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“You did what you had to,” he says stiffly. “Just like we do. We all play our roles, and you were the only one with the clarity to plant that bug.” He looks at Wicker. “To keep us safe.”

“If anyone’s to blame, it’s me,” Wicker says, his mouth forming a tight, grim line. “One good night with her, and I let down my guard like some pussy-whipped little…” He pauses, like he’s trying to find the right word, his face screwing up when he does. “Prince.”

“She’s really fucking good at that,” Lex mutters.

“Or,” Wicker’s lip curves, “we’re all just super deprived and seeking the kind of attention a woman like Verity has to give.”

“Shut the fuck up with this bullshit.” I glare at Wick, thrusting a finger in his direction. “She’s the one at fault here. We did what we had to. She and the Dukes needed to understand the sensitivity of the information they have. There was no other way to do it.”

Over at the bar, a puckslut wearing a jersey with my name on the back winks at me. For a moment, I wish I could walk over there and take it all out on her, but the covenants are still in place. I hold her gaze for a long moment before turning away.

“Neither of us are blaming you.” Lex shreds a napkin in his fingers. “We all knew this would be a shit-show the second Father gave us the title.”

“The Valentine’s Day party is tomorrow.” Wicker leans back, throwing his arm over the back of the booth. “We’ll be expected to play the part.”

“We play the part every fucking day,” I reply. “How is this any different?”

But even I know that’s bullshit. We didn’t just destroy Verity, we annihilated her. That cleansing wasn’t just a ritual. It wasn’t even what we do in the dungeon.

It was personal.

Lex sleepsin our hotel room.

He doesn’t need to–the sports medicine director puts the medics up in far calmer accommodations. But since Wicker and I are bunking together, it just makes sense that he fights through the celebration happening in the hallway and pushes through our door with a scowl.

“Fucking hate frat boys,” he mutters, passing me as he enters.

I point out, “You are a frat boy.”

Lex takes his shirt off with sharp, angry motions. “I don’t see why I had to come to this thing. I’m beyond patching up split lips and talking babies through their boo-boos.”

Wicker, who’s just waltzing out of the steamy bathroom, towel slung low on his hips, scoffs. “Would you rather be home?”

We all share a look.

Fuck no.

If it weren’t for the fact that Effie is alone in that godforsaken place, I’d say sayonara to the whole fucking island. But she is. All alone. In her cage.

“Whatever,” Lex says, stalking into the bathroom.

I flop onto the bed, sighing, and grab my phone from the nightstand. Navigating my app to the webcam in her cage, I only let myself relax when I see her wing twitch. “How long will this last?” I ask Wicker, keeping half of my attention on the screen.

He’s standing in front of the mirror above the little kitchenette, rubbing lotion onto his face. He stops to inspect one of the yellowing bruises. “You’re referring to our sweet brother’s glowing mood?” He prods the bruise, blue eyes narrowing. “Should be gone soon. It’s not like he went on a bender. It was only a couple bumps.”

“You think he wants more?”

“No.” Wicker twists to meet my eye. “Iknowhe wants more.”

On the screen, Effie is preening her feathers. “Should we worry?”

“Yes,” he says, and then, putting down the lotion, “No.” He pauses, propping his palms on the counter. His shoulders curl into a dejected line. “Fuck, I don’t know. It seems like that’s all we do, anyway.” Twisting, he eyes my phone, dropping his towel. “You tracking her?”

“No. Effie,” I clarify, but as soon as Wicker flops onto the bed beside me, I pull up the tracking app, showing him the screen. “She still hasn’t left the island.”

He watches Verity’s little dot for a long moment, jaw hardening. “Show me.”

I falter. Mostly because I know it’ll just piss him off to see her face, but also because I haven’t been able to bring myself to look at her yet, and I’m not sure why. Because I want to hold the image of her, defeated and cum-soaked, at the forefront of my mind? Or is it because of this displeasure I feel, deep down in my gut, at the memory of it?