I grab the puzzle and start twisting, pacing through the bedroom for the better part of half an hour, turning and pulling at the small metal protrusions emerging from the metal pyramid. The small carved symbols that cover its surface must mean something, but none of the languages I’m aware of use that alphabet. Eventually, the offending object opens for me.
There’s no riddle here this time. Only one loosely rolled parchment, a website link written on it. I sit down at the edge of my bed and type the link on my phone, squeezing the device too tightly in my hand.
The result opens up in full screen on my phone, and I swallow dryly. It’s me inside Metamorphosis. A close-up as I sit at the bar, observing the stage.
The photo was taken mere days ago, when I couldn’t bring myself to do anything but watch others. And even then, something about it felt off.
Jonathan was right—this isn’t about him or Cillian.
It may be wishful thinking, but all my instincts point to Scarlet.
Maybe I’m wrong, but I’m not taking the chance anymore.
Before I leave, I check the camera feed from her bedroom. I find her once again filled with wondrous joy, dancing inside her house as she changes her clothes and bounces around the place.
Interesting time to change.
I waste no time walking into the early night. I climb inside the car within thirty seconds, and I’m through the gate before the minute strikes.
Driving like the asphalt’s burning my tires, I weave through traffic, not caring if the side of the road I’m on is right or not. Ignoring speed limits and traffic signs, I drive with one objective in sight.
I don’t want revenge, nor retribution. I want punishment.
After she confesses, of course.
I’m done pretending I still want to kill her. I don’t. Not even a fucking little bit.
There are so many other filthy things I have in mind. None of them consensual. None of them hold an ounce of human decency. But if she’s the culprit, she deserves them all.
I drive closer and closer to her house, planning every single detail of our encounter. Counting the ways I’ll make the kitten beg me to either kill her or make her come. Maybe both. Maybe at the same time.
My phone startles me out of my fantasies. Maddox’s name flashes on the screen, and I answer.
“I’m—”
“You need to get to Midnight right now.”The urgency mixed with fury in his tone furrows my brows.
“I’m in the middle of something. Is it—”
“Fucking urgent, Pierce. One of our girls was just delivered almost dead at our front door. With a message.”
What the fuck?
The timing is goddamn ridiculous. I squeeze the steering wheel hard enough that pain radiates through my bones. I’m so close that I can see Scarlet’s estate up ahead. So close to solving this fucking mystery.
But I sigh and turn the car around with a deafening screech.
“I’m on my way.”
Chapter 13
Carter
One thin crimson line traces the dips and mounds of his abdominals. In and out. Over and down. From an inch above the navel up until it meets the sternum. Then I slide the blade to the right—mine, not his—stopping at the point where his ribs curve too much, before I move back down again, toward his hip bone.
The dark-red line is not as thin by the time I reach my destination. It thickens with every tiny blood vessel I sever, with every passing minute. More and more. Faster and faster.
Striking red.
