading to the Highland, and drove past it. He parked in the lot for a restaurant movie theater and came around to open my door.

“The Highland is closed right now. Verlice shuts down every Tuesday for a private event. He’ll be inside prepping.”

“Is he expecting you?”

“I’m sure he is.”

Arsenio took us in through the back. A cinder block wedged in the door, leaving it open for all looking to skip the breaking and entering charge. We came in by the kitchen entrance, stepping out into the main pub. The Highland Arms was a stately place with a long bar, red-topped stools, a wall of every kind of alcohol you could imagine on one side, and a parade of flags on the other.

“Nice place,” I said.

“Yes, it is.” Arsenio was a massive presence filling the room. That didn’t make sense till you met a man who owned every space he walked in. It wouldn’t make sense till you met Arsenio Creed. “That bottle of Macallan is worth two million dollars.”

I choked. “Excuse me? Did you just say two million?”

He nodded.

The slim bottle with its simple white label hung around the rest on the whiskey shelf like it was no big deal.

“He has two million dollars behind the bar, and he just leaves the back door open? What kind of insurance nightmare is this guy?”

“He’s counting on his patrons being too ignorant to know what they’re looking at.” His Oxfords were soundless on the hardwood, brushing past me. Arsenio slipped a finger under my shirt—the briefest touch burning through my skin and tingling after he went away. “The whole place is a fuck-you to the IRS. Even the walnut bar top set him back a good amount.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I eyed the door we came in. Once Arsenio was absorbed in talking to this Axel guy, I’d duck out. I wasn’t too far from Frankie’s place. Once there, I’d called the other women to come meet me.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“Downstairs. Prepping for his guests like I said.” Arsenio picked a pool cue off the rack. “Let’s bring him up.”

“Why do you need the—?”

Arsenio swung at the top shelf—Macallan sitting pretty—and busted the bottles in a shower of glass and alcohol. My scream was a squeak beneath the unholy noise.

“What’s going on?!”

A middle-aged man with flecks of gray in his full beard burst from a door on the other side of the room. He ground to a halt—face frozen in horror at the millions lying in pieces on his bar top.

Arsenio tossed the pool cue on the floor, rolling up his sleeves as he rounded the stools.

“Good afternoon, Axel.”

“What did you do?!”

“The more appropriate question is what did you do?”

I clamped a hand on my mouth, smothering my ragged breaths. This was not a friendly conversation. It was the start of something that was going to get very bad. I would not be a part of it. I was backing out of this room and leaving before either one remembered I was there.

Inching toward the door, I paused as Arsenio kept coming, planting himself in my way.

“I didn’t do anything!” Verlice could be forgiven for his shouting. This was a stressful situation. “I paid on time. Ask Cairo, I paid.”

“You paid our cut of the bar profits,” he said. Arsenio hooked through my jeans, bringing me over to him. My heart raced being molded to his side, drowned in black currants and apple cologne.

Maybe he did read my mind.

“We got word you were running a side business and made plans to return for another visit to collect our back pay. That’s until we found out what your side business is.” The temperature dropped ten degrees. As fast as Verlice’s expression.

He drew blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a side business.”

“You’re stocking two-million-dollar whiskey from the unpaid tabs and five-dollar tips from guys stumbling in after a shift in the factory?” He tsked. “Why would you insult my intelligence, Verlice? How is that the wise move?”

Arsenio slipped under my shirt again, drawing circles on the small of my back. It was a highly distracting, intimate gesture that popped goose bumps on my flesh.

“I’m not insulting you, Mr. Creed. I’m simply suggesting there’s been a mistake. I assure you my business is completely aboveboard.” He gestured to the mess. “I had a wealthy uncle who passed. He willed those bottles to me. I sold a few. Put the rest on the shelf.”

Arsenio bobbed his head. “A reasonable explanation.”

“See.” His relief was palpable. “Just a misunderstanding. Please, don’t worry about the bottles. I’m insured. I—”

“Verlice, let me stop you while the hole is half dug. I know,” Arsenio stated. “Everything. I know why you close this bar down every Tuesday. I know who’s coming through that door after midnight, and why. If you stop playing games, we can skip the stuff we already know and move on to how you’ll fix the problem. If so, I won’t have to do what I came here to do.

“But you open your mouth and lie to me one more time, I’ll be forced to spell out the entire horrible truth, and sully my girl’s ears. This will upset her—which will upset me. I cannot be held responsible for my actions then.”

“But I—”

“Think very carefully about what you say next.”

Verlice’s Adam’s apple visibly bobbed. “Mr. Creed,” he began, “I assure you I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a side business. The party coming tonight are just a few friends of mine. We— We play poker, drink, and mess around in the basement.” A strained, shaky laugh burst out of him. “Oh, I see. You’re here because I haven’t included my poker winnings in the payments. That was my mistake. I’ll write you a check right now.”

He crossed to the bar, pulling out a checkbook and pen. “Would two thousand cover it?”

I flicked to the pen. It shook on the paper.

Arsenio gave him a long look, stretching the silence till it pressed on us, and Verlice’s hand shook harder under its weight.

“Three thousand?” he croaked, skin paling. “Or four— five thousand. Five thousand dollars is what I owe you.” Verlice wrote the check and held it out. Arsenio didn’t look at it.

“Shall I tell you the truth of the Tuesday Nighters, de Souza?”

I looked from him to Verlice. If this was about poker games and goofing off with his buddies, he wouldn’t be shitting his pants. This is not the look of an innocent man.

“Yes,” I said. “What really goes on tonight?”

“Axel Verlice and his precious bar are what some in the business call a way station.”

“No. No, it’s not true!”

“What’s a way station?” I asked, ignoring him.

“Not all human traffickers have the benefit of owning docks and shipping yards to receive under cover. Those out here who are landlocked with the rest of us, rely on trucks, back roads, cabins, and safe places to stop—or way stations.

“Verlice here works for a particularly paranoid trafficker who demands his drivers make no stops other than gas and the one trip here on Tuesday nights to stock up on food and crash. The trafficker in question allows this, because Verlice is his brother.”

“Lies,” Verlice barked. “All lies! I have nothing to do with this!”

“It’s a three-day drive from the pickup location to the drop-off, and his brother times it. If they’re late, the driver is killed,” Arsenio finished. “That’s why they arrive at this bar and leave at the same time—”

“Every Tuesday,” I finished.

“You must be wondering what Axel’s stake is in this racket—besides the money.” Arsenio dropped his hand, moving away from me. “While the driver is passed out, Axel takes a girl or two out of the truck, brings them down to his basement, and invites a few of his buddies to have a little fun.”

“Oh my goodness.” My stomach heaved. “Are there— Are there women trapped down there right now?!”

I took off running. Arsenio stopped me.

“No. There’s no one down there, or a truck parked in the back,” he said. “It’s still a few hours out.”

Sense returned to me, calming my heart rate. Of course, we came in the back. No one was there and the sun was still up.

“But what Verlice doesn’t know is the truck isn’t going to make it.”

The disgusting old man’s jowls quivered. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the tip the FBI received about a rig full of trapped, terrified young girls and the heavily armed man driving them across state lines,” he said. “They’ll be rolling up on his ass with extreme prejudice soon enough, but knowing the reputation of hardened human smugglers, he’s not going to give up a detail about the operation without a fantastic deal.

“It’ll be days—weeks—before the name Verlice comes up.” Arsenio picked up the pool cue. “Which gives us plenty of time.”

“Whoa, no, no, no, no,” he cried. “There’s no need for that. Tell me what you want. Money?” Verlice rushed out. “I’ve got a safe full downstairs. It’s yours.”

I backed toward the door. Leaving was the last thing on my mind.

Paris said his good-boy routine was an act. Meeting the company he kept assured me of that. But watching this despicable human being, who accepted the risk of his brother’s business, cower and plead before a twenty-one-year-old man who smiled charming in the press photos...

What did Verlice know that I didn’t?

“I’m not here for money.” Arsenio moved slow, rounding the bar. “They don’t send me for collections.”

“You’re right, of c-course.” Buckets ran down his face and soaked his collar. “I’ll cut you and the Bedlam Boys in on the business. I’ll— I’ll— I’ll get you a girl,” he stammered. “As many as you want. Free.”

“Got one of those.” Arsenio winked at me. “I’m not here for negotiations, Verlice. The Bedlam Boys sent out a clear message. No side businesses. No crime rackets. No bringing in unwanted attention from federal agencies. Can you imagine what would’ve happened if someone else unraveled this ill-conceived operation as easily as we did?

“They would’ve swarmed this place. Picked apart your financials. Interviewed people who’d remember seeing Cairo roll through here every Friday. You put us at risk.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I—”

“Are you sorry? Honestly?”

His head almost popped off he nodded so hard. “I am. I’ll go straight. I’ll pay on time. I’ll pay double! Nothing like this will ever happen again, Mr. Creed, I swear. I didn’t think of the risk to you, or Mr. Sharpe, or the Bedlam Boys.”

Arsenio leaned back, resting the cue across his shoulders. “Don’t know why we accepted that name. I never did like being called a boy.”

“Men,” Verlice corrected. “Bedlam Men.”

Sighing, Arsenio shook his head, lips pushed up. “You know what? Okay. You sound sincere, and everyone deserves a second chance, right?”

What? A second chance? This man is a monster in human skin!

Verlice’s face slackened. “Yes,” he breathed. “Please, give me another chance.”

“Come on.” Arsenio held out his arms. “Let’s shake like gentlemen.”

He took a step and halted.

“What’s the matter?” Arsenio asked. “I give you another shot, and you won’t even shake my hand?”

“Of course, I will.” He hurried out from the bar and shook roughly. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much. You won’t regret this.”

“I don’t believe I will, but what do you think?” Arsenio turned Verlice to face me. “We can trust him, can’t we? He’d never do something like this again.”

Looking into those blue, shining eyes, I said, “No. We can’t trust him.”

“Yes, you can—”

“Shh.” Arsenio clamped on his hand, wrapping the other around his neck. “The lady is speaking. Why do you say that, de Souza?”

A thousand visions flashed through my mind.

Gran. Sheriff Sharpe. Cavendish. The letters. Jennifer. Bella. Frankie. Paris.

“What did you and your friends do to those women?”

Verlice said nothing.

“Answer the question,” Arsenio hissed.

“We— We didn’t do anything.” His eyes rolled in their sockets, searching for an escape. “I’m a way station, like he said. I give them a place to eat and sleep for the night. That’s it.”

And then it came. That perfect, clear moment of calm as the path reveals. My heart slowed. My skin cooled.

“He’s lying,” I spoke, but the voice wasn’t mine. “Someone who can’t admit what he’s done, can hardly say he’s sorry for it. He wants us to walk out of here so he can go running to his brother. They’ll pack up their money and the women they have left, and set up their operations elsewhere.”

“No! I won’t. You’ve got it wrong,” he said. “I’ve been wanting out for a long time. This is my chance. With the FBI on the truck, my brother can’t deny it’s getting too hot. He’ll let me out.”

“You want out?” I repeated.

“Yes.”

“Your brother’s been forcing you to continue all this time?”

He bobbed his head. “Yes.”

I closed the distance between us. My gaze moved down to the bulge I noticed in his pocket. Slowly, I reached inside and pulled it out. The condom roll unfurled, smacking the floor.

“I’d say that’s telling,” Arsenio rang in the silence. “What do you say, de Souza? Do we forgive him?”

I opened my mouth. “No.”

“No, wait—”

Arsenio wrenched, yanking his arm up his back.

Snap.

“Ahhh!”

His shout blew me off my feet. I stumbled back—calm moment disappearing. I can’t say I truly understood what Arsenio came here to do. Rough him up. Scare him shitless. Take the bribe and walk away. I could’ve pictured any of those possibilities from the man I was coming to know, even if I couldn’t know which one.

Arsenio threw him over the bar. Verlice crashed into the shelves, toppling them, and bringing the last of his stock down on him.

Now I knew, without a doubt in my soul, what Arsenio would do. What he always planned to do since he told me to get in the car.

Arsenio snatched up the pool cue. He was ready as Verlice crawled his way up, clinging to the bar top. He smashed the cue across his face, snapping his neck to the side.

Backing up, I slammed into the wall. I was right next to the way out. To say those two were preoccupied was an understatement. All I had to do was run.

“P-please,” Verlice sobbed. “Stop.”

Arsenio jumped over the bar.

“No!”

He brought the cue down over, and over, and over again.

“Stop! Help! Help me, please.”

The man’s cries didn’t slow him. If anything, Arsenio’s savagery increased.

“Arah!” he roared. The cue snapped and he did not stop.

My feet lifted, carrying me away... from the wall.

I came up behind Arsenio, peering over the top. A bloody, unrecognizable mass lay at his feet. I couldn’t tell what was face from blood or from teeth.

“Ah—” His screams cut off, hands flopping on the ground.

Arsenio kept hitting. Once. Twice. Four times.

The cue broke.

Throwing away a piece, he held the remains in both hands, lifting it overhead.

“Arsen—”

He brought it down, impaling Axel Verlice through the stomach.

Arsenio turned his back on the body, looking into my wide eyes. He picked up a rag, wiping off his bloody hands.

“Verlice mentioned something about a safe,” he said. “You empty the register. I’ll clean it out.”

I said nothing. Did nothing as he brushed past me.

Arsenio killed him.

The sentence went through my mind and would not stick. This didn’t happen. None of this was real.

Arsenio blew in here like a capo dei capi, the boss of all crime bosses, and beat and impaled a man while I watched. No hesitation. No remorse.

Did the Bedlam Boys know this is what he came here to do?

“I don’t go on collection runs.”

Who were these guys? I tied myself to them in bonds I didn’t know how to break, and I never truly knew them at all.

I couldn’t tell how long I’d been standing there. Long enough that Arsenio returned holding a duffel bag.

“Where’s the money?”

Shaking his head, he pried open the register himself, piling more bills in the bag beside a corpse.

“Why?” I rasped. “Why did you bring me here?”

“It was a gift. I assumed you’d enjoy it.”

“What? Why?”

He came to me, backing me into the wall. My breath stopped in my chest as he ran a light, bloodstained finger down my cheek. “You loved killing Cavendish. Felt the most intense, orgasmic high when you let loose that arrow. You know what it’s like, de Souza.

“You’re like me.”

“I... didn’t—”

“Shh,” he crooned. His lips were soft on mine, scorching me with the tenderest of kisses. “You don’t have to hide. Not with us. Think about why we spared you. It wasn’t for sex. It wasn’t because I like you with a leash around your neck.

“It’s because we see you, Rainey.”

“See me?” My voice was small.

“The real you. The you that you’ve hidden. Buried so deep you forgot she was there.” Arsenio tipped my chin. Spots of blood dotted his forehead. “We could’ve let the sheriff lock you up, but what would’ve been the point? The system would’ve destroyed you, and make no mistake, Rainey de Souza, you are perfect.”

I was shaking—trembling in his hold. “I am?”

“Well.” He smirked. “Almost. You haven’t been given what we have. The sweet, happy childhood with the chickens and piggies. Your real self wasn’t nurtured the way it needed to be. Whereas my boys and I have had no shortage of people in our lives, happy to fuck us up.

“Cavendish was the first step. Survival brought out the real you. Killing him broke the seal. And now we’ll do the rest.”

Spellbound, I hung on his every word.

“We’ll break you. Tear you. Rip you apart,” he whispered. “We’ll be your monsters, baby. Surviving us...” He lifted a shoulder. “Little things like giving a rapist and trafficker what he deserves, doesn’t compare.”

He kissed me.

“Go in the car and wait for me.” He handed me my phone and keys. “Call Cairo and let him know it’s done. Verlice’s friends won’t be here until midnight. Chances are they’ll run off and the first person to report the body will be the chef. I’ll make sure there’s no trace of us left behind, and that we’ve got all the money in this place.”

“Okay.”

Arsenio kissed me again, and I melted into him, whimpering like a bitch in heat.

He sent me off alone, with my phone and the keys to his car. It didn’t cross his mind that I would take off and run from the man who savagely beat another human being to death, then promised me he’d bring the same vicious cruelty out of me. At any cost.

Or more likely it did occur to him I might run, and he dismissed the thought as immediately as I did.

It’s too late for me to run. It was too late by the time they surrounded me in the barn.

I was theirs.

I climbed in Arsenio’s car, tilting my head to the setting sun. When the calm came, I let go and gave myself willingly, eyes falling shut.

My phone lay unused on my lap.

I wouldn’t be calling Paris, Frankie, or Bella that night. Frankie’s children would go to school in the morning safe and sound.

Why would I need to warn them? Why should I call the police and drag anyone else into my battle with the Letter Man?

I knew exactly what to do next.