Page 81 of See Me After Class

A lead. A fucking lead.

"Look at this," I said, brandishing the newspaper in John's face.

He swatted at it angrily before I made him read the headline and the little note beside it.

"No time to waste," he said immediately. "Off we go."

Brakes shrieked like a banshee, tires smoking as I wrestled the Ferrari into submission. It chewed up the asphalt, the speedometer needle a quivering captive between 120 and 140. Viktor, ever the stoic, looked vaguely amused, John a blur of clenched fists and muttered prayers.

My knuckles were white on the wheel, but the adrenaline thrumming through me was more champagne than nitro. We were on Dessie's trail, a cold scent turning fresh, and the hunt had me buzzing.

And so we did. The Ferrari devoured the miles, the wind whipping through my hair as the setting sun painted the sky in fiery hues. The radio crackled with static, a fitting soundtrack to the storm brewing within me. Every mile brought us closer to Dessie but also closer to whatever Letitia had planned.

We pulled into Ashcroft just as dusk swallowed the town. A two-story Victorian, shrouded in shadows, stood at the address listed in the clipping.

Right in front was Dessie's Lamborghini. I parked behind her, as quietly as I could, before we stepped out.

Viktor, with his usual impatience, was already charging toward the door, but with a hand on his shoulder, I stopped him.

"Wait," I said, my voice tight. "Something's off."

My gaze drifted to a window on the topmost floor. A flicker of movement, a flash of white against the darkness. John saw it, too, his eyes widening.

"Dessie," he whispered, and the world tilted on its axis.

Time stretched and warped. I saw Letitia emerge from the shadows, a teacup clutched in her hand, a deranged smileplaying on her lips. Dessie sat frozen in a chair, her eyes wide with terror.

"Fuck this," Viktor growled, running to the door. He barged into it, breaking it open with a resoundingthud.We barreled up the stairs and reached just in time to find Ms. Wainwright holding the teacup near Dessie's face, her hands trembling as her eyes met ours.

I launched myself forward, a blur of adrenaline.

My dive tackled Letitia like a rogue wave. The teacup clattered to the ground, shattering into a porcelain snowflake shower.

She wasn't, however, alone. A slender woman—I had seen her face on the clipping—ran toward us, her mouth open in an angry scream. She reached into her jeans and fished out a thin, razor-sharp knife, charging at me.

Fuck, she'll kill me.

This was when everything became a fantastic blur. I thought I saw Dessie fly past me.

I thought I heard her say, "Not so soon, you bitch."

34

Dessie

The idiots had actually come to get me out of this mess.

I wanted to laugh, but I also wanted to hug each and every one of them.

It so happened that Leon’s tackling Ms. Wainwright and almost getting killed by Lila was just the push I needed to free myself. With the two of them caught off guard, I tensed my body. Using a controlled jerk of my wrists, I twisted them inward, utilizing the slack in the rope like a fulcrum. It wasn't my most graceful movement, but it was effective. The weakened knot snagged on a rough edge of the chair's armrest, and with a satisfying snap, the rope parted. A bead of sweat stung my eye as I pulled my freed wrist from the remnants of the rope. It left a raw, throbbing ache, but the sting was insignificant compared to the surge of triumph coursing through my veins.

My scream ripped through the room as I hurled myself out of the chair, just in time to shield Leon from Lila. She lurched back, surprise momentarily eclipsing the manic anger in her eyes.

That was my opening. I surged forward, adrenaline pumping molten lava through my veins. My bound wrists, still throbbing, found purchase on her silk-draped shoulders. With a primal roar, I slammed my knee into her stomach, the air whooshing from her lungs.

She doubled over, gasping, and I didn't waste a second. My fist, clenched tight, connected with her jaw with a sickening crunch. Blood bloomed on her porcelain skin, mirroring the crimson stain blooming on my own knuckles. But the pain was nothing, lost in the white-hot fury coursing through me.

Lila, stunned and reeling, stumbled back. I pressed my advantage, raining blows onto her exposed ribs, each one a vengeance for every twisted manipulation. She tried to strike back, nails bared like talons. But cornered, she was nothing but a hissing, flailing mess.

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