Page 155 of Lady Killer

It was on my nightstand, plugged into the charger like I always left it.

I didn’t have time to wonder how it got there as I desperately thumbed it open, looking for a message from the killer.

There was none.

Relief came first, then concern.

The killer had said that if the Blackwells intervened, Autumn would pay the price.

The plan had been to save my friend.

But what if I had damned her instead?

Chapter forty-three

Luz

With seconds to spare, I made it out of my room to find a surly Nixon waiting outside.

“I know where Lucian’s office is,” I rasped.

“Already told you, I’m not getting in trouble for you, pet.” He strode away, leaving me behind.

I couldn’t deal with Nixon right now, not with everything else going on. As much as I wanted to call him out on his pissy attitude, I bit my tongue. Conveniently, this also let me ignore my freak-outlast night.

Following, I slid my hand into my pocket and wrapped it around my phone for security. I was certain that the killer would be reaching out soon, and I refused to miss it.

As we approached Lucian’s office, it was quiet.

Too quiet.

I wanted to ask Nixon what was going on, but given how far he had hurried in front of me, I’d have to shout at him.

Nixon strode past the heavy oak doors, only to come to a reeling stop. “Shit.”

Coming up behind him, I gave his shoulders a light shove. “What’s going on?”

He mumbled something imperceptible before stepping to the side, opening the room to me.

Lucian was behind his desk, brows tight, fingers steepled, although, like Nixon, he looked tired.

Alister sat in his usual spot, spine straight, face impassive. Unlike his older brother, he seemed to be vibrating with energy, and there was something hungry and wild about him, like the night he hunted me down.

Opposite Ali, a disconcertingly calm-looking serial killer, one foot propped casually on his knee as he reclined in the leather club chair.

“Hello, Starbright. I hear you’ve been naughty while I was gone.”

Merde.

Nixon abandoned me, shuffling over to sit next to his twin. No one else said anything.

Holding my head high, I walked over to Locke’s chair and took his seat, as if there weren’t a scarlet brand around my neck giving me away.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, the phone in my pocket suddenly feeling like a lead brick.

Ever’s eyes zeroed in on my bruises, and I braced myself for the explosion.

Instead, a long, slow, indulgent smile crept onto his face, like a crocodile moseying up to its prey. “There’s a man in the basement with at least ten different broken bones, darling.”

---