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I held up my hands. “Look at me, I’m still shaking. Hearing him scream and beg like that, I pray he felt even a fraction of the pain, fear, and humiliation Winter felt the night he and his friends assaulted her and posted it for all the world to see.”
“All the world is going to see this, darling.” Rafael held up his phone, flashing a video of Chicken Owen dangling from the ceiling. “Two thousand views in an hour.”
I laughed—a cruel, evil, delicious sound. I hope you’re watching this where you are, Winter, and that the angels are giggling with you, pointing out his minuscule package.
“I’m going to watch this every night before I go to bed and drift off into blissful, peaceful dreams.” I squealed, half jumping out of my skin. I took back everything I said about the Rogues out loud and in my head. They were the best men I ever have or ever will meet. “Is that why you guys do this? Getting paid to make bastards like Owen pay? Does it feel like this every time?”
Rafael smiled right back. “Feels even better, love. We went easy on him the first round. It only gets worse from here.”
A literal shiver went up my spine. That was the most incredible thing a man had ever said to me.
“Yes, yes, and yes.” I grasped Rafael’s hands. “Your whole plan. Your weapons, your resources, your strength needed to hang a muscled jock from the ceiling—I want all of it. Let’s do it.”
“Slow down, Cloud Girl.” Rafael snaked around my waist, holding me to him like the night we danced. “If you want to be one of the Rogues, you’ve got to play by our rules.”
My smile faded. “What does that mean?”
“It means Thasher doesn’t have a clue who put him up there or how. There’s not a single camera that recorded us, or a person who can say we had beef with the guy. We weren’t even there while they pelted the sobbing piñata. We don’t get caught, act recklessly, or make a move that hasn’t been planned out from every angle.
“That’s easy when it’s all about the money. Keeping your feelings out of it is impossible for you.”
I swallowed tightly. Of course it was impossible. My rage was the only thing getting me out of bed in the morning. Without it, I’d slowly lose myself on the pillow beside Mom.
“We’re not asking you to approach this unemotionally,” Lucien spoke up. “And we’re not telling you that we’re in charge. You are, Luna. We’ll follow your lead on this one—”
“—but you have to let us do what we do,” Wilder continued. “You looking to get caught?”
I shook my head.
“Then trust us. When we say we have to pull back or something won’t work, swear that you’ll listen.”
“I will,” I said easily.
“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.” Rafael probed me through hooded eyes. “If we stumble on Thasher, chilling alone on another park bench, and I say right then isn’t the time for a... shave... will you be able to control yourself?”
“I can do it.” Saying it out loud, I knew I could. “This isn’t about me. It’s about Winter. I won’t do anything if it risks me not finishing what I came here to do.”
Rafael straightened. “That’s all we need to hear. Swing by the Gallery after classes. Behind Grayson Hall. Five o’clock.”
They filed off.
“Wait, that’s it? But I have forty-five minutes until class. That’s more than enough time to hear what else you’ve thought up for Owen.”
Rafael snorted. “Trust me, it’s not. Even if it was, domination is best discussed behind closed doors.”
“But—”
He switched on his music, strutting off with a sway in his step. Wilder sidestepped me with slitted eyes. Lucien bowed and kissed my fingers. Cato snapped and pressed his muzzle to my cheek. I wasn’t certain if that was a kiss goodbye, or a fond wish to bite the flesh on my face.
I hung around for a while, as if hoping they’d come back. I wasn’t too sure what to do with myself. Of all the things I imagined doing to Owen, they all included a secluded spot and a baseball bat. I never considered making his pain public. Letting the whole world see him for the small, mewling crap bag he was.
I didn’t consider it because I didn’t know how. The only things I had to my name were a monitored, and nearly depleted, bank account from my stepfather. A backpack with some self-defense gear. A Royal fiancé who couldn’t stand me. A Royal friend? who dumped a latte down my pants for refusing to end the fight, and a letter that spurred me on despite everything.
Just a taste of what the Royals could do, and the undercurrent of helplessness and loneliness was fading. I wasn’t alone, outnumbered, or outgunned. I was taking the fight to the Royals, and for the first time since I set foot on campus, I knew without a doubt, they’d lose.
