I wasn’t hard when she walked in.

But I sure as fuck was when she ran out.

I imagined it was her, grabbed his hair, and fucked his mouth mercilessly, irrationally mad to a point that all I could see was red. He took it with little, helpless, joyful moans, and I slapped him, shutting him up so I could pretend he was Lenora. He came when I did.

That time, he promised me the internship at Carlisle Prep when I graduated high school. And by then, I knew what I wanted to do to him, what needed to be done. I was too young to do it then, but I swore I’d come back and avenge what he’d done to me.

What he’d done to all of them.

That darkroom had been occupied every single night, I noticed.

The boys of Carlisle Prep always looked red-eyed, tired, broken.

Haunted. Ghost-like. Not unlike me.

I was going to kill the fucker and make sure he couldn’t touch anyone ever again. But when his lips were around me, I’d thought about Lenora Astalis.

The girl who peeked at me every day during summer session, and hadn’t realized I’d glanced at her, too, because I was better at hiding it.

That’s what I never told Len. That she was the only reason I received blow jobs.

Because they reminded me of that day, and it was a screwed-up way to avenge what she saw.

What she must’ve thought of me.

The sweet, beautiful girl who’d occupied my mind since the South of France grew pointy devil horns, and I was fine with it. If I hated her, I didn’t care what she thought about me.

Simple.

I’d spent the rest of my adolescent years trying to prove to everyone and myself that I wasn’t appalled by human touch. That I was straight. That I was in charge of my sexuality. I received public blow jobs and talked about sex all the time.

No one could imagine the unimaginable.

That I was a virgin.

That I never wanted to have sex.

That every single time I became hard on demand, I’d had one thing and one thing only on my mind—ever since that night in the darkroom:

Killing Harry Fairhurst.

Vaughn left my side sometime after I fell asleep, exhausted by absorbing what had happened to him without falling apart. The place where he’d kissed my forehead was still warm, the only souvenir of the last time we’d spend together.

I didn’t bother leaving my bed the following morning. I felt like crying for eternity, curled inside myself, my body rocking back and forth as the sobs rattled through me. Turned out that Vaughn looming over me and threatening my life wasn’t half as devastating as hearing what had made him want to kill me—and the rest of the world—in the first place.

I allowed myself the better half of the day to fall apart privately, letting out all the emotions I couldn’t show him. Then I stood, picked myself up, and finished my statue.

What I did next would shock everyone.

Including myself.

Instead of going back to my room the following morning, I headed straight to Edgar. I was running out of time to do everything I wanted to do to take care of Lenora before shit hit the fan. Confiding in her had felt eerily similar to handing her my balls in a nice, cellophane-wrapped package, but strangely necessary.

All that we were would die right along with Harry Fairhurst tomorrow, and Hunter and Knight were due to land at Heathrow later tonight.

I barged into Edgar’s office without knocking, ignoring the fact that Arabella was sitting in front of his desk. They were engrossed in deep conversation, hunched forward and exchanging hushed words over raised tones. Planting my hands on my hips, I jerked my head to the door.

“Outta here,” I barked. Didn’t take a nuclear scientist to know who I was talking to.

Arabella twisted her head to look at me, wiping her cheek—from tears or cum, anyone’s guess would be as good as mine.

“You’re not the boss of m—”

“Ass. Outta. That. Chair.” Each word was pronounced with dripping mockery. “Before I drag you by the hair, and believe me, Arabella, I won’t even think twice before tearing those expensive extensions—and your real hair—from that empty skull of yours.”

That was a lie, but a believable one nonetheless. She turned her face to Edgar, expecting him to fight her war, but he was too stunned to react, his eyes on me. Reluctantly, she stood, her chair scraping back, and walked slowly out the door. She stopped when her shoulder brushed my arm.

“I know something fucked you up, Vaughn. Everyone knows that. And you’re not the only person who’s bad for a reason. I’m not the devil,” she whispered.

“No, you’re not,” I rasped under my breath. “The devil’s smart and calculating. You’re neither.” I slammed the door in her face.