Page 9

Boone was in the middle of a very hot dream when the pounding started. The heavy, rhythmic drumming was out of place, even if Payton did seem to be riding him to the beat. Only when it became too distracting to ignore did his brain disengage, dragging him from his sleep. He cracked his lids open, disgruntled. Dream Payton was gone and his dick was painfully hard. His mood soured.

The pounding hadn’t stopped. If anything, it was louder.

Someone was banging on his door.

He glanced blearily at the old school alarm clock on his bedside table, waiting for his vision to clear. When the numbers swam into focus, he groaned. It was five in the fucking morning. Who was beating on his door so early? It couldn’t be Payton. He would have just let himself back in. Boone had made sure he could come and go as he pleased before he’d sent him off.

He kicked off the covers with an aggravated groan, tugging on sweatpants he’d left on top of the hamper, then stomped to the front door to see what all the ruckus was about. His scowl deepened as he took in Park and Gift huddled on his metaphorical doorstep.

He scrubbed both hands over his face, his voice raspy from sleep as he warned, “If another one of your sexcapades has led to some kind of disaster, I swear to God, I’m booting you both out of the school.”

Gift shifted restlessly, his gaze constantly darting to Park but never making eye contact with Boone. He hadn’t seen the boy this nervous and fidgety in months.

Park’s expression was grim as he muttered, “Come with us.”

“What? Why? What’s happening?”

Boone hated the slippery feeling slithering around in his guts. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Why wouldn’t they just spit it out?

Park nudged Gift, who stumbled forward before catching himself. “It’s…Payton,” Gift finally mumbled. “I-I came back to our room a few minutes ago and…”

Boone’s brows knitted together, a cold sweat gathering at the base of his spine, pulse pounding in his ears as Gift sucked in breaths like he was at the finish line of a 10k. “And what?” Boone said, barely restraining his anger.

“Payton was in bed, like usual,” he said. “But…but…he’s covered in blood ,” Gift wailed, his distress radiating off him in waves. “It’s in his hair and on his face. Like someone beat him up or something.”

“What?” he said again, already body-checking his way between the two men. Park shoved him in the chest hard, but Boone wasn’t in the mood. He shoved back, growling when Park shoved him a second time. “Get the fuck out of my way, Chen.”

Park held firm to Boone’s broad shoulders, giving him a patient look. “You need to take a beat. At least put a fucking shirt on. We can’t have the fucking headmaster running around shirtless.” When Boone opened his mouth to tell him to fuck off, Park said, “Unless you want everyone talking?”

“Haven’t we had enough scandals lately?” Gift asked, then quickly sucked his bottom lip between his teeth to gnaw at it.

“Fuck,” Boone snapped.

He left them at the door, rushing back to his room. He yanked a black zip-front hoodie from a hanger with such force that it snapped in two, then jabbed his arms into it, zipping it just enough to hide that he wasn’t wearing anything beneath it. He was about to exit when he remembered his phone. Once it was in his pocket, he took off, darting around Park and Gift and heading to Payton. He didn’t look to see if they followed.

When the two caught up and started matching his strides, he asked, “Who else knows about this?”

“Just Drake,” Gift hurried to explain. “He’s watching over him until we get back. We didn’t know what to do. He’s not waking up, but he also seems to be breathing normally. It’s like he’s…sleeping?”

Boone felt like he was treading through quicksand. No matter how fast he walked, he couldn’t seem to close the distance between them. His thoughts were racing. How could this have happened so fast? Payton had just left him. Well, three hours ago. God, had Payton been lying there bleeding for three hours? Had someone attacked him while he slept? Did he fall and hit his head and not realize how bad the damage was? That didn’t make any sense.

Why wasn’t he waking up?

When they burst into the shared dorm, they found Drake sitting at the bottom edge of his own bed, staring across at Payton’s still form. The lights were on, giving Boone a terrifying glimpse at just how bad the damage was. Payton’s alabaster skin appeared chalky, and his wild curls were matted on his left side. Blood the color of rust had dried in sticky patches from his forehead to his chin. It was all on that same side, so it was clear the injury was hidden beneath his messy hair. He was shirtless, and the covers sat under his armpits, like he was a child who’d been tucked in tight by his parents.

Boone dropped to his knees beside the bed, cupping Payton’s uninjured cheek. His skin was cool to the touch. Was that a sign of blood loss?

“Payton.” He kept his tone sharp, hoping to anger him enough that he would open his eyes and tell Boone to fuck off.

When he received no reaction, he gently tapped the boy’s cheek, nudging his head slightly off center. Nothing. There was a pit in his stomach as he drew back to slap him a second time, hard enough to have the sound of skin on skin echoing in the large room.

Relief flooded him as Payton groaned, face contorting in pain or confusion, maybe both. He tried to bat Boone’s hand away. “Ow… no’…in…‘a…mood,” he managed. “Sleep. Need ‘eep.”

“Payton! Baby, talk to me… You gotta wake up now,” he said, shaking his shoulder a bit. He heard Gift’s gasp—likely at the term of endearment—but Boone didn’t care. He needed to know Payton was okay. “Please. Open your eyes for me, little monster.”

Payton made a sound that was something akin to a whimper, then whispered, “My ‘ead.” He tried to reach up, as if to touch the head wound hiding beneath his mess of hair. He seemed to tire halfway, his arm dropping back down.

“I need you to open your eyes,” Boone pleaded.

“‘avy,” was Payton’s only response.

Boone frowned, leaning closer. “What? Say it again?”

“‘avy,” he mumbled again, his eyelids fluttering like they sometimes did when people achieved REM sleep.

“Heavy?” Gift asked, his confusion written all over his face. “What’s heavy? Your head?”

Boone peeled back one of Payton’s lids, breathing a sigh of relief when his pupil contracted in the light.

“Drake, go get Archer and Mac,” Boone instructed. “Tell Archer to bring his med kit.”

Drake arched a thick brow. “You don’t want me to get the doctor?”

“He doesn’t get in until seven. Besides, he’ll just go running to the bureaucrats. I want to keep this quiet until we know what the hell is going on.”

Drake didn’t respond, just lurched to his feet and left the room. Boone watched him go. Maybe he should have told him to have Archer call the doctor early, but the man refused to live on campus and Boone knew he was reporting to the higher-ups about the stuff that went on in the school. He couldn’t keep this under wraps for long, but maybe just long enough to get a grip on what the fuck was happening. Besides, as long as Thomas and Molly knew, it would be fine. It was their program, after all. The government just funded it.

When he looked back down at Payton, his heart stopped as two solemn hazel eyes stared up at him. The greenish brown iris of the eye that had been closed now floated in a sea of blood red. He heard Gift’s breath hitch and knew he’d seen it, too. Someone had hit Payton with enough force to rupture the blood vessels in his eye.

Gift gasped. “Oh, my God. Your eye.”

Payton slowly looked back and forth between the two, then said, “Wha’ ‘appened?”

His voice was dry as dust.

Park, who had been hovering near the door, moved closer. “You tell us. How did you get hurt?”

Payton’s forehead furrowed, his gaze growing vacant, like he was checking out of the conversation or maybe trying to remember what happened. Payton’s eyes went wide. He gasped, rocketing into a sitting position so fast he startled both Boone and Gift, causing them to retreat slightly. Payton’s chalkish pallor turned an alarming shade of green right before Boone’s eyes.

Fuck.

He had just enough time to grab the small trash can beside him and shove it beneath Payton’s face before the boy lost the contents of his stomach. Luckily, there didn’t seem to be much left in there. Boone rubbed his back with his free hand, keeping the other on the trash can.

When it seemed like there was nothing left to heave up, Payton took a few deep breaths before saying, “Someone hit me.” He furrowed his heavy brows again. “I think…”

“You think?” Park asked. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Payton closed his eyes, expression pinched. “Boone and I…” He trailed off, opening his eyes to give Boone a questioning look. Only after Boone nodded did he continue. “I left Boone’s room at…whatever time, one-thirty? Two? I think. I was heading back to my room but…something happened.”

“Something? Like what?” Gift asked, dropping to his knees on the other side of the bed.

“I heard what I thought was two people making out in the common room. I wasn’t going to stop but then—” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I-I don’t remember why I stopped.”

“You heard two people making out?” Gift asked. “Who? Did you see who it was?”

Boone saw the exact moment Payton’s memories flooded back in, his face ashen, his expression grim. “Navy…”

Gift’s lip curled in disgust. “What about Navy?”

Payton found Boone’s eyes with his own. “She’s dead.”

Alarm knifed through him at his definitive statement. “What?”

“She was lying on the floor in a puddle of blood.”

Boone looked to Park. “Go. Check the common room. If you see Drake with Archer and Mac, tell them to get Thomas and Molly on the line. I’m sure they’re going to want updates.”

Park gave a singular nod and turned on his heel, leaving quietly.

Fucking hell.

What was going on?

“How did you get back here?” Gift asked gently, stroking Payton’s ear on his non-injured side. “Did you walk?”

Payton shook his head, then groaned, looking at the trash can in his lap for a long moment like he might need it again. “I don’t remember,” he finally said. “I don’t remember anything.”

Boone looked to Gift, who blanched. “Like I said before, I was at Park’s until morning.”

“Was Drake here when you came in?” Boone asked.

“Yeah. But he sleeps with earplugs and an eye mask.” At Boone’s blank stare, Gift continued nervously, “He says Payton and I play around too much. He’s pretty dead to the world when he sleeps.”

The opening of the door drew everyone’s attention, temporarily cutting off the conversation. Archer entered with Park and Drake. Archer looked disheveled, his hair falling past his shoulders, wearing a pair of slightly too big sweatpants—likely Mac’s—and a Watch staff t-shirt.

“Dad and Molly want a debriefing twice a day until we figure this out.”

Gift jumped up when Archer came close, but he went around to Boone’s side of the bed and nudged him. Boone reluctantly stood to give Archer room. He pulled on thin gloves and attempted to access Payton’s wound beneath his matted hair.

When he couldn’t separate the locks, he took a bottle of clear liquid from his bag as well as a towel, holding the fabric to Payton’s forehead as he poured the liquid into his hair. Payton shivered.

Once his hair was saturated enough, Archer tried once more to separate it to view the wound below. Boone knew he found what he was looking for when he whistled under his breath. “Yeah, he got clocked hard. Something with a square edge?” He continued to look. “You’re gonna need a couple of staples, but there’s a pretty good chance you have a concussion. You should probably get a CT scan to ensure there isn’t a brain bleed.”

“I’m fine,” Payton muttered. “If I was going to die from a head injury, it would have happened already.”

Boone wasn’t sure that was true at all, but he was currently running through a dozen scenarios, trying to decide the best way to deal with this. After a moment, he walked to the farthest corner of the room, pulling his phone free. He called West first.

“‘lo?” came a creaky voice.

“It’s Boone. We got a big problem. I need you to wake up Suri. Have her and Pike keep everyone away from Peregrine pod’s common room. Sequester them in the dining hall and lock it down. I need you to go to security and pull all the footage from last night for all of Peregrine pod. I need to know who came and went out of that room after lights out. If you see anything suspicious, follow the breadcrumbs until you can give me an ID.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, sounding slightly more alert. Boone listened to the rustling of fabric as the man likely climbed out of bed. “But what the fuck’s going on? It’s not even six in the morning.”

Boone sighed. “Navy is dead. Or, at the very least, gravely injured. But Payton seemed pretty adamant she didn’t survive.”

West hesitated for a moment, then asked, “The girl who was grandstanding in the cafeteria last night? What do you mean Payton doesn’t think she survived? Are you saying Payton killed her?”

“No, of course not. It’s a long story.” Fuck. Remi. “But on that note, go get Remi, keep him with you. I have no idea if this shit is connected to that fucking video, but it’s safer to keep Remi with you and, honestly, we need the extra eyes, anyway.”

“Got it.” Boone was about to hang up when West said, “Hey…you know we’re going to have to report this up the chain of command, right?”

“Already on it,” Boone muttered, scrubbing his hand across his jaw. “Just…follow protocols.”

West groaned. “Roger that.”

Boone ended the call, then returned to Payton’s bed, taking Gift’s previous spot, watching as Archer pulled the supplies necessary to close Payton’s wound. As Archer’s fingers probed the wound, Payton hissed but didn’t protest, clinging to the trash can.

Gift was pacing now, chewing on his thumbnail. “Is Remi okay?”

“Remi was fine when I left him,” Drake said, his tone dripping with his trademark disinterest.

Boone was so focused on Payton, he hadn’t even noticed the man’s return. “What time was that?”

Drake shrugged. “Four or so?”

“In the morning?” Gift asked, his shock evident.

Drake gave him a flat stare. “You spend every night in your fiancé’s bed. Why are you acting so fucking scandalized?”

Gift gasped, his already wide eyes growing wider. “Are you saying—Are you saying you and Remi are?—”

Drake cut Gift off. “I’m not saying anything. We had some shit to work out. We worked it out. That’s all.”

“So, did you see Payton in bed when you came in?” Boone asked.

Drake nodded, glancing at Payton. “Yeah. I mean, I think it was him.”

“You think it was him?” Boone echoed.

Drake’s face contorted into a look of condescension. “Yeah, I think. It was dark. I saw a vaguely humanoid shape in his bed. Unlike these two, I’m not trying to bug the shit out of my roommates when I come home after hours. I just took my pants and shirt off and fell into bed. I didn’t even change. He looked down at his white undershirt and sweatpants with the word Princeton down the leg. I put these on when this one woke me up.” He pointed at Gift.

Gift nodded. “It’s true. He was in his underwear sprawled over the covers. I only noticed something was wrong with Payton because I was going to sneak in and cuddle like we usually do.”

Boone’s eyebrows went up, shoulders rolling back, as he looked between the two students. “You usually…cuddle?”

Drake laughed, harsh and mean. “You didn’t know? These two are in bed together any time you two leave them to their own devices. For a while, I thought they were fucking when I fell asleep at night.”

“What?” Boone muttered, turning to narrow his eyes at Payton.

Payton snorted out a laugh. “You sound so jealous right now. We just cuddle. Get over it. Park knows.”

“I’m not…jealous,” Boone muttered, glowering when Archer snickered. “I was just…clarifying.”

“Uh-huh,” Payton taunted.

“What were you doing in the hallways after hours?” Archer asked Payton, flicking a knowing gaze in Boone’s direction.

“Coming back from my…private tutoring session with the headmaster,” Payton said, a smirk pulling up one corner of his lip.

The smirk died as Archer pinched the wound closed and pressed the first of two staples into his scalp.

Archer’s grin didn’t fade. “Didn’t realize the headmaster gave private tutoring. What subject, exactly?”

“Headmaster does imply his qualifications in one subject in particular, but I’m guessing Payton’s head game is better,” Drake said.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Payton murmured.

“No, actually. Not at all,” Drake assured him. “You’re not my type.”

“No, you prefer pretty little boys with green eyes and no self-confidence,” Payton countered. “I’m guessing Remi’s head game is also satisfactory considering how often you stay with him in his room.”

Drake scoffed. “I stay in his room because his roommate stays in Luca’s room.”

“And what?” Payton purred. “The poor dear’s afraid of the dark?”

“Also, since when are you defending Remi’s modesty?” Gift asked. “You’ve been telling us since you got here how you’re just using him for sex. Now, suddenly, you don’t want us to get the wrong idea about him?”

“I just said I don’t stay in his room because of his dick-sucking skills, not that I haven’t tried them.” Drake gave him a flat smile. “Besides, at least I’m not fucking someone old enough to have been in a frat with my dad, unlike you two losers.”

Gift shot a middle finger in his direction. “At least they’re nice to us. You treat poor Remi like a hooker.”

“Sex worker,” Payton corrected softly.

“Yes, that,” Gift said, lifting his chin in defiance. “You’re so mean to him.”

Drake’s nostrils flared, jaw tensing a moment before he snarled, “Remi and I are none of your business.” When the others stared at him with interest, his mask of indifference dropped back into place. “Besides, I defended him last night right in front of you guys. Or have you already forgotten that?”

This time, it was Archer who glanced at the large blond psychopath. “Mm, that is very curious timing. Are you sure you weren’t in the common room last night, defending him some more?”

“You think if I killed someone—especially that Thumbelina-sized twat—anyone would ever know?” Drake asked, voice chilling. “I certainly wouldn’t do it at school. No, if I had killed her, it would be like she just”—he snapped his fingers—“disappeared.”

“Drake didn’t do it,” Payton managed, pain etched on his face as Archer placed another staple. “The person who killed her wasn’t as tall as Drake.”

“You saw them?” Boone asked.

Payton nodded, then shook his head. “I saw their height, their build, the knife in their hand. But they had a mask on. A creepy babydoll mask. Like the one they wear in that movie…” He closed his eyes, grimacing like thinking hurt.

Boone just wanted to hold him, but he knew he couldn’t, especially not in front of all these people. Guilt crushed his organs. If he had just insisted Payton stay last night, none of this would have happened to him.

“Movie?” Gift asked.

Payton nodded at the other boy. “The one we watched a few months ago.” At Gift’s furrowed brow, he clarified—sort of, “The night where we did the thing with Morgan and Dove, and Morgan was all sad about her ex-girlfriend ‘cause she looked like the chick in the movie?”

“There’s no way anyone would decipher this with those clues,” Archer said with a laugh.

Payton ignored him, eyes burrowing into Gift. “The movie with the people in the place, that one with the classic rock guy’s daughter. The guy who looks like everyone’s rich aunt. The cabin and the masks. You know the one,” Payton insisted.

“ The Strangers !” Gift cried, a triumphant expression on his face.

“I stand corrected,” Archer muttered.

“Wait,” Gift said. He pulled his phone free and typed for a minute before shoving the phone in Payton’s face. “Which mask?”

“That one,” he said, pointing to something Boone couldn’t see.

Gift turned the phone to the others. Boone stared at the plastic mask with its swirls of black hair on the top and sides and its chalky skin and simplistic features. It had a very old-fashioned look…just like the woman in the video. It was all connected, that much was certain. There was no way this was all coincidence.

“Did you notice anything when you were coming back to the room?” Boone asked, looking from Gift to Drake. “Either of you?”

“It was quiet, as usual,” Gift said, then frowned. “But I did see Justice.”

“Justice?” Boone asked. “Doing what?”

“Just going into her apartment. She had workout clothes on, so I just figured she was coming back from the gym,” Gift said.

Archer and Boone exchanged looks. Justice lived in workout clothes. Boone couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her in anything other than yoga pants and a tank top. She was always in the gym, always honing her skills. That was just the type of person she was. She said exercise was her antidepressant.

Payton shook his head. “There’s no way it was Justice I saw.”

“No?” Boone asked.

Payton started to shake his head, then stopped. “I don’t think it was, anyway…”

“You’re not certain?” Archer asked, cleaning up the mess he’d made at Payton’s bedside, then gently taking the trash can from him.

“I didn’t hear their voices. They were whispering. Navy wasn’t…” He trailed off, then dug his palms into his eyes. “Fuck. Why can’t I remember anything?”

“You witnessed a murder. It’s not that strange you don’t remember the minute details after someone smashed in your skull,” Archer said reasonably.

“I should at least be able to figure out if it was a man or woman, tall or short, large or small. They rushed right at me. But when I think of it, I just remember that mask and that fucking knife,” Payton said, his frustration bleeding into every word.

“Tell me about the knife,” Boone said.

“Serrated blade, steel, large enough for me to see it from across the room,” Payton explained.

“Was the hand holding it wearing gloves?” Archer asked.

Payton hesitated, eyes closing. “I don’t think so…maybe? Their sleeves were hiding their hands.”

Archer made an affirmative noise. “What kind of sleeves?”

“Like a sweatshirt or a hoodie. Gray. The fabric felt worn when I dug my fingers into their wrist.” His eyes went wide then darted to Boone. “They dropped the knife. I got them to drop the knife.”

“Did they cry out when you dug your fingers into their wrist, or were they silent?” Archer asked.

“Silent. The only noise I heard from them at all was a grunt from when I’m assuming they stuck the knife in. But…maybe it was Navy? I was still behind the door when it happened. Right after they dropped the knife, something hit me.”

Archer nodded. “Was it the same person that hit you or someone else?”

“I don’t know. I hit the ground. I could see Navy lying there. There was so much blood I knew she wouldn’t live. And when I looked at her eyes, they were still open but there was no light there.” Payton had no emotion in his voice as he explained that part, his depiction almost clinical. “She was dead or almost dead before I lost consciousness.”

There was a single sharp knock on the door.

“Come in,” Boone barked.

West pushed the door open and stepped inside, Remi beside him, eyes downcast and body trembling.

“I thought I told you to go through the footage,” Boone said. “What’s up?”

“Remi has something he needs to tell you.”

“Seriously?” Drake snapped, hostile eyes narrowed in on the smaller boy.

Remi’s gaze darted to his, like he was begging him to understand. “I have to tell them.”

Drake huffed, lip curling. “You should just drop the program. You’re never going to make it with how quickly you crack under pressure.”

“What is happening?” Boone asked.

Remi licked his lower lip as West gently pushed him farther into the room to shut the door behind them.

“Unbelievable,” Drake muttered.

“I-I need yo-you to know something,” Remi said, then sat on the edge of Gift’s bed.

Boone floated closer, curious to hear what Remi was going to confess. Whatever it was, it was clear Drake was already privy to the knowledge and had decided to keep it to himself.

“Go on,” Boone said.

Remi gave a jerky nod, gripping his hands in his lap. “I-It was me.”