Page 177 of The Beautiful Dead

“What was it about hurting them? About killing them that captivated you?”

Something changed in Casius. His struggle slowed. His eyes went black, empty, something hollow and endless bleeding through.

His reflection in the mirror opposite us told me everything. Recognition. He had stopped fighting. Because he thought he was among kindred spirits. He thought we were the same.

Remi was fascinated by death, by the permanence of it. The way it silenced the noise and made things still.

But me?

I craved the power. The control. Holding life in my hands and deciding whether it burned or withered or was simply snuffed out like a candle.

“The rush,” Casius whispered. “The challenge.”

How unoriginal.

Remi smirked. “And the girl from the gallery? The one hanging next to your bed?”

Something dark and vicious flickered in Casius’ gaze. He licked his lips. “I destroyed her. Piece by piece. Took everything her body had to offer me.”

That was a mistake. Remi stilled. Something shifted in him, slow and terrible. The amusement bled from his features, replaced with something still. Something ice-cold.

Something lethal.

“Do you like little girls?”

Casius smiled. A disgusting, grotesque thing. “Don’t you?”

I scoffed. Remi frowned, and a furrow appeared between his brow.

A smirk carved across his lips. “I was never interested in anyone until Domino took me.” His gaze flicked to mine.Hunger. Reverence. Worship. My pulse thrummed. My grip tightened. “Until he showed me who I really was.”

Casius’ breathing hitched. His false bravado cracked, splintered. Shattered.

Remi wiped his blade clean, eyes flicking toward the staircase. “Where are your keys?”

Remi tilted his head, waiting.

Casius hesitated. “The gallery space isn’t locked. The door’s at the bottom of the stairs.”

Remi reached the top step, then turned, watching me. His voice dripped with something dark, something electric, something that made my blood sing. “Bring him.”

CHAPTER 31

REMI

The slow, deliberate thud of Domino’s boots on the metal steps echoed like the final seconds of a countdown timer.

Tick.

Casius stumbled in front of me, breath hitching with every uneven step, his body trembling under the pressure of Domino’s gun pressed to the back of his neck.

Tick.

He flinched every time the cold barrel nudged him forward, each tap a silent command—keep walking. We were bringing him down.

Down into the gallery.

Down into his grave.

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