Page 65 of Pretty Little Psycho

“Are you okay, Blackwell? Fuck, that guy is a prick. Where have you been all night anyway? Villette was sick with worry when you didn’t show up to meet us at Swallow.”

My head pounds as I try to stave off the nausea. And then the fury settles into my bones. The fucking rage I have from what Zeke said. The fact that he was there in the altar room, that he was one of the masked hoods watching as they defiled me, makes me want to smash all their faces in. But I need a fucking shower and a stiff drink first. I don’t even care that it’s barely noon.

I ignore Libra and charge into the kitchen to pour myself a whiskey. She watches with arms crossed as I shoot it back. “Maureen,” she protests.

“Wow, you called me by my first name for once. You feeling okay?” I snicker.

She snatches the whiskey bottle out of my hand before I can pour another. “If you want to get drunk before breakfast, I’m all for it. Hell, I’ll even join you. But you have got to start trusting someone. If not me, then at least call Villette. You’re in way over your head, Blackwell.”

She’s right. I hate to admit it. I actually like Libra. She’s tough and confident and takes zero shit. She reminds me of how I used to be before all that shit happened in Wickford Hollow.

I hold out my glass. “Fine. Have a drink with me and I’ll talk.”

She smirks, satisfied with herself. We grab the bottle and head to the living room. I spend the next two hours telling her everything. I start at the beginning, all the way back to meeting Riot in the bathroom, and all that happened after. All of it.

Riot

I pace around the living room waiting for Atlas and Valentin. There has been a fucking breach in our home, and I’m about to fucking murder everyone.

“Where have you two been? I’ve been texting you both for hours,” I bark out as they saunter through the door.

Valentin looks disheveled. His hair is damp and messy around his face. He leans against the doorway in wrinkled jeans and a T-shirt that looks like it shrunk in the wash. “I went for a drive after I dropped Maureen off at The Nest. What’s going on?”

“And you,” I point to Atlas who has that shit grin on his face that he wears when my anger amuses him. “Don’t tell me you got distracted talking to ravens again. I told you to use your sigil to keep an eye on our firecracker.”

He shrugs. “She was with Val.”

Fucking hell. “Someone is running their mouth about what we do here. Specifically the night Maureen was on the altar.”

Valentin’s eyes flicker with rage. “The fuck?”

Atlas’s smirk falls as he flexes his arms. “Who? I’ll cut their fucking tongue out and feed it to my snake.”

“I don’t know. But it wasn’t any of us, or her. It had to be an initiate,” I say.

“About to be a dead fucking initiate,” Valentin snaps.

One of the most sacred vows we take is silence outside these walls. Whatever happens here is for our eyes and ears only. The thought of one of our own airing our secrets all over campus makes me fucking sick. And murderous.

“I’ve called a meeting to get to the bottom of it. And after tonight, no one enters our sacred room except us three. Not until we know our secrets are protected.” I grab my case of knives before heading down to the altar room.

Valentin and Atlas follow me down the stairs, their footsteps heavy as our anger collectively builds. I can feel it buzzing off of them. I imagine it must be the way they felt that night I murdered those douchebags in Wickford Hollow. They could feel my anger through our sigils all the way from Raven’s Gate.

With the three of us walking in step, our rage and fury is palpable, explosive, and all-consuming. I wrench open the iron door. It makes a loud screech as it scrapes across the cement floor. From the second we enter; I can practically taste the fear that bounces in between the initiates. They know I don’t call impromptu meetings unless I’m fucking pissed and about to kill someone.

I stalk to the center of the room and slowly make eye contact with each one of them. “I demand loyalty. Obedience. Secrecy. All three have been violated in one single act.” I take my knives out from their case and arrange them by size on the table. “Everyone in here swore an oath. And you know if you break that oath, the consequence is death.”

They all stare straight ahead, afraid to look at the vengeance in my eyes. I pick up the largest knife and begin circling each initiate. The blade is almost as long as my forearm. I relish the way the worn leather hilt feels familiar in my palm as I twirl it around.

Atlas picks up one of the smaller knives and without warning, charges toward one of the larger initiates. He grabs him by the collar and looks him dead in the eye. The man begins to shake. Atlas and he are the same size, but Atlas is actually crazy.

He jabs the tip of the blade into his cheek. “Was it you? You have the balls to spill our secrets?” The man shakes his head furiously and whimpers. Atlas waves the blade in front of his face. “Maybe I’ll cut out your eyes. Can’t talk about what you can’t see.”

“P-please, no. It wasn’t me. I would never,” the initiate sputters out.

Atlas smirks and drags the tip of the blade down to his mouth. “Or maybe I’ll cut out your tongue so you can’t fucking talk no matter what you see.”

With the group hyper-focused on Atlas, a young initiate doesn’t have to time react when I come up behind him. I yank his head back and hold my knife to his throat. “Or maybe it’s this one. What do you think, Val?”

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