Page 144 of The Deceptions
“Not the first time? Jesus.” He hangs his head, slightly shaking it in disbelief. “What exactly is this about, Malic?” He sighs, exhaustion seeming to pull him down as he peers up at me.
It’s the effects of the medication. Making him drowsy and compliant. Maybe it’s a little bit of a truth serum, too. Hopefully. I need him to spill his guts before I actually spill his guts on the concrete floor. I’m tired of tiptoeing around these assholes. The kings of fucking campus. Yeah right. There are new kings in town, and it’s time to step on toes. His, specifically. Tonight. Maybe stabby stab him a little. Or a lot. Or however much I feel like.
Because tonight is the night I throw everything out the window and end Huxley Crewe.
“You know exactly what this is about,” I say, pointing the knife at him.
“You want to discussher,don’t you?” Tension strains his face, and he grunts several times.
“The binds are too tight, Huxley,” I taunt. “You can’t escape this conversation.” I grin again.
“Leave her alone. She’s…”
“You’re right, this is about my sister, Meredith.” I pull out my phone, ignoring his words, eager to show him the footage I was gifted of him interacting with her.
He sits up straighter, a stranger expression crossing his features, and I cock my head. Wait. What did he say? I shake my head. Whatever. Nothing matters except Meredith and where the hell she is.
“Where is she?” I ask, holding the phone in front of his face.
The footage we captured from Bobby plays across the screen. It’s all the evidence I needed to bring him here and force him to watch it again and again. Until his tongue loosens and he tells me everything I want to hear.
Everything I need to hear.
He can’t deny he was there. Or the interaction.
Huxley’s features tighten again. “I don’t know,” he breathes, almost with sincerity.
But do I believe him? Fuck no.
His entire life, he learned to lie, steal, and manipulate his way out of situations. Including torture sessions. Nathanial Franco wouldn’t raise these boys with his own two hands without making them feel the edge of a knife blade and order them to hold their tongues. He knows his organization well. Too bad I know it better.
They’re trained. Smart. And prepared for this sort of thing. It’s almost too bad I don’t have time on my side to thoroughly drag this out.
I take the knife and hold it to his throat. “Where the fuck is my sister?” I snarl. My patience snaps like rubber bands. One by one, breaking apart until they’re nothing but a pile on the ground, and the monster swarming through my veins breaks free, taking control of me.
He swallows thickly against the sharp edge of the knife. Panic doesn’t reside in his eyes. Neither does fear. It’s acceptance. He knew this was coming. Somehow. Maybe he knew the cameras were there, and that I was looking. But who wouldn’t be?
“Where is she?” I say as calmly as I can. But in my defense, there is nothing calm living in my soul right now. Chaos swirls in my mind, aching to make this fucker bleed more, riding me hard, wanting to rip through his throat and watch as all his blood drips to the floor like paint.
It’s a fucking art.
“That was the last time I spoke to her,” he says calmly, looking straight into my eyes without flinching or missing a beat. “We went our separate ways that night after that conversation. I went home to the mansion. She went to her apartment. Or not.” He cocks his head, gauging my hardened expression.
Oh, if looks could kill. He’d be roadkill by now. Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I could chop him to bits. Huxley Crewes, who? Never heard of him. Or met him.
Too bad his death would create a mess of epic proportions. Do I want to create a bigger mess? Yes. I absolutely do. The temptation tingles at the tips of my fingers, currently holding tight to the knife I wish I could use. Over and over again.
Sorry, Boss. He ran into my knife twenty-nine times. It wasn’t my fault.
Like that would work.
Fuck, focus!
I shake my head, coming back to the present. I can’t let murder infiltrate my mind and take over. Not right now. I’ve fallen prey to that way too many times to count. The way it consumes me. It’s freeing. Liberating, even.
Huxley watches me with a blank stare, taking me in. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Sometimes I like to agree. Maybe even right now. There’s a sincerity in his gaze peeking through, begging me to understand that he’s telling the truth.
But my rationality is all out the window as I dig the knife deeper into the flesh of his throat. All I see is the video playing in my mind on repeat, and screaming—Huxley did this! Blood trickles from the wound, splashing over the sharpened edges of the blade, dirtying it more. But it’s my kind of fucking dirty. I could bathe in the blood of my enemies and come out stronger than before.
