There have been many nights where I’ve laid awake with Angie next to me, thinking about the ways I’d love to torture Jeremiah in my mom’s basement. But that didn’t go so well when I had Richie down there. Nevertheless, I imagined it being slow, where I’d make him feel every inch of pain. Torturing Richie would have been nothing compared to what I would have loved to do to Jeremiah.

But this? 

It happened too fast.

We climb down the stairs to meet Franky as she closes and barricades the library door with a chair, and I don’t think either of us has had a proper chance to comprehend Jeremiah’s twisted body on the floor. Angie crouches to inspect him but doesn’t touch him.

“I... I think he’s still breathing. Should we call an ambulance?”

“Fuck no!” Franky says. “I can’t believe you’d even suggest it after the shit he’s put you through.”

“I don’t know!” Angie throws her hands in the air. “We’re in the middle of a party with a shit ton of people. So, it’s not like we can bury him.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I say.

But Angie is panicking and struggling to breathe as she gets to her feet and paces with her hand to her chest. “I hated the fucker and wanted him dead more than anyone, but seeing him actually dead? Fuck. What have we done? There are too many people here. We’ll go to jail. I can’t go to jail! Not when I’m about to get Ana and my freedom back.”

The color in her face drains, and her knees buckle, so I lunge to catch her before she falls. 

“Shit. She’s really losing it,” Franky says.

“Yeah, well. Wanting someone dead and seeing them dead are two different things.”

Angie blinks rapidly, trying to refocus on me, but she’s still slightly disoriented as she rubs her forehead. “What if the termination of my conservatorship goes to shit now that this asshole is dead?”

“Baby, don’t think like that.”

“I’ll never get Ana back. Shit. We fucked up. There’s too many people here.” She begins hyperventilating.

“Hey.” I cup her chin. “He was assaulting you. I will never ever regret tossing his ass over that railing.” 

“There’s gotta be a spot we can shove him for now,” Franky says with hands on hips. “I can stage a fire.” 

“No!” I bark.

“What? The Sisters probably have this mansion insured up the asshole.”

“Fine. Fuck it. This party is boring anyway,” I say. 

Franky bends to hook her arms under Jeremiah’s armpits.“Let’s drag him behind one of these shelves for now. When I set the fire, it’ll look like he got trapped by the flames.”

“Franky,” Angie gasps. “What about evidence? DNA?” 

“Nothing I can’t hack and scrub from databases.” She shrugs.

“Alright.” I nod and look Angie in the eyes. “It’s going to be ok. No matter what, Augusta won’t let us go to jail. We have a deal. Plus, you heard Franky. She’ll take care of the technical side.”

Angie wipes her eyes. “I just don’t feel good about this…” 

“Come on, girl,” Franky says. “Have a little more faith in us.”

A few minutes later, we leave the library so Franky can start a small fire that will slowly catch, which she claims will look like an electrical one. I take her word for it, and Angie and I head for a utility closet she saw further down the hallway. A little duct tape will mend my cast together for now, and as long as it remains hidden under my sleeve, nobody will know. With Angie’s help, we repair it as best as possible and go back to the garden to pretend like nothing has happened. She grips my hand the whole way and doesn’t want to let go when we step outside. 

I forget that my stubborn girl can be a wounded bird sometimes. 

“Just act natural,” Franky says, coming up behind us and sipping champagne. “Let’s stand by that tree and snack on appetizers.”

Taking Angie’s elbow, she steers her away, and I mouth I love you to her. I was gone for quite a while and can feel Augusta’s gaze charring my flesh. When I search the crowd for her loathful stare, she’s glaring directly at me.

Oopsies. 

There was a cleanup on aisle four…

Adjusting my tie, I descend the steps, but she shakes her head and cuts through the guests to reach me. So I wait like a good boy since I’m her lap dog for the night.

“While you were off with your little girlfriend, doing god knows what, I was left unattended,” she hisses. “Don’t make me regret hiring you and paying you a large salary. I can sever the contract at any time.” 

“Yes, I know.”

“Then do your damn job!”

But I’m sick of her snapping at me. “Is this how it’ll always be with you degrading me at every turn? It’s my first day on the job, and I’ve had zero training. Yet you expect me to know exactly what I’m supposed to do? Fuck you, Augusta.” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Respect goes both ways, and I don’t protect people who treat me like shit.”

She inhales a deep breath and smooths down the bodice of her dress. “Fine, but don’t forget you’re my employee now. That means you can’t wander off for thirty minutes, forcing others from the team to cover for you. Everyone in my detail has a purpose, so when you go off to spend time with your girlfriend, it disturbs that system. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She takes my arm, freezes, her eyes narrowing at the bulky shape under my sleeve, and she begins running her finger across it. “What the hell is going on with your cast?”

“Had a little accident.”

Augusta’s gaze drifts to Jocelyn and Kay, who have joined us. She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “You know what? I don’t have time for whatever outrageous story you have. It’s time to announce dinner.”

Taking another deep breath, she begins to speak, but Jocelyn steps forward, interrupting as she dings her champagne glass.

“My sister and I would love to extend our warmest gratitude for all of you who made it here tonight,” she says, drawing everyone’s attention. 

Puzzled, Augusta sides up to her but smiles for the crowd and whispers, “What are you doing?”

However, the rebellious sister ignores her. “Tonight is one of the most important events we hold all year. It’s an occasion where like-minds from opposite ends of the spectrum can unite and find common ground. Augusta and I don’t have to explain how crucial that is. We all play a part in the ecosystem that each of us contributes to. The question is, how do we maintain that ecosystem without compromising our moral compasses.”

“Jocelyn,” Augusta hisses through her teeth. “What the hell are you doing? This was not the plan nor the speech that was prepared.” 

This time, little sister turns to her, the fake smile gone. “Please shut the fuck up. I’m so sick of you and your narcissistic bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Where were we?” Jocelyn laughs. “Right, we were about to celebrate, but celebrate what exactly?”

“Yes, excellent question,” Augusta says, pulling on a smile. “Tonight we honor—”

But Jocelyn cuts her off again, holding out her champagne. “Tonight, we honor my dear sister, Augusta, as she steps down as CEO of the family business, and I steer the ship from here into a new era.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Augusta tugs her elbow, but Jocelyn jerks away.

“To my sister. May she enjoy her early retirement.”

There’s a breath of awkward silence and confusion as people glance around, but then slow claps build into a thunderous one. However, the only people not clapping are Emilio and his men. They stare at Jocelyn like she’s become their enemy, while everyone else thinks this was planned. Augusta looks as if a blade was stabbed into her heart. She sways, and I take her elbows.

“Jocelyn,” she hisses, still trying not to draw attention. “Meet me downstairs. Now!”

“No,” she scoffs. “You go down there with that wrinkled old bag we call a father and stay there for all I care. I’m sick of doing whatever you say when you snap your fingers. This is my time now.”

“You ungrateful little child!” Augusta grabs Jocelyn’s arm. 

“Unhand me, you ridiculous cunt.”

Even I feel the sting of her words as Jocelyn breaks free and proceeds down the steps and into the welcoming crowd of guests congratulating her. Next to me, Augusta sways again, so I take her elbow.

“This is fucked. What do we do?”

“I… I need to speak with my father. He needs to know about this coup Jocelyn planned,” she says, the color drained from her cheeks.

“I’ll take you.”

We leave the terrace with Bernard a few steps behind us, his walkie-talkie crackling. There’s a different buzz in the air now, and it says things have become fucked sideways to Sunday. When we enter the mansion, Augusta turns to me, her hand on my chest like she needs to catch her breath, so I place my palm on her shoulder.

“I think we should get you out of here.”

“No!” she shouts, her finger pointing toward the garden. “I’m not letting that little bitch think she’s won. My father will sort this out.” 

“Something doesn’t feel right. I heard Lucas say—”

“Enough with Lucas!” she barks and begins walking away. “I need the two of you to come with me to speak with my father. Alert the guards. I’m on my way.”

Bernard rattles off commands into his walkie-talkie as we march down the stairs with him jogging a few paces ahead of us. Augusta is so livid she removes her heels to stomp down the steps while mumbling expletives about Jocelyn—something about fucking around and finding out. My butthole is already clenching because one thing you don’t do is piss off Augusta Abramovitz. But her tirade abruptly stops when she thuds into Bernard’s back.

“Jesus! What’s the hold-up?”

“Ma’am, go back upstairs.”

“No, Bernard! I need to talk to my father.”

“Ma’am, go back—”

But Augusta isn’t listening, and my hackles are up as she shoves past the big guy. She makes it a few feet before shrieking a scream that has me reaching for my weapon. I rush down the last couple of steps, and there are two dead guards in front of the wide-open doors to Mr. Abramovitz’s living quarters. Bernard walks carefully around them, his weapon aimed while checking for threats, but Augusta is too hysterical and barrels past him. She rushes to her father to find the cords to his machines ripped out of the walls and his throat looking like a science project as blood seeps out in thick rivulets from the butchering that occurred. This must have just happened. It seems too fresh. She covers her mouth, muffling another shrill, her hands trembling. 

Bernard pulls her into him. “You shouldn’t see this, ma’am!”

“I’m going to kill her!” 

“Ma’am, we need to get you to the safe room.” He steers her toward the door, but she shoves his chest and pounds her fists into him repeatedly, her words muddled as she wails. 

“How could she do this? How could she do this!”

The big guy stands there, taking the beating as she releases her grief, but after a few more seconds, he curls his arms around her and begins cooing like a father soothing his daughter. Meanwhile, I keep thinking about Lucas. He was going to take his position. Where? What did he mean? 

“It’s time we go to the safe room. Danger is still lurking,” Bernard says, and Augusta nods.

However, there’s something in the air, and I feel we’re not alone as goosebumps pepper my arms. We step around the dead bodies to exit the bedroom when there’s a creak in the floorboards that I know damn well didn’t come from us. I freeze, and Bernard heard it, too, so we listen for the sound again. There are only two places a person can hide: under the bed or in the closet. So I point toward it with my head and hold up one finger at Bernard. He nods, giving me the signal to open it, and I count to three, then swing it wide open.

A guard dressed in black charges forward, knocking my ass to the floor as he leaps across me to run from the room. However, Bernard is faster and pulls out a knife, slashing the blade in zig-zags across the guard’s torso at the speed of a snake’s hissing tongue. The big guy moves beautifully with finishing touches by jamming the tip into the guard’s femur and drawing out another knife before ramming it into his neck.

“Fuck you,” the guard gurgles.

“No. Fuck you, Travis,” Bernard says, and yanks the blade out of his neck, then shoves it upwards through his chin. 

Even though it’s over, I step in front of Augusta to protect her as this so-called Travis stumbles forward and collapses.

“Oh, God,” she releases a breath, her hand on her chest and the other one curled around the sleeve of my tux. She’s quivering like we’re standing in the Arctic without jackets on.

This might be the first time she’s watched a man get murdered. With all her bravado about not being afraid to cap my ass, the reality is rich folks like her pay money so they don’t have to see the blood of their enemies soak the carpet. They get to sleep peacefully while someone else gets their hands dirty.

But tonight is no ordinary night, and the danger might not be over.

“We need to move,” Bernard says. 

“My sister needs to pay for this.”

“And she will.”

As we climb the stairs, Augusta keeps looking back with her fists clenched in tight balls while rambling about how Jocelyn will pay for what she's done. I don’t know much about Augusta's relationship with her father. Frankly, he sounded like a dick based on his advice about using what’s between her legs to her advantage. Yet, judging by that time Jackson and I walked in on her feeding Mr. Abramovitz, I’m guessing she loved him dearly and didn’t mind taking care of him after his accident.

Jocelyn, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to give two single shits about the man.

When we reach the main level, Augusta bolts for the garden without warning. She’s barefoot with long-forgotten heels, on a war path, and too fast for Bernard and me as we chase her through the solarium. She bursts onto the terrace, her gaze scanning the crowd for Jocelyn.

Emilio climbs the steps, concerned etched across his brow. "Querida, what's going on?"

"Not, now."

"I want to help you," he says.

"Not now, Emilio!"

Augusta finally spots her sister and takes off again, shouting her name. Meanwhile, Bernard is barking orders in his walkie-talkie about protecting the White Dove, which I assume is code for Augusta. The three of us hurry after her, and the guests part like the sea, giving the woman space to stomp up to her sister. They stare, holding their champagne glasses, unsure of the sudden outburst from their hostess, who has black mascara running down her cheeks and is wild with rage.

“Jocelyn!” she shouts, and her little sister finally breaks away from conversing with Rohan, unamused.

“What, Augusta?”

“What do you mean what!?”

“You might want to lower your voice,” Jocelyn fakes a smile, her eyes darting across their guests as she whispers, “You’re making a scene.”

“No, this is making a scene!?” Augusta roars and shakes her sister so hard that Jocelyn’s blonde hair whips back and forth from the force. “What is the matter with you? Our father? How could you do this!”

The boss has officially abandoned any pleasantries as their guests stare at her like she’s insane.

“Let go of me!” Jocelyn screams, and Kay steps in to pry her loose, prompting Bernard to get in there too.

But the Sisters are locked like rams, gripping onto chucks of blonde weave.

Each security team closes in on us, forming a circle of men dressed in black while guests watch the shitshow. Kay and Bernard manage to yank them apart, but Augusta is too far in orbit with her wrath that she makes a final blow by striking Jocelyn across the cheek. The slap is so loud there’s a rupture in the air amid the silence that has consumed the crowd, and scarlet fingerprints are imprinted on Jocelyn's flesh.

Everyone gasps.

"Do it now!" Jocelyn yells.

I furrow my brows. Do what now? Then, a sharp screech like a firecracker goes off, and something whizzes past my ear.

One moment, Augusta is shouting in Jocelyn’s face, with Bernard trying his best to haul her away like she’s a rabid dog. The next moment, a bullet pierces her head and explodes on the other side, sending chunks of brain matter everywhere.

Holy fuck.