Page 51 of Terror Tuesday
But I’m faster.
Darting up, I shove his body to the side as he comes at me, while Malik staggers to a stand. I kick the door closed with my boot, just as Carl moans from hitting his head on the corner of the dresser. Malik lunges at me, but I knee him in the groin until he grunts and falls forward in front of the floor lamp.
I hold the blade at his throat and dare Carl to move. “Not one fucking inch.”
Carl slumps against the wall, holding his hair and a hand up to tell me to stay away.
Using the cord, I quickly bind Malik’s hands behind his back, then turn to the man who accused my Chrysalis of murder.
“You’ve got a big fucking mouth,” I tell him.
“What?” he asks, attempting to slide up to stand. Malik works on his temporary handcuffs, swaying his body left and right.
“Accusing people of murdering Hunter Remington. What led you to the conclusion you did, huh?”
“Who the fuck are you?” he asks, and I crouch to shove the blade against his windpipe.
“Your silence.”
“I-I…” he whispers, eyes glancing down at the sharp end. “He and his woman always got into fights. Figured I’d start a rumor that he was dead to mess with theBetasdown in the dungeon. Remington’s probably on some island getting head by a local, man. I made it up.”
My face scrunches. Do I believe him?
“Are youBeta? With the, uh, the Cardells?” he asks carefully.
It’s a good guess on his part. Which means he likelydidmake it all up. If he knew the truth, he’d believe I was someone else… The one directing the video, if he got hold of it. Even if he lied, he said Olivia’s name with blood. That’s enough.
“Nope,” I say, and his shoulders relax. Leaning in, I plunge the knife straight into his throat, then drag it through the muscles sideways as he grabs at my wrist. Lowering my voice to a shaky whisper, I press my mouth over his ear. “I’m the real killer.”
Malik gasps as I finish Carl off with a deeper cut, his body shaking violently before slumping in a pool of his blood.
“Don’t, man. Just stay there. I won’t say shit,” Malik begs. Snot runs from his nose as he cries between words. Vanq doesn’t hesitate. Vanq doesn’t doubt. But I’m still here, under the mask, pulse sick with what I’m about to do.
I’ve already made up my mind.
Standing over him, I cut the cord loose, and he scrambles to sit up. When I grasp his arm, he pulls back, but I grit out, “Hold fucking still.”
I slice through his cut from earlier, carving an upside-down seven.
“No, no, no, no, please, no!” He spies my handiwork and covers it immediately.
“Cheer up.” I swipe the dirty blade across his jeans. “You’ll live. But you’re marked. You’re not lucky. You’re useful.” It’s the mark of a traitor to society. He’ll walk around with it and a target on his back. But I saved him.
Dipping my gloves in the mess left on Malik’s forearm, I douse them with his DNA, then swipe it all over Carl’s still-warm corpse. Done.
I take my parchment from my pocket, press Malik’s thumb to the bottom, and grab a pen from his desk. He sniffs and holds the gash while eyeing me carefully.
“You just condemned me. They’ll find me.”
I shrug. “Maybe not.”
Then, I inscribe their order with my own:
One body for the Order.
One spared for the Game.
Your move.
