Page 40 of Barons of Decay (Royals of Forsyth University #10)

T imothy

I’ve inherited many things over the years.

My mother’s eyes and my father’s allergy to pollen.

The title of Baron in college, and later the role of King, when I murdered my cousin.

But the most valuable thing I’ve inherited was land.

My parents both died tragically, young, their lives extinguished in mere seconds when their vehicle was rammed off the road by an intoxicated driver.

That single act changed my future. I inherited what my father thought was a burden.

A useless tract of land right outside the Forsyth University campus.

A piece of land would become a building that rose into the Forsyth skyline, and ultimately, would become my true legacy.

Brick and stone, anchoring the Maddox name to the city.

I spared no expense, replicating the neo-Gothic architecture I’d seen in Europe.

I hired the best, wanting the feel of high-arched windows and intricately carved stonework.

There are two distinct towers with ornamental spires, turrets, and a steep, slate roof.

I didn’t just want a place to provide rest and retreat. I wanted the kind of place that knew how to keep secrets.

I stand behind the wide pane of my office window on the top floor, looking down at the street below. The city doesn’t sleep, it pulses, especially when the sun sets.

The door opens without a knock. Only one man walks into the King’s office like he owns the floor beneath his feet.

Another King. Simon.

My son’s best friend.

“You’re late.”

“And you’re paranoid.”

“Shouldn’t I be?” I ask. “Two girls taken from the south. One from the East. Another from yours, and of course, the Baroness. It’s not paranoia. It’s a pattern.”

Sy makes a noise low in his throat and settles into the leather chair across from my desk, those long legs that move with alarming quickness in the ring stretching out. “A pattern the police seem to think has stopped now that Ballsack has been arrested.”

He makes an imposing figure, with the tattoos and thick muscles. He’s not just strong, he’s smart.

Like his father.

I walk to the bar and pull out two glasses.

I’m not one for drinking, but this topic is easier to swallow with a bit of fuel.

“Or whoever is snatching those girls got spooked when Arianette escaped, and Knight got a hard-on for West End punk.” I pour a splash of whiskey into Sy’s glass and club soda into mine.

“A hard-on encouraged by a whore at the Velvet Hideaway,” he mutters.

“Yes, Augustine seems to have sway with Agent Knight.” There’s a connection between the Madam and the FBI agent. A client? A lover? Maybe just a friend? Whatever it is, she’s got his ear.

“Well, he locked up the wrong man. Ballsack is innocent.”

I hand him the drink and glance around the room, weighing whether I’m ready for this conversation. Simon’s practically family. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that family doesn’t always mean you’re on the same side. Especially when there’s so much on the line.

“I’m inclined to agree,” I tell him, walking around the desk. “Warren is nothing but a scapegoat.”

Unlike the outside of the hotel, my office is black-walled, like a tomb. There are no family photos. Just a single painting above the fireplace–a crowned stag pierced through the heart with three blades.

“You’re serious.” Sy’s surprise at my revelation quickly turns to anger. “Then why the hell aren’t you doing anything to get Ballsack out?!”

I take a deep breath. I’m still not used to dealing with the hot-headed tempers of the new Kings. They’re fueled by testosterone and lust. Drunk on newfound power. They don’t understand the precarious balance of being in this position. The nuance. Not fully.

“As you know, I come from a long line of hunters,” I say, settling into the chair across from the younger man.

“I know the woods–the terrain, the subtle signs most people overlook. A snapped twig. A strand of hair. Scuffed bark. But whoever’s hunting these girls…

they’re making themselves damn near impossible to track.

” I take another sip. “Hexley installed a device in Arianette the day she turned eighteen. It was removed while she was missing.”

Sy’s expression doesn’t change, other than the deepening of the line in his forehead. “I knew this,” he admits. “Ashby procured a video of the girl in the hospital. She’s…” as he searches for a word, my hackles start to rise, “...unreliable.”

Unreliable . Well, that’s one way to say it.

I open up the desk drawer and pull out a file.

Unmarked. Inside: photographs. Satellite printouts.

Medical records. Implant schematics. Pushing them over to Sy, I wait until he flips through them.

“As you can see, we can trace her movements from the exact moment she went missing on that street corner after dance class to a spot out in the forest.”

He studies a map carefully. “That looks very close to your land.”

“It is, but that area is vast, undeveloped, with rocky terrain. I’m not even sure how they would get out there. As you can see, the nearest road is miles away.”

“On foot?”

“Or…” I’m uneasy about revealing secrets, but Killian has ties to the Feds, and I need time.

“Or what, old man?” He shakes his head. “Spit it out.”

“Underground.”

The word hangs between us, the implications loaded. Only two active fraternities are aware of the depths of the tunnels that traverse under Forsyth. The Dukes and the Barons.

“Lavinia blew those up.”

“She blew some of them up. The ones Lionel had access to.” Lionel Lucia had been the leader of the Counts and the Duchess’ father.

He’d planted bombs underneath various points in the city–a threat used to keep all of us in line.

Lavinia, in an act of revenge, triggered the one beneath her father’s compound in North Side, eliminating him for good.

“I’ve had my Shadows securing entry and exit points, but the tunnels are far-reaching and not even I have access to all of them. ”

Particularly those running beneath the university or that stretch up in the forest.

“Have you told Knight that?”

I shake my head. “Not yet.”

“What the hell are you waiting for? Ballsack could be home right now.”

“I need time, Simon. I need the authorities to think they have their man while I do my own search.” A search I’m starting to suspect will lead to something bigger than a few missing girls. “But to do that I need you and the Princes, the two loudest about Warren’s innocence, on board.”

Sy leans forward, his elbows propped on his knees. The position makes his biceps strain at his black T-shirt, forcing the sleeves to rise. I take in the intricate artwork on his arm, the bruin, teeth bared. My son’s skillmanship. “What’s in this for you?”

“I want to find out who’s taking the girls.

Before they find a way into my house again.

Before another one of ours shows up gutted on a riverbank, or anyone else goes missing or worse, shows up dead.

” I swallow, adding, “But most of all, Simon, Death is my territory and someone is encroaching. Your girl, Laura, showing up dead like that… it shouldn’t happen. Not on my watch.”

Sy is quiet for a moment. Then he nods. “Alright. I’ll talk to Nick and Remy. Get their cooperation. I don’t think the Princes will have any issue. They’ve already been sniffing around Lex.”

“Because of his father.”

This isn’t the first round of missing and murdered women in Forsyth. Lex Ashby’s biological father earned the moniker, ‘The Forsyth Carver,’ for the terror he caused. Then there are the Princesses that were never heard or seen from again.

“Remind him of that when you tell them that I want access to Pace’s extensive feeds.”

“Fine.”

“Also, notify all three parties that there will be no more excluding me from your little meetings.” He has the decency to look guilty for that. “I want your cooperation with Knight’s requests. I want to know everything about Stella, and Laura, and every goddamn girl that’s gone missing.”

Sy stands, placing his empty glass on the desk. Then he softly asks, “The girl…the wedding… she’s part of this, isn’t she?”

“That’s a business arrangement, one I made for my son a long time ago.” I shrug. “I’m merely fulfilling an obligation.”

Remington has been released to live his life with the Dukes and Simon Perilini is able to give him what I never could–a real family. Arianette… she’s a means to an end.

Sy’s expression indicates he doesn’t believe me, but that was a battle I lost long ago. It’s not until he’s at the door that he stops and issues a warning, “Be careful, Maddox. You dig deep enough in Forsyth, you might not like what you find.”

I don’t relax until he shuts the door.

He has no fucking idea.

The fire’s already lit when I enter the library. We’re almost to Samhain, meaning the days are getting shorter, ushering in cooler temperatures.

This is my favorite room in the House of Night.

Probably my favorite room in all of the properties I hold.

The stained glass throws reds and greens across the floor and the leather chairs are buttery soft with age.

My desk, the same one every other Baron King has sat behind, stands near the far wall, a heavy black curtain draped behind it, hiding the details of my obsession.

Pushing back the curtain, I reveal the wall.

It’s covered in newspaper clippings, documents, and printed forms. All copies–the originals are stored safely elsewhere–but I prefer to see the crimes laid out like this, the threads of each story exposed.

People call these setups “murder boards,” and now that one girl’s confirmed dead, the term finally fits.