HUNTER

I know who the Holy Murderer is.

The Campus Killer. The criminal Anise wanted Jude to find.

I know who she is, and I know she's a copycat.

I did kill the Campus Killer that day, when I stumbled into the alley with bloody hands and discovered there are 100 floors in the Underground.

But this—her—she is a fake.

An imitation.

"Why?" I ask Sylvie Beck.

"Because I saw what the real killer was doing, and it was justice," she seethes. "Those whores didn't deserve the chance to—"

I slit her throat.

Her head falls back. One problem solved.

The next—Lacy and Kiara.

I have a flight, borrowing Angel's private jet, in one hour. Which leaves the matter of my sister to deal with before I go.

Because, knowing her, she will take Lacy and Kiara when I am farthest. When it is too late.

So as I leave Sylvie's body in the Crescent Sorority House and I make my way to the Underground, thinking of how Falcone and Conti's wedding is in only days, I can't help but again of Jude's mom.

There is something off about this.

I'm a chess player. I have to be three—four—five steps ahead of the game at all times, and I know I'm missing something.

A vital piece of information. The key to this—everything.

I know what Jude's mother looks like. And as much as I have been trying to deny it, I know I saw her.

It just doesn't make sense.

Why would she be in a car with people trying to kill her daughter?

And if she is working with the Yakuza, how did she accept the plan to kidnap Jude and use her as a hostage?

The most pressing question, though, is—Why did she fake her death?

As long as I don't know the answers to these questions, I am losing the game.

And since I became Gamemaster, there is one true thing about playing with me: I always win.

Once I am in the Underground, Mikayla falls into step with me.

"I hear Pierce took Jude," she says.

"I don't know how you heard that," I say, though I am impressed that she knows this much.

"I want to come."

"It's too dangerous," I growl, pressing the button to the elevator that will take me straight to Anise.

"I want to come," she insists. "Jude is my friend and Pierce is my cousin."

"I'm sorry you're related to her," I say. "But you're not coming."

The doors open on the 25th floor, and Gianina is standing there, eyes narrowed on us—as though she just ran down here in order to get on the same elevator.

"What's that?" she says. "The scent of a completely outrageous and deathly plan? Count me in."

"No!" I snarl. "Neither of you are coming."

"Yes, we are," Mikayla presses. "You don't have to do this alone, Hunter. And what about when Elijah backstabs you?"

I've already prepared for that. "He won't do that until we both have what we want."

"And what about after?" Mikayla says. "How will you defend yourself? Do you even know what the state of Jude will be? Because Pierce is my cousin, and if she is in charge, Jude won't even be able to walk."

The fury that consumes me—thinking of Jude incapable of walking—is sudden, bright, and blinding. My vision turns red.

The only person allowed to make Jude incapable of walking is me.

And for very different reasons.

"We can help you," Gianina says, pursing her red mouth. "You know it."

I do. But . . . "It's still too dangerous," I repeat.

"And we're okay with that. We're willing to risk our lives for this!"

Mikayla turns to Gianina, and there is a light in her eyes that is almost . . . appreciative. Lingering on Gianina's full lips. I wonder if she is really as straight as she claims to be.

"Let's do this," Mikayla says fiercely. "And while we're at it . . . you have a plan, don't you?"

About the sex trafficking ring.

"Yes," I say, my mind racing.

"Then why not do it now? Why not bring them all down when they're least expecting it?"

"That will amplify the danger part by at least one hundred percent," I snap.

"And if we all die anyway . . . why not? Why not free them now? If we get killed, this secret will go to the grave with us. We can't let that happen."

The elevator door opens onto Anise's floor.

Gianina and Mikayla are still both looking at me. Waiting.

And . . . it's true. If we die now, if I die now, saving Jude—the secret will die with us.

It's my responsibility to make sure that doesn't happen.

"Okay," I say. "Let's do this."

I step off the elevator, and I prepare myself for the final phase of this plan.

Killing Anise.

Except somebody has beat me to it.

When I knock on the door of Anise's office, I hear no sound. No noise. No purr of her voice, saying, Come in, sister.

My palm flattens against the door. Pushing it.

My sister is sitting in her desk chair, and it faces the simulated window. Clouds float past against a red evening sky.

"Anise?"

She doesn't move. I see her head of silky chestnut hair, her hands laid against the sides of the chair.

"Anise?" I try again, stepping slowly towards her.

The desk chair still doesn't move.

I am not foolish enough to think she is sleeping.

When I spin the chair towards me, I see my sister's mouth is full of blood.

There is a gun, slacken in her grip.

And a note, resting on her lap.

I am also not foolish enough to believe this is a suicide.

But somebody wants me to believe it is.

Who? I think, staring at the tangled mass of bone and flesh and blood—the ruin of my sister's face. Someone shot her head, put a gun in her hand, and wrote a note.

Why a suicide? Why not just frame it as a murder?

Because this is a game, I think. This is a game and I am being played.

If Anise is dead, I am the Alpha.

"I'm going to Sicily," I tell Tommy.

I do not tell him Anise is dead. I tell no one Anise is dead.

It is not the time to grieve.

"There is one thing I want you to do," I say.

"Anything," Tommy whispers.

He is not his usual rambling self. There is something solemn, serious about his face. Even with Lacy and Kiara, grabbing at his hands, he cannot muster it in himself to seem okay.

None of us are okay.

"Free everyone," I say. "Free the bottom fifty floors. Let all the girls go. And kill—kill any of the men down there you need to. I don't care."

"Won't Anise—"

"Don't worry about Anise," I say. "Just free all of those girls."

"You're—you're coming back, aren't you?"

"Yes," I say quietly. "I am. But I don't know how long it will be, and we have precious time now to let those girls free."

"Okay," Tommy says, ashen.

"And you girls," I say, kneeling down. I can't pry the smile off my face at the sight of them. "I need you two to take care of Tommy, can you do that?"

"No," says Lacy fiercely. "I want to come with you."

"So do I!" Kiara says.

"No, no. Neither of you can come. This job is more important."

Lacy snarls, "I'm nine. Not stupid."

I wince at that once—she's right.

"Listen, the truth is that if anything were to happen to either of you . . . I would never forgive myself. You have to stay here and be safe."

"But you told us to be brave. Being safe isn't brave."

"Sometimes you have to choose," I say softly. "And I'm choosing for you."

Before they can protest, I stand up again. But Kiara doesn't let me go so easily—she launches herself into my arms, crawling like a monkey onto my shoulders.

"Mom, please," she whispers into my ear.

Tommy finally believes me—once I told him about the sex trafficking ring, he understood that these girls have never had a home, a family, or anyone to truly love. They have been hurt more badly than either of us can ever imagine.

And I understand it—their attachment to me. The first person who ever showed them real kindness, who ever cared for them.

So when I hear Mom, my heart only softens.

"I love you, Kiara," I whisper. "I love you, and be safe."

"I want to be with you!" she says. "Not safe."

"Lacy understands, don't you?" I say. "Lacy wants you to be safe, too. Lacy will take care of you, and you take care of Tommy. How does that sound?"

"Not good," Kiara wails, clinging even tighter to me.

When I finally manage to peel her off my shoulders, she is still screaming. "Come back, Mom! Don't leave, don't leave, don't—"

I close the door to the room. Breathing hard.

I never expected to love either of those two girls so much.

I never expected being afraid.

Quickly, I text Tommy the location of the private plane, the coordinates for the Harbor and the time it takes to get to Sicily. Because you never know just when something unexpected will happen.

And if anything happens to me . . . Tommy will become the Alpha.

I meet Angel, Cadenza, Mikayla, Gianina and Elijah at the warehouse.

Once we are all inside the plane, we go over the plan. 100K in exchange for the four hostages.

At one point, Elijah asks, "Where's Anise?"

I only say, "She isn't coming."

It is useful—short, simple sentences. Brooking no room for argument.

He doesn't question me, but I see Mikayla's questioning glance. She and Gianina know me too well to have fallen for that curt excuse.

Either way, neither of them question it.

The plane ride is long—too long for me to wait.

I think of Jude the entire time. Mikayla said, What if she's not capable of walking? And that is something I didn't think of.

If Jude is hurt, I'll burn those sick sons of bitches to the ground. I'll douse them in gasoline myself and flick the match. I'll watch them shrivel.

If a single one of them laid a hand on her, they are dead.

And the growing possibility—the knowledge that they well and truly must have—is what sickens me. Forcing me to clench my fingers until my knuckles whiten.

"Relax, Hunter," Gianina says softly, when the others are out of earshot. "Jude will be okay. She has to be. She's a fighter."

I know. I know she's a goddamn fighter. And she is probably provoking the shit out of the Yakuza—I can only imagine.

"Yes," I say tightly. "I'm sure she'll be fine."

>>>

God, I sure love irony.

From the moon and back,
Sarai