Page 101 of The Beautiful Dead

This looked too convenient. My fingers twitched at my sides, my pulse hammering in my ears. It was all there—dates, encrypted messages, bank records that traced back to Federico.

Proof.

Remi had spent hours digging through these files, pulling together an airtight case of Federico’s betrayal. Ghost had backed him up. They’d worked together, meticulously piecing through every digital breadcrumb until they found what they were looking for.

But the voice in my head wouldn’t shut the fuck up. It was too easy. The words on the pages shifted under my gaze, smudging at the edges. The ink felt false, too neat, too damning.

Printouts could be doctored.

Numbers could be fabricated.

I dragged a hand down my face, pressing my fingers into my eyes until colors burst behind my lids. Something wasn’t right. I just couldn’t pinpoint where that niggling sensation came from and what it meant. But I wouldn’t stop until I knew the truth.

“Domino.” Remi’s voice was sharp. I opened my eyes. He was watching me—tense, waiting. “This is real,” he said, his tone edged with frustration.

He wanted me to see it. To accept it. But conviction wasn’t proof. I wouldn’t believe it until the devil himself made them whole.

I lifted my cigarette to my lips, exhaling slowly. The smoke curled between us, twisting in the dim light. “It means nothing without something physical,” I muttered. “A paper trail can be rewritten.”

Remi’s jaw ticked. I saw the way his fingers flexed against his knee like he wanted to hit something; his body vibrated. His teeth sank into his full bottom lip like he was fighting to keep words at bay.

Before he could argue, my phone vibrated against the table. The sound sent a cold rush down my spine. I turned it over and froze. The name flashing across the screen made my blood run cold.

Federico.

It was like he knew we were talking about him. I reached for the phone, gripping it so hard my knuckles went white. Swiped to answer, and brought it to my ear.

My father’s voice slithered through the receiver, smooth but firm. Commanding. “We need to talk. Now.”

The muscles in my jaw locked. My grip tightened around the plastic casing, the subtle crack of strain barely registering. This wasn’t a request. Federico didn’t make requests.

He dealt in orders, ultimatums, and consequences.

Emotions were for the weak.

“Where?” I forced out through gritted teeth.

“The compound. Thirty minutes.”

The line went dead. I lowered the phone, my stomach twisting into knots. The timing was too fucking perfect. Federico knew something, or at the very least, he suspected.

I turned my head, my gaze locking onto Remi. Teeth sank into his bottom lip, chewing on his piercings. He was perched on the edge of the couch, watching me. The intensity in his eyes seared right through to the marrow of my bones. The oversized hoodie he’d stolen from me swallowed him whole, sleeves bunched around his hands. His black skinny jeans clung to his legs, hugging the sharp angles of his frame.

My marks stained his skin.

A litany of ownership.Obsession.

The soft glow from the lamp caught the deep, bruised circles under his eyes, but his expression remained carefully unreadable. Even now, even with doubt crawling under my skin, I knew one thing with absolute certainty.

Remi was ready to go. Ready to do whatever I asked. Because we weren’t just partners.

We were somethingworse.

Bound together by violence, by blood, by a need so deep it bordered on sickness.

The darkness curled in his gaze, coiled in his bones, whispered against his skin. It called to the monster in me—the one teetering on the edge, caught between control and the abyss.

Before Remi, the only person I’d ever cared about was the one I couldn’t even remember. Not really. A child’s memory, faded with time, slipping away like sand through an hourglass.

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