“Oh, you have no idea,” Jericho said. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You remember when you started babbling to the tabloids about Archer not being a reformed sinner but a…what was it, Calliope?”
“A deep cover black ops agent who kills Thomas’s enemies,” Calliope said into the comms, voice dripping with amusement.
Jericho nodded gravely. “Oh, right. A deep cover black ops agent Thomas uses to kill his enemies. Do you remember that?”
Bev’s eyes went wild. “I told you, I was just?—”
“Right,” August said. “You were right. Archerisa deep cover black ops agent. He doesn’t kill Thomas’s enemies, though. And he’s not alone. We’re all killers. Every single one. Psychopaths. Thomas raised us that way. Monsters who hunt and kill other monsters. Monsters like you. Does that make you feel better, Ms.Scott? Knowing that some of your wild ramblings weren’t lies but half-truths?”
“You’ll never get away with this, you freaks.”
It was such a cartoonish line that Lucas almost laughed.
“You’re wrong,” Atticus said. “We always get away with it. If you’d been properly invited instead of crashing the party, you might have met some of our guests. Not to brag, but there are sitting members of Congress, generals, members of private paramilitary organizations…”
“You’re lying…” she said faintly.
“Oh, come on, Bev. Sure, you’re going to die screaming, but does that really overshadow the deep-seated satisfaction that comes from being right?” August asked, waving the knife as he spoke.
“I hate you all,” she snarled.
“And we’re just gutted about that,” Jericho said. “Oh, wait, no—that’s you.” He flashed perfectly white teeth at her. “Get it…gutted.”
August bit down on his lower lip to keep from laughing.
Lucas finally stepped forward, crouching so he could meet her gaze head-on. “You’re going to tell the truth tonight, Beverly. About Zane. About Gage. About yourself.”
Her chin trembled, her eyes flicking away, shaking her head. “You don’t understand?—”
He touched her wrist. The contact was light, almost delicate, but the reaction was immediate. Her breath stuttered, and behind Lucas’s eyes flashed a cascade of images: a house soaked in grief, wallpaper yellowed by nicotine and resentment; a woman who looked much like Bev, holding a baby in a dress while staring down at another woman who clearly passed far too young; Zane at five, hiding behind a piano, shielded by a slightly larger boy while his mother screamed at a man offscreen; aChristmas tree tipped over, broken ornaments; the metallic smell of vodka and blood, the echo of a child crying.
Lucas drew a slow breath and stood, his expression unchanging. “She’s already lied twice.”
“Twice?” August echoed, mock surprise curling his voice. “And we haven’t even asked the first question.”
August’s hand closed around the knife. He didn’t hesitate. The sound was small, a wet pop, a crack like breaking kindling. Bev’s scream tore through the maze and was swallowed by the night.
Lucas watched her body convulse, felt no pity, only a quiet, cold satisfaction. The air smelled of iron and ozone, the floodlight buzz drowning beneath her cries. It would rain soon. He could smell it. He turned to the others. “That’s your baseline. She lies easier than she breathes.”
Bev howled again, more a sound of anguish than pain.
August rolled his eyes. “Please don’t start with that caterwauling now. I forgot my headphones.”
“The screaming gives him a headache,” Lucas supplied. Something like hope flared in Bev’s eyes a moment before Lucas reached into his pocket and produced August’s headphones. “I didn’t forget.”
Lucas gasped as August wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him into a kiss that was both sexy as hell and freakishly melodramatic. Still, he kissed back. Of course, he did. His husband was such a strange amalgamation of deeply disturbed and disgustingly romantic. Even covered in blood. He loved him so much.
When August released him, he stumbled a bit. Jericho reached out to steady him with a quiet huff of laughter.
August turned on Bev. “Now where were we?” he asked cheerfully, wiping a speck of blood off his cheek. He made ashow of opening his headphone case and placing them into his ears.
He didn’t bother to wipe the smile off his face. “Round one,” he announced, with the bright patience of a game show host who’d run out of commercial breaks. “We’ll start easy. Did youeverlove your son?”
Once more, she brightened, nodding vigorously.
“Be specific,” Lucas said. “She had two sons. She only hated one.”
“Did you ever love Zane?” August corrected.
