Cassian laughed. “You’re a fucking asshole.”
I tapped the doorframe twice and left Locker Hall with Cassian behind me.
We turned right and walked thirty feet before cutting a left. At the end of the corridor, a neonLairsign glowed above a steel door.
The Devil’s Lair was the only place beneath Saint Vale where the Night Sons allowed themselves to relax. It was where we partied and unwound, free from prying eyes or loose lips.
Saint Vale itself was intentionally remote, isolated, miles from the city, and dull as fuck. We had to create our own entertainment here. That was what Fawns and the Devil’s Lair were for.
Unlike the rest of the tunnels, the Devil’s Lair was also the only space outsiders were permitted to enter. But even then, we were selective.Very selective.
The people allowed were all women connected to us—sisters, cousins, those we trusted. Or sometimes, we’d allow former Fawns who’d survived their time with us without losing their sanity.
The rest of the tunnels were off-limits. They had only one entrance and exit for non–Night Sons. It was a hidden passage in the greenhouse on campus.
Me?I had access to everything above and below ground.
I controlled Saint Vale.
I could piss in the fucking headmaster’s bed if I wanted.
Could slit a professor’s throat between lectures.
Rip the drywall off the library walls and turn the place into a strip club.
Linkin Park’s “Numb” thundered through the Devil’s Lair when we stepped inside. The sound wasn’t nearly as satisfying as Jett’s screams or Blair’s desperate pleading, but it’d suffice.
The sharp scent of furniture polish and citrus lingered in the air.
Cassian and I walked beneath stone arches and aged vaulted ceilings. The rich oak floors stretched beneath the amber lights.
Oxblood leather couches and barstools were scatteredthroughout the space. Every piece of furniture had belonged to the First Benefactors.
“Piss break,” Cassian muttered, veering right toward the hallway that led to the restroom.
I headed straight to the bar. Behind it, brass shelves lined the wall, and the light made the liquor bottles almost glow.
The First Benefactors’ tastes were tacky, very speakeasy in style, with dark woods and brass fixtures. But I wasn’t going to waste my time remodeling. I had a Fawn to break.
I poured a shot of vodka and downed it in one swallow. Then I poured three fingers of bourbon into a crystal tumbler before moving farther into the room.
I passed the group of girls crowded on one of the leather couches. They were laughing, talking, and drinking.
They were the ones allowed down here.
The ones we protected.
I dropped onto the couch beside Brooks. His black tux was wrinkled, the collar of his shirt open, and he stared at me with dark, tired eyes.
We were the only ones who saw Brooks like this.
Outside, in the world above the tunnels, he was the perfect son of the president. He had been bred for the cameras with his polished smile and perfect blond hair. They called him America’s Golden Boy. His entire life had been created for him to become president one day and take after his father.
But down here? He was just Brooks.
He and I ran the Night Sons.
Every year, two seniors were chosen to lead the society, and this year, the crown had fallen on us.
