Page 55 of Rule the Night
I was surprised the loft wasn’t wired to an alarm, and I said so.
Remy laughed. “We don’t need an alarm.”
His tone was lighthearted, but there was something ominous in the words, and I had a flash of us on the street after the Hunt, people walking by, going about their business.
Something had been off about that morning, but I’d been too exhausted and disoriented, too angry and upset that I’d lost the Hunt, to put my finger on what it had been.
Now I saw it clearly: no one had looked at us.
I’d been standing next to three huge, tattooed men, men who ruled the night, and yet we might as well have been invisible, as if the Butchers were boogeymen.
As if looking at them might turn you to stone.
32
MAEVE
It was almostsurreal to be back at Lushberry. I’d spent the last three days cooking and freezing meals and snacks for the Butchers. It was a lot of work, but it was work I enjoyed, work I’d forgotten I enjoyed, and I’d felt accomplished and alive when I got in my car to drive to work at the Carlton Mall.
The first half of my shift passed quickly. I chatted with Hannah (little did she know what I’d done with her gossip about the Hunt at the Orpheum), helped a few customers, and marked down a fresh batch of summer product for clearance. Fall was on its way and we were already stocking the jeans, sweaters, and jackets that would be our staples for the next six months.
I’d been a little worried about the gold collar around my neck, but Hannah hadn’t said anything, and I finally relaxed, assuming she thought it was a new accessory.
I grabbed a salad from the food court on my break and went through my alerts for Ethan Todd. I’d set them up when the news had first broken that Chris was an avid follower, and I’d been tracking Todd’s movements ever since.
That was how I’d known he would be at the Marquis earlier in the year. But after I’d tried to shoot him, he’d movedhis headquarters to Hungary, one of many things that had prompted me to turn to the Hunt.
That and my obviously bad aim.
My heartbeat raced as I clicked one of the alerts titledEthan Todd to Deliver Keynote at Men First Conference.
I skimmed the article before reading it again more carefully.
Controversial podcaster Ethan Todd will deliver the keynote address at the Men First Conference at the Warwick Hotel in New York City. Todd, who moved his headquarters to Hungary after a rumored assassination attempt, will return to the United States, a move that has many activists up in arms. Todd was the alleged subject of a sex trafficking investigation in 2023. No charges were ever filed.
I dissected the journalism-speak: because of his giant ego, Todd still wouldn’t admit that someone (me) had tried to kill him, but after six months abroad, he was coming back to the area, not just to deliver the keynote, but permanently.
I had a flash of memory from the day I’d taken the shot at him outside the Marquis: the crowds of protesters on one side of the entrance, supporters on the other, the muffled crack of Rose firing, the murmur of the crowd as everyone questioned what they were hearing.
And then, the rush of Ethan Todd’s security as they pushed him into the car and sped away.
It had been confusing, the noise of my gun drowned out by the crowds’ chanting, music blasting. Ethan Todd had never filed a police report, and my bullet must have lodged in a nearby building because the assassination attempt had never been confirmed. Now it was just another conspiracy theory debated in the dark corners of the internet, fueled by the fact that Ethan Todd had swiftly relocated to Hungary.
Some theorized it was to evade the sex trafficking investigation, but I knew better: I’d taken a shot at him and missed, but he’d known someone was gunning for him.
For six months he’d been out of my reach. Trying to kill someone with Todd’s level of security close to home was one thing. Trying to do it in another country was something else entirely.
I’d needed help, which was why I’d joined the Hunt.
Now Ethan Todd would be close by again, just an hour away, and that changed everything.
The details ran through my mind for the rest of the afternoon, and by the time my shift ended I was amped with the possibilities. I just had to tough out the three months with the Butchers. Then I could join another Hunt, get another crack at doing the world a favor by getting rid of Ethan Todd.
I was still thinking about it when I crossed the parking lot to June’s Honda. Maybe I should have felt guilty for wanting to kill another human being, but I’d left guilt behind a long time ago. Maybe that was what happened when a monster took what mattered most to you.
Maybe you became a monster too.
I needed to do more research, dig through the chat forums where online gossips shared details about people like Ethan Todd, find out where he’d be staying, where he’d be living.
