Page 181 of Boy of Ruin
A safe house tucked away at the coast, they don’t even have guards here.
Shame. Would’ve been fun to put a few more pedophiles down before I drag the Astor corpses out of this goddamn house.
But before I do all of that…
I drag the blade down the door, listen as the wood splinters beneath it, a horrible, screeching sound. For a fleeting second, I’m in that fucking cage again, scratching my own nails against the floor of it. I broke all of them, and they had gotten long in there. I broke them all, and there was blood oozing from my fingers. Without anything but my own urine to drink, I sucked off the blood until the tips of my fingers were raw.
Aching.
Burning.
I hear her scream first, dragging me out of my thoughts but I’m still watching that knife drag through the white wood of the door.
But it’s not until I hear his voice that I turn to face them again.
Sid’s father.
The man who gave up his own daughter to be abused and fucking assaulted.
I might come for Brooklin too. Do what I did to Kameron to her.
Make Maddox watch like I did with Francis Forgues.
But staring at him now, at those blue eyes so like fucking Maverick’s, I don’t think he’s going to last that long.
Shit, he might not even last until we get to the goddamn cabin.
Fucking shame.
He pulls out of his wife, yanking the sheet up to his chin, blocking my view of both of them. As if that’s what I fucking came for.
I lean against the doorway, arms crossed, glancing at the sharp, curved blade in my hand.
“Hello, fuckers.” My voice is muffled beneath the black bandana. I couldn’t resist the irony.
Elizabeth Astor goes pale, her bright red lipstick the boldest thing about her as she pushes back against the headboard like a fucking little bitch.
She’s as guilty as he is.
She knew.
She fucking knew.
“J-Jeremiah,” Maddox chokes out. “What are you—”
“Did you kill one of my dancers?” I ask him, knowing he didn’t, because now I know who did. But I watch with satisfaction as the surprise shadows over his face and he glances at his cell phone on the nightstand.
Yeah, too far away now, bitch.
And besides that, who the fuck is he gonna call? We both own the cops. They’re not going to arrest us. And his guards? They’re back in Alexandria. I’d know. I’ve had Nicolas watching them.
“W-what?” he asks, and I see his lips tremble. Notice they’re the same shape as Sid’s.
I want to puke.
“N-no, why would you—”
“You know about Edith Van Damme going missing?” I press. I know that wasn’t him either. Neither were the photographs of Sid. The fucking kitten—that idea was all mine.
