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SIX
Xander
My hands shake as I lead Bianca up the steps into Bitterwood Prep. She did it—my girl fucking did it. I should be proud and elated. Instead, I’m numb inside from the horror of the reality of what happened. Windsor told me his plan days ago, showing me pictures and detailed maps, but it seemed so... surreal. Even though I knew the nightmares to come, I still couldn’t completely wrap my head around their inevitability—nor did I think Windsor had the balls to go through with it.
Until I saw the first dirty and bleeding student climb up those stairs.
A stronger man would have watched, but I’m not him. Only when another student made their final ascent up the bloodied, marble steps did I peek out to see who it might be. Every time, I turned away, disappointed and revolted. I was losing hope until I sawher—not Bianca—but the golden haired angel from before.Remington.I’d scoff at her name, but it fits her so perfectly, a little spitfire who somehow managed to survive. It wasn’t until after I spotted her that Bianca came into view.
My world narrowed into that moment in time, and I held my hand out to the woman who held my heart, relieved she was alive. Seeing Bianca helped me regain my mental footing—until I glanced at Ms. Radcliffe. If looks could kill, I would’ve been deader than most of the students beyond the fence, but I welcome Remington’s animosity. I want—need—her hatred because I can’t offer her anything more than that.
“Are you alright?” I whisper into Bianca’s ear as she winces, walking over the threshold into the mansion.
“No.” Her answer is cold, honest, and succinct. I’m not surprised by it as Bianca is extremely candid. What astonishes me is her lack of questions. If I were her, my back would be against the wall, and I would be demanding to know what the fuck was going on. Behind us, I hear a scuffle, and I turn, barely seeing over my shoulder as Remington limps in on her left leg. Bianca also sneaks a look, her nostrils flaring while she silently fumes. I’ve known her long enough to know she’s pissed at the other girl.
“What happened?” Bianca shakes her head, but I grab her arms, lightly applying pressure. “Tell me what happened!”
She cowers a bit under my command, and I feel like a lout for forcing the issue, but Bianca steels her spine and answers loud enough for Remington to hear. “Sheleft me—even when I begged for help!”
Remington appears startled at the accusation, guilt flooding her face before she shuts down her emotions and thoughts. “I did what I had to do.” The flatness in her tone tells me she’s a survivor, but it’s come at the cost of a piece of her soul. She might have left Bianca, but it’s not something she’s proud of.
“No matter, you’re both here safe and sound.”
“No thanks to you!” Remington sneers in my direction, and Bianca looks at me quizzically. “I saw you! You were in my room, sticking a needle into my arm. You drugged me and brought me to this hellhole!”
Bianca’s lips part and she inhales sharply as she looks from Remington to me. “Is this true?”
I don’t answer Bianca immediately. Sighing, I twist away, knowing this moment would eventually come when I would have to look her in the face and admit I’m part of this nightmare. “Yes.” Her brown eyes widen as if she can’t believe what she’s heard, and my heart fucking shatters. “Your life wasn’t the only one at risk.”
Bianca’s smart enough to know I don’t mean my own life—I don’t give two fucks about it—but there are other people that I love like her who I’m not willing to see tortured and murdered because I didn’t go along with Windsor’s plan. There was no guarantee Bianca would make it to the mansion, but like Remington, she’s fierce and underestimated. She pulls away from me like I’m a stranger, and maybe I am. Maybe the man she thought she knew was a lie—a true gentleman, the most mythical creature of all—and now she sees the monster I really am.
The monster I’ve always been.
I soften my voice and reach for Bianca. “Would you like me to help you into the theater room?”
She jerks away before I can touch her. “I think I can manage just fine.” Even though the temperature is well into the eighties, I swear frost tinges the air between us. Bianca sweeps away, disguising her pain better than Remington. Or perhaps the angel is injured more. Either way, I despise the uncomfortable feeling of guilt that weighs down my shoulders until I stagger forward a step. Straightening, I stare into Remington’s crystal blue eyes, knowing I can’t show any weakness in this place—especially to her.
“Not going to offer to help me?” Her question is innocent enough, but I hear the poisoned barb underneath.
“I think you can manage just fine,” I echo Bianca, earning a deadly glare from Remington.
“Indeed, I can.” With this, she limps in after Bianca, and I rub at my chest where my heart constricts painfully against the guilt. I might be fucked in the head and have certain… sexual proclivities that most women can’t begin to understand, or even handle, but I’m not a murderer. My demons ride my back hard, but they don’t haunt me.
Yet.
Windsor is tying my hands and making it so even I can’t bear to look at my own reflection.
When I enter the opulent theater room serving as the school’s auditorium, I’m surprised to find the space evenly divided between girls and boys. It’s an interesting revelation considering the women who run in the upper echelon of wealth are rarely cultivated into being anything more than “pretty,” but these girls are resilient. Perhaps they understand even better how to stay afloat after being raised in their own sexist worlds.
I march down the center aisle covered in plush, red velvet, refusing to make eye contact with any of the students—but I feel Bianca's and Remington’s presence. I want to turn back and make sure that they're alright, ensure they're settled in, and the bleeding on Remington’s leg has staunched... But I can’t. It takes every ounce of self-control to keep walking. Stepping up onto the small stage, I quickly duck behind a curtain, out of everyone’s shocked and angry stares.
No one in this room will ever understand what I’ve sacrificed to keep my loved ones alive—just like I’ll never understand the trauma they’ve been through.
Shaking my head, I focus on my task. It's my job to present the students with their revised orientation. Almost nothing explained back at Oakwood Prep in California pertains to this new hell existing within the hallowed walls of Bitterwood deep in South America. I exit stage left where a small computer is set up, waiting for me to do as Windsor commanded. Following his instructions, I tap a few keys, and the curtains slowly part to display a giant blank screen. Clicking on the desired presentation, I glance up at the screen and wonder what we'll see. Although most of the evening has been orchestrated, the outcome is still a surprise to me.
From the corner of my eye, I see the screen flicker to life. The subsequent gasp of the students in the room tells me what’s displayed is not something I'm going to like. I crane forward to look but stay hidden behind the dark shadow of the velvety drape. The dark screen is black lit with green, telling me that what I'm looking at is night vision. Of course, Windsor filmed everything that happened out there with the most high tech gear known to man.
The camera flips through the various traps that were set up in the grounds, showing footage that recaps what happened to some of the students in the room now. I wonder how they feel watching themselves nearly die, watching themselves scream, cry, and struggle.Do they feel victorious or bereft? Do they wish they hadn't survived knowing, not knowing what's to come?I cross my arms over my chest and pinch my inner bicep hard when I see Remington turn away from Bianca as she slides back into the pit.
