Page 23 of Secrets

Though that’s what Noxus City does. It either corrupts or kills you; there is no in between. And soon enough, I, too, was infected with its venom.

Luckily, before it had time to consume me completely, there was one person who proved to be an antidote. Well, she most certainly wasn’t the cure, but she kept the toxin at bay long enough that when it overtook me, I didn’t turn into who Icouldhave become.

Mrs. Ward, the kind cafe owner a few stores down, was who kept me alive. When I was younger, it manifested in her or her son, Ben, coming by the shop every few days to buy flowers. She would check on me and my mother, and there was more than one occasion I can recall her pleading with Mom. I never knew what it was about, but I will never forget the look on either of their faces. My mother, always apologetic and grateful. Mrs. Ward, angry and desperate.

Later, after Mom’s death, they came by even more, ensuring her fate wouldn’t befall upon me, and then taking me in so the state wouldn’t when my father was incarcerated.

Stepping onto the platform of my now beautiful studio apartment, I’m reminded of both the mother and son who made it a possibility. That turned a place so decrepit and full of pain, into a room of peace. Of strength. Plus, it’s a rather beautifulburn in hellto my father that I’m still here. Here, and content.

Dark hardwood floors run through the entire apartment, illuminated only by the low lighting of the various lamps littering the open space. Much like downstairs, the red brick continues here, making up the surrounding walls. Five different varieties of pothos hang in the corner by the window, affixed to the wooden beams that run overhead. Leather furniture fills the living room, accompanied by an old record player, an end table, and bookshelves teeming with medicinal manuals. There is a small kitchen along the far wall, complete with a black iron bistro table, while on the opposite side, rests my bed.

I turn to the singular door by the landing that leads to my bathroom. It’s small, but perfect, and houses my favorite part of the entire studio; the claw-footed bathtub. It only takes a few minutes to turn on the water, light the large pillar candles, and toss in a scoop of dried lavender flowers and Epsom salt.

When I finally strip from my clothes, the tension prematurely dissolves the second my feet breach the surface of the water. At the perfect temperature, I nearly melt inside the tub, my body and mind giving way to the myriad of events from the day. It’s then, a flash of gold and a bright smile steal my thoughts.

Jessica.

The muscles across my chest tighten.

I’ve never had a problem killing before. Never cared about the soul I sent to the gates of judgement. And while I still don’t, a part of me can’t help but feelsomethingabout taking the agent’s life. What that something entails, I’m not quite sure yet, but I know it doesn’t quite sit right on my shoulders. Doesn’t make me feel as though I’m relieving mother nature from another of her torturers, but instead, stealing a ray of sun.

Clearing my throat, I try to ignore the wayward thoughts and relax, but it only lasts a moment before I think of her again. Her clumsy fingers tearing jagged pieces of the croissant before sliding it into her mouth.

A supple little mouth with the most profound cupid’s bow.

Her lips alone are a sin, and I imagine them to be as sweet as she is. Soft and delicate, like the person they belong to. She would be such a pleasure to take. To dominate and control. I’d be interested to discover if she’s as talkative with my toys stuffed inside her. If she’d moan and beg for more, or whimper and say it’s too much.

I disturb the water as I shift beneath the calm surface, my pulse thrumming with my thoughts.

It should feel wrong to fantasize about fucking the woman I plan to kill, but I never claimed to be a good person. I am flawed and broken, selfish and needy much like the rest of humanity. And in this moment, I needher—the idea of her, anyway—tied to my bedposts, her body splayed open, ready for me to do whatever I desire.

How despicable would I be to wonder if the rest of her body blushes the same hue as her cheeks? How deplorable if I allowed myself a single taste?

I don’t get to ponder the answers to the questions I ask myself because the sound of my phone’s muffled ping alerts me of a message.

My eyes peel open, surprise slithering through me. I rarely get texts—too much evidence—so it can only be one of four people. One of which could be her.

Instinct, and perhaps something else I’d rather not identify, pushes me over the edge of the tub and toward my discarded clothes a foot away on the floor. I rummage for my phone, and the moment my hands wrap around it, it rings with an incoming call.

Regret burns my skin when I see the call is from none other than Alexi. For a breath, I consider ignoring it, but after his recent “gift,” I decide otherwise.

“Yes, Babin.” My voice is smooth but laced with the exasperation already working into my system despite my bath’s work.

“That’s no way to say thank you, Engred.”

I roll my eyes. Alexi and I have been acquainted long enough that he knows my name better than he does ninety-nine percent of those on his payroll, yet he insists on pretending he doesn’t remember anyone’s name—particularly women.

Childhood trauma is such a fickle thing.

“I have a feeling my gift is a hand you’ve been waiting to play.”

As long as I’ve known the Babin family, I’ve learned more about them than I care to. One of the more notable things is that they always have a contingency plan, usually in the form of blackmail or some type of debt—and not always the monetary kind. Without fail, they know the perfect time to play their cards.

The sound of liquid sloshing over ice flows through the speaker. “Well, you know I have to keep a few up my sleeve.”

“How long have you known what he was doing?” Curiosity gets the best of me.

“After the second woman. Sydney wanted him dead when she found out, but I told her to wait a little longer. I knew if I didn’t play him soon, though, she’d have her fucking cat scratch me to hell.”

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