Page 162 of His Trick

“The cycle you put him in has ended. You killed him before he was ever truly living.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “He was weak.”

“Bullshit.” My voice cracked like a bitch. “He was drowning in your orders, your punishments. Every ‘contract’ you nailed into his coffin. You kept him in your damn chains because you needed a monster, and you knew he only wanted to be loved by you.”

“He was a monster the minute he was born. I can’t be judged for honing that darkness.”

“He was a kid,” I snapped. “A kid trying to survive you.”

Reginold’s eyes sharpened. “And you? What were you to him?”

I leaned forward, letting my fury bleed into every word.

“I was the only goddamn person in his life who didn’t use him.”

Silence.

Reginold finally spoke. “Ah, I see. You lost your precious lover. Well, if you’re here to punish me?—”

“Punish you?” I chuckled, but not with humor. “No. Punishment implies regret. Pain, hell, something human. You’re not human, and you haven’t been for a long time.”

His smile returned, small and reptilian. “And what do you want, boy?”

“Closure.”

He snorted. “You won’t find it here.”

“Interesting. I thought you’d say that, but actually your son already did.”

I reached into my jacket, pulling out the copy of Carrington’s note and the list of victims, sliding it through the slot in the glass at the bottom.

Reginold hesitated before picking it up. His eyes scanned the handwriting, noting it was his son’s, and something flickered across his face.

Not guilt, but fear.

“Hmmm…” he muttered, trying to clear his throat. “Soft to the very end, I see.”

I slammed my palm against the glass hard enough to rattle the bolts.

“He loved you,” I growled. “Despite everything you did. Despite the blood you forced onto his hands all those years, despite the torture, the orders, the threats, the assholes you had raping him—he still hoped you’d see him one day.”

Reginold looked up, unimpressed. “And what did he see in you, lover boy? Prince Charming?”

“No,” I said. “He saw someone who actually gave a damn about him. Someone that fucking saw him for him, not the tasks he could complete. You don’t even know him, do you?”

His silence was the answer.

I leaned in, lowering my voice to a lethal whisper.

“You lost the chance to know him. Not because he’s gone—but because in the end, he chose to bring you to the grave with him. When he wrote that letter, he gave peace to all your victims. He knew how to destroy you.”

Reginold clenched his jaw.

Ah.

There it fucking is.

The crack I’d been waiting for.