Page 70 of Volatile King (The Kings of Wayward Academy #6)

N ash

The snow had started to fall. Just enough to dust the windshield and frost the air with that eerie hush only winter knew how to conjure.

Mya stepped outside, her hoodie was too thin for the cold, and her eyes were too wild for the world she pretended to inhabit.

I hated to think it, but she should’ve stayed dead.

“You’re late,” I said flatly.

“I thought you were coming up,” she replied, but the lie landed with a flop.

I already knew from Massimo that she’d spent the morning playing childish games…

stalling, leaving the water in the bathroom running, clogging a toilet, and refusing to get dressed until he threatened to haul her down in whatever the hell she was wearing.

There was an immature defiance in the way she crossed her arms and stared at the SUVs lined up like soldiers.

“Are they all coming with us,” she asked, her tone dripping with annoyance.

I stepped closer. “You spent three years in captivity with a monster. Most people wouldn’t turn down added protection. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Mya collapsed inward. Her shoulders hunched, her eyes were downcast, and she started tugging at her sleeves like she was trying to vanish.

“No,” she whispered. “I just thought we might talk alone.”

“Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of them.” I opened the door and didn’t budge. The air between us was as cold as the dead of winter.

She gave in and stepped up to the door of the SUV. Her entire demeanor was off. Her eyes locked on Liam in the front seat and flickered with something unreadable.

“Get in, Mya,” I ordered, sick of whatever the hell was going on with her.

She was supposed to feel safer with us, and she’d seemed perfectly…fine, despite the clinginess while we were out shopping. But now her mannerisms were twitchy, and she gave off an energy that had me looking over my shoulder.

She obeyed but slowly. Once inside, Mya tucked herself up against the door and just stared out the window.

“Mya?”

“Huh?” Her head whipped in my direction.

“Where are we going?”

The second I asked where we were going, she snapped back to herself like she’d been rebooted.

“Left out of the driveway. Then left at the next light.”

We drove in silence for a few minutes before I tried to make conversation.

“Have you seen a doctor since you escaped?”

She snarled at me like an animal, her eyes snapping with anger. “What? I’m not crazy!”

I cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she barked, jabbing a trembling finger at me. “I don’t need a fucking shrink. I’m fine!”

She wasn’t.

Mya started to rock in place. Fingers splayed on her cheeks and pressing so hard they made indentations. Lines began to appear where her nails scratched at the sides of her head.

“I’m perfect. I’m perfect…”

Liam turned slightly in his seat, giving me a look. I didn’t need him to say it…I knew. She was on the edge and completely unpredictable.

I reached out, trying to steady her. Mya screamed and slapped my hand away like I’d burned her.

“Don’t touch me,” she shrieked. “I don’t need a doctor!”

I held up both hands slowly. “Okay. No touching.”

She dropped her voice to a whisper. “They’re harvesting us.” Her eyes locked on mine. “Don’t you get it? The pain…it’s the point.”

The SUV had suddenly gotten very small.

“Mya,” I said gently. “You don’t have to go near a hospital. No one is going to make you.”

Just like that…snap…she smiled, then bobbed back and forth to music that only she could hear. Her sudden calm was more terrifying than the hysteria.

“We turn…right soon.” Then she mumbled, “We close. Yes…close now.” Her voice slipped into something sing-song and mocking. “Next turn…turn left…fourth place…left.”

My heart stopped. “Are you mocking Ren?”

Mya giggled. “She sells seashells on the seashore,” she sang.

A wicked grin spread across her face, showing off all of her teeth. The laugh that followed was manic and out of control as she rocked toward me and then away again.

I grabbed her throat.

She stilled, but her eyes filled with a mix of anger and lust.

“Stop. Playing. Games,” I growled.

“I’m not,” she said sweetly.

“You are. I know you and this is a fucking act,” I said, but worried that her mind had actually fractured.

Her lips curled. “You like your girls broken, don’t you?”

Rage built in my chest.

The SUV stopped.

The second the door unlocked, Mya screamed. She moved so fast that I barely saw the blade. It was nothing more than a flash of silver. I blocked it with my other hand, but the knife slid through my palm like it was slicing paper and stopped just shy of my cheek. The pain came a second later.

“Fuck,” I roared, and let go of her neck.

In the next beat of insanity, she had jumped out of the car and sprinted down the road, screaming and laughing as she went.

“Go,” I said, before Liam could ask if I was okay.

He jumped out and took off after her with Rory from the other truck. I stared at the kitchen knife stuck in my hand, buried to the hilt.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Massimo said as he hopped out and opened my door. “I thought we checked her thoroughly.”

“I think she would’ve shoved it up her ass if she had to, so don’t worry about it,” I said, getting out so I didn’t drip any more blood all over the back seat. “Fuck that hurts.”

Liam and Rory jogged back up the street a minute later, shaking their heads.

“She jumped onto a city bus. We couldn’t follow without making a scene,” Liam said.

“Fuck, she really stabbed you,” Rory said as he stared at my hand.

“Could’ve been worse. Mya was aiming for my face. Son of a bitch, I should’ve seen something like this happening.” I growled.

Liam inspected the bloody knife. “Want me to take that out?”

“Not really,” I said.

“So, what is your plan? Are you just going to walk around with it forever?” Liam crossed his arms.

“Your sarcasm is not appreciated.” I glared at him. “Massimo, take some guys and check out the house, and watch out for any traps,” I grumbled, and he nodded. I leaned back against the truck and held out my hand. “Do it.”

Liam gripped the knife. “On the count of three.”

I nodded.

“One.”

Liam yanked the blade out, and blood pooled in my hand.

“Fuck,” I snarled, locking eyes with Liam. “Such a shame you forgot how to count, asshole,” I said, through gritted teeth.

He shrugged and smirked. “You were more relaxed. Rory, give me part of your shirt,” Liam ordered.

“My shirt? Why,” he asked.

“Because you’re still the new guy and I like my shirt,” Liam said.

Rory swore but tore a strip off the bottom of his t-shirt and handed it over.

Liam was fast and efficient with the wrapping, but it didn’t stop the throbbing.

“You’ll want to see a doctor after we’re done here, but as long as you’ve had your tetanus shot, you’ll live,” Liam said, tying off the bandage.

“What, no rabies comment?”

“Did she bite you, too,” Liam asked.

I glared at Liam, and Rory laughed.

“Funny.”

“Boss?” Massimo was standing just inside the front door. “You’ll want to see this.”

That didn’t sound good. Rolling my shoulders, I finally took a moment to take in my surroundings.

The house was situated in a cozy, middle-class neighborhood with perfect little gardens.

There was a small window in the front, at the very top near the roofline, that would look out over the street.

I wondered if Mya had been telling the truth about watching trick-or-treaters.

We stepped up to the front door and walked into what looked like a perfectly maintained family home. I’d expected filth, chains, and darkness. The kind of place where evil lived. What I found was curated comfort. White tile. Clean counters. Soft throw pillows and shiny hardwood floors.

“What in the fucking Stepford Wives is this?”

“The basement is empty other than some laundry supplies and holiday decorations,” one of the guards said as he stepped into the living room.

“I’m upstairs,” Massimo called down.

Liam, Rory, and I walked up the stairs to the upper floor and were pointed toward another set of stairs.

They were through a door that could’ve passed as a linen closet.

We made our way up the narrow staircase and found a beautiful little hideaway combined with a BDSM red room.

The window I’d seen was tinted so you could see out, but no one could see in.

There was a stunning four-poster bed, with chains attached at the corners, and shackles lying on the white linen.

A desk sat in the corner, and I walked over, pulling open the drawers to check inside. Notebooks filled with sketches and poetry were in piles. I looked over at Rory.

“Pack all of this up. There may be a clue in this chaos somewhere,” I said, and he nodded.

“Nash.”

Liam held a picture frame, and there was something in his gaze that made my chest ache. He locked eyes with me.

“I’m sorry, man,” he said, holding out the photo.

Taking it from him, I looked down. It took a minute for my brain to register what I was seeing. I blinked once, then twice. This had to be a doctored photo…it had to be.

My father stood front and center, smiling wide for the camera. My mother was kissing his left cheek, and Mya was kissing his right. On the table in front of them was a birthday cake. It was the baby in his arms that had me grabbing the wooden post of the bed.

Bright blue eyes, black hair, and my face on a six-month-old. My breath caught in my throat. It felt like the metaphysical noose my father had put around my neck was slowly lifting me into the air.

They all looked so happy. My mother was involved. What the fuck?

My eyes couldn’t stop roaming over their faces.

I’d never seen my father smile like that.

Not even in my baby pictures. The realization hit…

he’d never loved me. Never wanted me and obviously hated or resented me.

Maybe it shouldn’t have shocked me. Deep down I always knew, but to see it so clearly in a photo…

I stumbled away from the bed, my hands shaking, unable to look away from the image that reached into my chest and crushed my heart on multiple levels.

“There are more here,” Liam said, holding up a stack of photos from a dresser drawer.

“Take them all. Take anything you can find. I need some air,” I said, and went back downstairs.

The kitchen looked sweet and perfect with little plates on the wall and a flower border. Walking over, I pulled out the same chair from the photo. I sat down and closed my eyes.

He has my son.

A tear fell and slid down my cheek.

Taking a deep breath, I looked at the picture again, and this time my eyes locked on my mother. A growl escaped my mouth.

You failed me as a mother.

But you will help me get my son back.

And when I’m done, the only thing that will be left of you and this family will be ashes and an echo of your screams.