And I’ll be the one to feed it to you.
Chapter Seventeen
Wyck
Skipping class wasn’t new, but this wasn’t about ditching responsibilities. This was about building something that would outlive us all.
Cliffside University could wait.
The real future? It started here.
Gage and I pulled up in silence, the asylum looming ahead like a sleeping beast with breath that still reeked of rot and rage. The cold air that rolled off it carried stories no one dared write down. And now it would be ours.
We stepped out of my car, boots crunching gravel as we approached the cracked stairs. Every window was blacked out, glass smudged with years of silence and filth. This place had been dead for nearly two decades, but I planned to raise it from the grave and crown it our sanctuary.
“How long has this place been here?” Gage asked, his voice low like the walls might answer.
“A long fucking time. And no one’s touched it in twenty years. Not since the incident.” I let that hang. No need to unpack the rumors that made people steer clear of this land. We liked ghosts. We were Devils, after all.
He glanced around, chewing the inside of his cheek. “What made you want it?”
Smart. Always asking the right questions. That’s why I’m grooming him to be my second.
“Because when shit hits the fan, and it will, we’ll need more than an old mill and party lights. We need a fortress. A place where no one gets in unless I say so. Not even God.”
His head tilted. “What about your house now?”
“That stays. It becomes Devil HQ. You, Niko, Blake, and two more I’m watching closely, you’ll run it. I want each base run like a syndicate. Everyone has a job. Every weakness exposed. Every gift sharpened to a blade.”
“We’ll need help with that kind of profiling. Women, probably.”
I smirked. “Don’t I fucking know it. I’ve got a few already in mind. Fred, Ryan, and Athens will sort through the rest. We’re gonna rebuild broken girls into something sharp.”
“Recruits?”
“No. Weapons.”
A pair of headlights flared against the asylum’s front steps, drawing our attention. The car stopped. The engine cut. And out stepped a memory, wrapped in smug and dressed in leather.
Briggs Ware.
Ex-Devil. Older. Wiser. Or maybe just better at hiding what he really wanted.
“You’re late,” I muttered.
He smiled like it didn’t matter. “You’re early.” With a flick of the wrist, he held up the key. “Shall we?”
The glass doors screeched as he forced them open by hand. No power. Not yet.
“We’ll have juice in about three…” He winked. “Two. One.”
With a deep electric groan, lights flickered to life. The entire lobby glowed, dim, yellowed, sterile. The walls were prison-gray, stained with time. Perfect.
“Damn,” Gage whispered. But this was just the surface.
“You ain’t seen shit,” Briggs said, already halfway inside. “Lobby’s just foreplay.”
I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo, firing off a text to Fred.
