I know what I am now.
And I know what I have to do.
Chapter 8: Julian
TheBoysarebacktogether, hanging out in the dorm, all of us except Cai, of course. Bam is working a dartboard the way a hangman works a gallows—casual, efficient, landing every throw.
Each lands with a dull thud, punctuated by a stream of expletives at the painted face of the Dean Marcus tacked to the bullseye. My doing. It’s therapeutic, what can I say?
Rhett, legs splayed across the coffee table, peels the labels from bottles of beer, eyes tracking Bam’s throws. Colt occupies the kitchen bench, drinking his fourth vodka coke.
“Well, this looks wonderful. Why is everyone so fucking melancholy?” I ask.
Before the mood can even begin changing, Bam’s phone lights up. He glances at it, expression darkening as the caller ID registers.
“Don Bonaccorso,” he says. His voice isn’t quite fear, but there’s an edge that wasn’t there before.
He accepts the call, then puts it on speaker. The room hushes, all posturing and friendly banter dissolving in the presence of something truly dangerous.
“Bam,” the Don’s voice fills the air. “Listen carefully. I still hate your guts for taking my daughter, but this isn’t about you and me.”
Bam flexes his hand, knuckles whitening. “I’m listening.”
“There’s a contract on the table for every Feral Boy. You will not survive the Hunt if you show up. The Board has lost their patience. The Law as written will be enforced.”
Rhett sits up, all traces of drunkenness gone. “Which fucking Law is this now?”
“Legacy Law, moron. How do you not know about this? No wonder they want to kill you,” the Don says. “They want to see you all bleed. Your defiance in the face of tradition has come ata cost. They are making deals with the Castillo’s as we speak and I only know this because we happen to have a rat in cells right now.”
I cut in, voice sharp. “What about the Runners?”
There’s a pause on the line, then the Don speaks with a kind of weariness that I recognize all too well. “The girls are to be collected. Those who fail to abide by the contract will be transferred to a facility—undisclosed, but I know where it is. They do not return. This includes my daughter.”
The gravity of it settles over us. Westpoint has always operated on the threat of violence, but this is different. This is a cull.
Bam says, “Why the fuck are you telling me this?”
“Because my daughter loves you. Even if I think she’s insane. You’re a dead man if you don’t run. And she’s dead too. I will do what I can to support you all, but if you can’t kill them before they kill you, you’re fucked. I will stop at nothing to save Dahlia, but I’m giving you a chance to earn my respect and be the man she deserves to have.”
A flicker of shock passes over Bam’s face. It’s gone in an instant, replaced by respect. “Thanks, Don.”
The call ends. No one moves.
Colt is the first to break the paralysis. He slaps his hands on his knees, voice too loud. “We could just not show up to the Hunt.”
“Not an option,” I say. “You know the rules. You don’t show, the girl will die and unfortunately, that’s not a trade-off I’m willing to make.”
Rhett stands, moving to the sink to grab a glass of water. He stares at the drain as if it might spit the truth back at him. “So we’re cornered.”
Bam’s eyes meet mine. “So what’s the plan?”
I smile, not because I want to, but because it’s the only response that makes sense. “We do what we always do. We go to war. Cai must have intel, which means we can make our moves. The night of the Hunt is our best bet and if we want to make this smooth, we need to get our shit together in the next three days.”
A hush falls over the room, but this time it’s different. Not fear, but resolve. The kind you only get when you realize there’s no way out but through.
Bam pulls out a switchblade from his boot. He flicks it open, the sound loud in the dead air.
“One for the Boys ,” he says, and slices his palm with practiced ease. Blood wells up, dark and thick.
