Page 41 of Endless Anger (Monsters Within #1)

ASHER

I watch Lucy’s ass swing from side to side as she stomps away from the quad.

Fuck, she’s hot when she’s mad at me. Or when she’s bossing me around. I can’t help but admire the way her short little black skirt hugs her hips, and her tall boots make her legs look miles long.

Getting them wrapped around my waist is all I’ve been able to think about since she rode my thigh the other morning.

Foxe drops into her now-empty chair, kicking his legs up on the table. He lets out a low whistle, popping another cookie into his mouth. “Boy, does she hate you.”

I shoot him a dirty look. “She does not hate me.”

“Sure seems like she does.” He cocks his head to the side, studying her retreat. “She looks good walking away from you too, huh?”

My arm lashes out, my fist connecting with his injured shoulder. He winces, losing balance for a split second. One of his cookies falls, and he groans.

“Look what you made me do!”

“Quit perving on your fucking relative , you cretin.”

“What? Is it my fault that our family won some sort of genetic lottery? Am I not allowed to say we’re beautiful?” He huffs, scooping up his cookie. “Besides, our moms are cousins. It’s not like we’re that closely related. I bet it wouldn’t even be illegal in some places if we fu?—”

Turning in my seat, I hike my foot and kick the back leg of his chair. It splinters and explodes, sending him sprawling onto the ground.

I know he’s fucking with me. His heart belongs elsewhere.

But the anger doesn’t rest.

“One of these days, you’re going to seriously maim me,” he groans, stretching out on the cobblestone. He lays his head back and stares at the overcast sky, grabbing cookie crumbs and pushing them between his lips.

“That is the hope.”

“Psychopath.” He looks at me, putting his chin to his chest. “Why’d you bring that box here with you anyway?”

I glance at my lap where the ornate wooden container sits, having already forgotten its presence because everything happened so quickly. Lucy going off on me was distracting in itself, though I wish she wasn’t such an issue.

My issue. Not hers. The fact that all I want to do is let her pin me to my mattress again is a problem , especially since there are actual things I’m supposed to be doing while I’m at Avernia.

Things I’ve been neglecting while trying to reinsert myself in Lucy’s life.

Clearly, it isn’t working.

And this box isn’t mine.

“Hello?” Foxe stands up, waving a hand in front of my face. “Can you focus on me for five seconds?”

“You asked a fucking question.”

“And then you immediately floated off on some Lulu-induced cloud, I’m sure.” He huffs, perching on the edge of the table.

“You’re being extra needy today.”

“I’m but a simple goldfish,” he croons, flipping his hair out of his face. “If you don’t pay enough attention to me, I’ll die.”

I narrow my eyes at him, absorbing how disheveled and tired he looks. I’m no stranger to an exhausted Foxe James—when on tour, the man works himself ragged, his dedication to music and performing unmatched—but there’s something off about him now.

The lack of direct eye contact, the overconsumption of sweets. I know I smelled alcohol on his breath not long after we came to town, but I hadn’t thought anything of it. Not enough to mention it, because that’s been our deal for years.

We don’t really talk about shit. Our fists have always been the driver of conversation between us.

Violence has always been my solution to everything. It’s why I wound up in the Primordial Forest the night Lucy’s roommate was murdered, trying to stop a wheel from turning—but I’d run out of time to execute my half-assed plan and went to find Lucy instead.

Now, I’m spending all my energy trying to win her over, and the wheel turns anyway, like it would have whether I showed up or not.

Sometimes the wheel turns because it’s the natural progression of things. The consequences of a person’s actions. Evolution manifesting.

A curse set in motion long before any of us here now were even born.

“Did something happen?” I ask Foxe.

He lifts a shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, you just seem?—”

“I’m fine,” he cuts in, kicking at me with the toe of an expensive loafer. “Don’t worry about it. This place is just kind of boring, and I think it’s getting to me. No biggie.”

Sliding off the table, he stretches his arms over his head. A few girls from a different line giggle among themselves when his shirt rides up, and he shoots them an easy, million-dollar smile.

He’s the picture of ease, but as he grabs his boxes of cookies, I can’t help the sense of dread that weighs like a lead balloon in my stomach.

When he leaves without another word, I shove all the cash from my pocket into the glass jar—a thousand or so dollars. Not as much as the shelter needs but better than nothing.

On my way out of the quad, I’m stopped by the smug, dark-haired fucker I ran into after my first class with Lucy. He grabs my shoulder again, halting me in my tracks.

“Anderson,” he greets with a curt nod, glancing down at my occupied hands. “Ah, reaching out to the far less fortunate, I see.”

I shrug out from his grip. “I like animals.”

“Oh no, I meant Lucy Wolfe. That shelter’s one she sponsors, right?

” He chuckles, shaking his head, and points to a fancy booth at the other end of the quad.

I see the redhead and the brunette from that same day and realize I don’t remember any of their fucking names.

“We’re down there if you ever feel like supporting a cause that isn’t doomed because of the person heading it. ”

My gaze narrows, suspicion clouding my vision. “You sure like talking about Lucy.”

His cheeks pinken slightly. “I don’t like talking about her. It’s just hard to be on campus and not have something to say. She’s fucking weird, man. You shouldn’t even bother trying to befriend her. No one’s ever succeeded.”

I inch forward a step. “How exactly is it that you tried?”

“Hey, man, don’t look at me like that. If you want to do her, she’s all yours. I tried a few years back, and she wasn’t into it. In fact, she tried to burn down the place we were in just to get away from me.”

“Pretty strong message from a pacifist.”

He snorts. “Please, is that what she’s telling people now? She’s a skilled liar, I’ll give her that.”

There’s a flash in my mind—the smell of smoke and the flickering of bright orange flames as they outgrow the little dive bar I’ve just set on fire.

I remember Lucy in that back room and how she wasn’t alone. A man was sitting on the sofa next to her, his hand touching her thigh.

Glancing at his arm, hanging limp at his side, I study one hand. The other is stuffed in his pants pocket, but I recognize the visible knuckles. That face.

The theta emblem on his jacket makes me even more suspicious .

When I meet his eyes again, I take a few seconds, cataloging him for any changes in pupil dilation or breathing. Anything that might suggest he remembers me.

He continues to stare blankly, his eyes bored.

But the boredom feels…almost practiced.

It’s too precise.

Tucking the glass jar under my arm, I extend my free hand, doing my best to plaster on a pleasant expression. Not my strongest suit, but my parents did spend a few years trying to coach me in case I decided to try for colleges that wanted to meet in person.

“What’d you say your name was again?”

The guy’s face screws up, but he takes my hand anyway. “Beckett,” he answers. “Beckett Dupont. President of the Curators, Aquarius, and fellow founding family member.”

“Ah. So that’s why you’re so invested in me.”

He squeezes my fingers twice before releasing.

“It’s a networking thing. Rarely do we ever have so many founding family members on campus as students and faculty, and since this is the first the Duponts have crossed over with Blackwaters and Andersons since your sister was a student, there’s a certain responsibility to make contact. Suss you out, so to speak.”

“Because you think I’m here to, what? Carry on my namesake’s supposed curse?”

“I don’t believe in the curse,” he tells me, casting a sideways look at his table.

“But there are a lot of Fury Hill residents who do. Something to do with botched sacrifices and hubris, I don’t know.

All I give a shit about is my Curators. We work too hard to keep a good, clean name for a bunch of age-old bullshit to fuck that up. ”

It’s a nice spiel, I suppose, albeit not compelling in the slightest. The Curators and Avernia are doing him no favors as far as storytelling goes.

Still, this is what I was looking for. How lucky that he seems to have simply fallen in my lap .

Lucky and far too coincidental.

“So what exactly do you want from me?”

Beckett rolls his shoulders, adjusting the book bag strapped across his chest. “How’d you like to join my ranks?”