Page 44 of Cry Madness

Once he’s gone, the door closes behind him, and Roman lifts a single brow at me. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?”

I slap my palms on his pristine desk, leaning toward him. “I need you to find someone.”

His other lifts. “Any person in particular, or some poor random soul?”

“This isn’t a game, Roman,” I snarl as I push away from the desk. Pacing, I cut right to the point. “Alice had a stalker while she was at Krobes.”

Roman’s shoulders are squared, and that smarmy expression instantly shifts to one of concern. “Explain what you mean by a stalker.”

“The word is pretty fucking self-explanatory,” I snap. “But I’ll break it down for you. Some jerkoff, soon to be a dead man, stalked her and terrorized her. This prick scared the living shit out of her so bad he’s the reason she came home.”

A muscle tics in Roman’s jaw. His upper lip twitches, lifting in a vicious snarl, but his rare show of emotion is fleeting, his expression settling back into chilling stoicism. “Tell me everything.”

Sometimes I forget Alice spent about as much time at McQueen Manor as she did at Tiger Lily. Roman watched her grow up and treated her like a third daughter. I suppose that’s why—for that split second—he wasn’t the ruthless businessman who practically rules Wonderland—and does it with an iron fist. For one split second, he was a father worried about his daughter’s best friend.

I share the details that Alice told me, whipping myself back into a nasty temper. My imagination is running absolutely wild, and my brain feels picked apart, with the jagged pieces put back together wrong. I need to hurt the man. I need to hurt him until I murder him.

And then I’m going to piss all over his fucking corpse.

“I’ll do this for Alice, of course, but I want something from you.”

“Of course you do.” Because every-fucking-thing with Roman is a quid pro quo.

He reclines against the back of his chair, a cruel sovereign on a tarnished throne. “I want confirmation of his death.”

Good trade. “I’ll bring you his heart on a fucking plate.”

Exhaling, Roman flares his nostrils before demanding, “So, who is this…future dead thing…who earned himself an unmarked grave?”

“Rook Knavish,” I spit out the name, hating how it feels skidding off my tongue.

Pursing his lips, Roman nods, as if digesting a revolting meal. “I’ll tell you when he’s found.” Then, as I’m leaving, he says, “Maddox, one other thing.”

With a roll of my eyes, I stop and spin. “What, Roman? What other thing, Roman?”

“The gentleman you so rudely interrupted when you barged in here?”

“What about him?” I ask, shrugging.

Roman leans forward and clasps his hands, laying them on the desk. “Alice isn’t the only woman who has, unfortunately, experienced…misfortune…at a man’s hands. Virgil Adaway raped William Zanders’s daughter. My dear friend would be most appreciative if Virgil sustained a fatal happenstance.”

The way Roman sprinkles a topic with ten-cent words.

Misfortune. Happenstance.

How fucking pretentious. But it’s whatever.

“Not a problem,” I tell him. “Just tell me where, when, and how messy you want us to make Virgil’sfatal happenstance.”

Because March and I work best as a team.

“Messy enough that the next man who gets it in his head to harm a woman in Wonderland, he’ll remember Adaway’s tragic accident.”

So, he wants it gross. Awesome. I’ve never murdered a rapist before. “Consider it done.”

Trust and believe I’m going to have a damn fine time making that nasty motherfucker regrets every breath he’s ever taken.

FIFTEEN