Page 33 of The Beautiful Dead

My lips twitched despite myself. Something about him was disarming. “Remi.”

His grin widened. “This is gonna be awesome.” He shouldered his backpack, the skateboard now strapped to it, as he fell into step beside me. “What are you studying?”

“Oh, um… Forensic anthropology.”

His eyes lit up. “No shit? Really?”

I blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

He grinned, nudging me lightly with his elbow. “Me too, my dude.”

Before I could process that, Dorian cleared his throat, loud enough to silence the murmurs around us.

“Gentlemen, if you’ve finished conversing,” he said, his expression pinched with irritation, “perhaps we can begin the tour? Your courses start next week, and I suggest you pay attention.”

Kyran leaned toward me, voice low. “Who shoved a stick up his ass?”

I snorted, barely containing my laughter as we followed Dorian up the stone steps. Massive oak doors loomed ahead, their dark wood carved with intricate patterns. They looked more suited to a cathedral than a university. I had a feeling Devereux was going to be nothing like an ordinary university. And I wasn’t sure if that excited me—or terrified me.

CHAPTER 7

DOMINO

Kyran Fucking Stirling was all over him.

That little shit didn’taccidentallycrash into Remi. He was a lying, manipulative prick. I’d seen him watching him from the moment Remi stepped out of the car, his blue eyes tracking every move like a predator stalking prey.

Juno, oblivious as ever, had no idea someone was coveting what was mine. I’d given that idiot just enough rope for him to hang himself, and it was time for him to dance the hangman’s jig.

Kyran Stirling was going to be a problem.

The Stirlings thought they were untouchable. That, being one of Marlow Heights’ founding families, made them immune to consequences. They’d spent generations carving their name into this city, believing their legacy was law.

Kyran was about to learn the hard way that nothing—no one—got in the way of what I wanted. He’d pay in blood for laying his hands on Remi.

Not one person in this city was above reproach, other than the DeMarcos because we owned them all, something I’d need to remind Stirling Senior once I’d dealt with his eldest son. That legacy they loved so much was hanging in the balance.

Even though I’d left in the early hours to handle a Gallo sighting on our turf, my thoughts had been consumed with Remi. Calloway had slipped through my fingers a week ago—but now, he was right where he belonged. Bound, bleeding, and waiting for me in my playroom.

I’d had eyes on Remi from the moment his alarm went off. There were hidden cameras in every room of my apartment, in my car, and in every space I worked in. I’d even installed a tracker in the phone I’d gifted him, and it drove me insane he hadn’t taken it. I could tap into the live feed at any time and see what he was up to, and once he had his phone on him, I’d be able to hear every word he or others said in his presence. Ghost had come through on every front for me.

It was a special kind of torture. Watching him wake—all sleep-mussed and confused, blinking against the light—had me gripping the hard plastic case of my phone so tightly my knuckles ached, but I relished the pain. He’d thrown back the covers, stretching like a lazy cat, all soft skin and sharp angles in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.

It took everything in me not to ride straight back to the apartment and fuck him, letting him know once and for all who he belonged to. He had no idea what he’d done to me. No idea the kind of thoughts running through my head. What I wanted. What I’d already claimed as mine. He consumed me.

And now, Stirling thought he could get in my way?

I’d fucking gut him first.

With Remi occupied on his tour, I had unfinished business to attend to. I’d put it off long enough. No more avoiding him. No more excuses.

I might be the face of the DeMarco family, but I still answered to my father. He demanded in-person updates. He wanted strategy meetings. He wanted war. Short-sighted as always. For him, war and bloodshed were the only answers.

The roar of my bike cut through the quiet campus, the deep, guttural growl of the engine reverberating through my chest. Trees blurred at my sides as I pushed the throttle, chasing the rush, the brief moment of control it gave me.

But that control wouldn’t last. Not where I was going.

Taking the exit onto the private road leading to the beating heart of the DeMarco empire, I felt the shift in the air. Here, there were no neon signs. No bustling streets. Just darkened trees arching over the road like silent sentinels, knowing what kind of men passed beneath their branches.

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