Page 167 of Feed Your Fiends

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Hale snaps impatiently.

“From you,” I croak, and Hale’s wide, watery eyes fall on me. “Once he got rid of you, you’d lose Marisol’s inheritance, and he’d retain his Auclair shares he’d gifted her.”

Hale’s knees give out, and he collapses into his chair. “He wanted to get rid of me over money I didn’t even know I had?”

“You would’ve found out eventually,” Zedd says. “Like you are now.”

“How?” Hale’s brows knit with more than just confusion, pure hurt is wracking him.

“Your brother.” Zedd nods to the bed. “Gant was protecting you, looking out for you. Why do you think Bart’s in the morgue and Gant was just a hair away from joining him?”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” I say, my spine stiffening. “You mixed the drinks. Both Gant’s and Bart’s were laced, so how can you expect us to believe it was just Hale Bart was after?”

“I lacedallthe drinks.”

Hale pales. “Fucking hell. I know you suddenly hate me because of Stassi—”

“I don’t hate you, Hale. Why do you think I accepted both Gant’s and Bart’s offers? If I made the food, I could control the precise dosage for all three of you. I needed you at least semi-high so Bart would know you were on your way out and Alistair could witness it.”

“Your father?” I gasp. “He was Bart’s alibi?”

“In exchange for the jewellery contracts over the Zaveris.”

Hale’s normally tanned skin turns sallow beneath the dimmed fluorescent lights. “Alistair despises me that much that he was willing to help Bart murder me just for a contract?”

“It’s not just about the contract. He wants you to stay away from Stassi, and I warned you, too.”

Hale’s eyes, suddenly haunted, flit up to Zedd. “The powdered doughnuts…that was your doing, wasn’t it? Not the ones at the party, the ones Gant bought to Libellule right before you and your fuckass father showed up?”

“Bart needed the evidence. Why do you think Gant encouraged you to make those social media posts, high or drunk off your ass, to promo Libellule? You didn’t seriously think it was because he cared about the proceeds?”

“Bart wanted to push a narrative that Hale was a wild partier,” I say, licking my dry lips and connecting the dots. “So that when he overdosed, it wouldn’t be suspicious.”

Zedd nods.

“But I haven’t touched that powder in months.”

“You were still ingesting it. I didn’t just lace those drinks. I laced most of the golden trays at Bart’s request and supervision. All those chocolate truffles and little white powdered doughnuts he knew your sweet tooth couldn’t resist.”

My lips part in horror, but Zedd’s speaking like he’s talking about the weather.

“Ingestion takes far longer to overdose on versus injection or inhalation. Plus, it’s cumulative. I had no choice but to let you get semi-high because Bart was watching you like a hawk. Still, I kept the dosages far lower than he demanded. The laced drink was supposed to be the big cherry on top. Everyone would’ve seen you acting an ass all night, and a few waitresses who willingly sniffed and nibbled would confirm that you’d knowingly joined them.”

“You recorded me for Stassi. You made me act an ass so you could—”

“I didn’t make you act any way. That was all you because you hadn’t even touched a truffle then.”

“Wait.” I shake my head. It’s heavy, filled with cottony thoughts. “Bart wanted Hale to progressively get high before the big finale. He asked you to lace the food because Hale wouldn’t ingest it willingly any more?”

“Right,” Zedd says matter-of-factly.

“But why did you lace all the drinks?”

“Bart told me to put the laced drink by the server’s left thumb when she was facing them with the tray. But Bart didn’t trust Gant or the girl despite the fuckton of blackmail he had on her.”

I think of the hyped up girlies from the night before. That whole time we partied, there was a traitor amongst us.

“Why doesn’t he trust Gant?” Hale asks. “He let him in on the plan, he must have trust him somewhat.”

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