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He stalked farther through the secret hallways that outlined the major parts of the club. Had Frankie known? He’d been getting ready to meet her—why the fuck wouldn’t she warn him?
He ignored the groans in his limbs until, with a stumble, his leg gave way beneath him just outside a fuck room. The muffled gr
oans and moans of people screwing on the opposite side of the wall wept through the plaster. He grabbed the wall so he wouldn’t fall, hair falling over his face as he breathed to steady his heartbeat.
“Fuck,” Anteros said aloud. Anyone on the other side would hear him, but they wouldn’t think it was a man behind a wall, they’d think it was someone in another room. The hallways were old, which meant as someone stepped behind him, he heard the floorboard groan. He turned around in time to see Crazy A approaching. He might not have been as injured as Anteros, but he was bleeding. He was hurt. Still, his face was twisted in a grin.
Crazy A’s eyes casually traveled down his chest. They stayed there, a mocking, cocksure glint in them that shouldn’t have been there after a bomb had just gone off. Anteros had half a second to be pissed at his demeanor before it hit him.
Fuck.
He was looking directly at the messy, carved F—the letter that was now visible because his shirt had nearly been blown in two. Anteros clenched the visible wooden studs until splinters pierced his palm, working out his next move. Crazy A let out a noise halfway between a scoff and a laugh then attempted to walk away without another word. Anteros thrust a hand out, gripping him by the arm.
“We’re going to solve this shit, right here, right now.”
“I thought you were changing, turns out you were just getting better at hiding.” Crazy A put his hand over Anteros’s and shoved it off. In the same instant, Anteros stepped in front of Crazy A, blocking his exit.
“If you think I want to fuck that slave—especially after today—or that I…” Anteros paused, pretending he was disgusted even saying the word. “Or that I somehow fucking love her, then you really are crazy.” He punctuated the lie by alluding to the reason behind Crazy A’s nickname.
For a moment it seemed Crazy A was second-guessing his own reasoning, but then he regained his footing and hissed, “You wear her fucking brand. The rest of the Wolves were too busy fretting over you like nervous mothers to notice, but not me, Anteros. You can’t hide this from me.”
The hallway was almost entirely devoid of light, making Crazy A and Anteros monochrome. Their skin washed out into gray and their eyes became haunting white orbs, their teeth too white.
“You think I want to wear this?” Anteros asked, thumbing to the F. “Like some goddamn pussy?” Truthfully, Anteros loved it, but the lie had come easily because with each lie, he shielded Frankie from Crazy A. “You’re projecting—you’ve been projecting for months,” Anteros continued. This was the only way to get Crazy A off her back. He ignored the voice in his head that said it kept his lie alive, let him stay in his world longer.
“You didn’t kill her,” Crazy A pointed out.
“She fucking escaped.” Anteros stepped to Crazy A, curling his fingers into the Wolf’s soot-covered shirt and pushing him hard into the wall. Plaster fell, hitting them both in the head as a woman behind the walls reached a muffled, fake orgasm.
Crazy A craned his neck, inching closer to Anteros until their noses nearly touched. “You had plenty of time before then.”
Anteros tightened his grip, making the fabric at his fingers twist. The injuries he’d sustained from the bomb protested, but Anteros wouldn’t let Crazy A see any weakness. Crazy A’s glare narrowed, daring him to do something. The temptation to take that dare was strong, but instead Anteros exhaled through his nose and stepped off.
“I fucked up one time. Look”—he went to the same side of the wall as Crazy A, leaned against it so their shoulders touched—“I don’t want this bitch alive any more than you do. I want her dead. I’m sick of the flyers. Prince, princess, who the fuck cares? I made this Family.”
Anteros hoped his lies were landing, hoped he was mollifying the rabid dog that was Crazy A. When Crazy A was on his side, he was one of the biggest weapons in his arsenal. If he was loose…the nickname started to make sense. Lately the dog had begun biting Anteros’s wrist.
Neither said anything for a bit. The wall behind them knocked as two people fucked—two men now, it sounded like, and Crazy A shifted uncomfortably. When more plaster fell as the men pounded harder, he stood up and moved to the opposite side.
Just as Anteros was beginning to think he was out of options for dealing with Crazy A, an idea came to him. It would be risky, but then sitting around and hoping Crazy A believed his lies risked having to deal with a rabid and out of control enemy. With everything going on, he didn’t need to add that shit to his plate.
“We’ve been focusing on Lucia and the symptoms of the war too much,” Anteros said. “I want you to end the disease. Find Francesca Notte and kill her.”
Crazy A lifted his head, looking at Anteros with interest. “No easy feat. She’s guarded twenty-four seven in that castle they call a club.”
“You can do it,” Anteros said. It grew quiet, only muffled sounds of pleasure able to be heard. Crazy A’s eyes slimmed almost imperceptibly and just as Anteros wondered if his deception had taken root, the Wolf nodded slowly.
Without another word, Crazy A stood off the wall and walked away. Anteros watched him disappear down the hallway like a ghost, unsure if he’d really swallowed the lie, but at least certain he was going to play along. That would have to suffice.
After the hellish day, all Anteros wanted to do was take a fucking shower and sleep off his injuries. Instead, he limped over to the side of the club where Nikolai slept and pushed his door open. The room was empty. The linens on Nikolai’s bed were smooth, the corners tight as if it hadn’t been slept in.
Anteros propped himself against the doorframe and checked his watch, cracked from the explosion. It was almost three in the morning. As he was about to leave and have the Wolves search for Nikolai, the boy appeared.
“Where the fuck were you?” he asked as Nikolai came into the room. Sweat misted his brow like he’d been running.
“Checking into things for the bomb,” Nikolai said, wiping his forehead. The motion streaked char across his face; uneven, distressed lines of black. Anteros zeroed in on them, remembering what Pretty Boy had said about Nikolai being away from the explosion.
“Why are you covered in soot?” Anteros asked.
