Chapter 24

“Iwant to see Mr. Scruffles,” I say abruptly, grabbing the dice off the table before Cain can roll them. Through Damien’s eyes—who is standing sentry in the corner of the room—I see Cain quirk a blond brow.

“You know his name isn’t actually Mr. Scruffles, right?” He leans across the table, opens my closed fist, and takes the dice.

We’re having a “game night,” as Abel calls it, in the twins’ cell. The demons have procured a significant collection of various games and cards. Abel had insisted we play “Pretty Pretty Princess,” calling it the best party game of the century. When Damien took a knife to Abel’s throat, the trickster demon quickly retracted his claim, and we settled on some random board game that was missing more pieces than it had.

“Now, Bambi,” Abel cuts in, and I turn my pleading gaze towards him, my lower lip trembling. He breaks off abruptly with a curse. “Fuck, I can’t say no to that. She’s doing the face, brother. The face. You can’t say no to the face.” To me, he adds, “I’ll give you anything you want. Jewels? A crown? A majestic steed to ride…? And I don’t mean a horse. It’s yours.”

“You might not be able to say no to her, but I can,” Damien retorts, his vision shifting as he lunges forward with long, elegant strides. He tenderly caresses the side of my face before pulling his hand back as if I burned him. For a moment, he merely stares at me, both our hearts pounding in tandem. With a petulant shake of his head, he turns away. “Never mind. I can’t.”

“For fuck’s sake…” Cain leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Princess, that’s a fuck no.”

“Is he…” I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Is he dead?”

Panic swirls in my stomach, a hurricane, and I absently rub at the spot. I haven’t known Mr. Scruffles for long, but I have come to care for the cat…shifter…thing. He’s my friend, and he saved my life more times than I care to admit. He saw me when I was at my most vulnerable, and he healed me. It might’ve been unintentional—he might’ve had malicious intentions—but he saw the cracked pieces within me, and he diligently repaired them. Comforted me. Allowed me to break down in a semi-safe environment.

“Shit, Trouble, what type of people do you think we are? Murderers?” Cain asks in exasperation, but I notice his lips twitch slightly. Abel definitely begins to smile before quickly masking his face.

“I want to see him,” I insist, and I prepare myself for another denial. Instead, the cell gets abnormally quiet, and Damien’s attention swivels towards the man now entering the room.

Kai looks tired—dark shadows outline each eye, and his face is paler than usual. Still, he smiles when he sees me. A brilliant smile that cleaves his face in two and makes butterflies dance and flutter in my stomach. My own lips curve up instinctively.

“Hi,” I say shyly.

“Hi.” He kneels down, placing his hands on both my knees. “Are you sure you want to see him?”

I don’t even hesitate, nodding my head adamantly. “Yes.”

“He’s…he’s not a nice man,” Kai continues, seeming to choose his words carefully. He removes a hand from my knee to rub at the dusting of hair on his chin. “Remember how we talked about our friend group? Me, Damien, Abel, Cain, Bronson, and some of the others?”

“The prison whores?” I ask for clarification, and Abel begins to choke. I swear I see Kai’s lips twitch.

“Yes, among others. The men and women in our group.” I nod to show him I understand. “Well, your friend, Mr. Scruffles—” Another snort from Abel. “—He’s a part of a rival friend group, okay? A group that doesn’t quite get along with ours.”

“For shit’s sake, she’s not a child!” Cain interrupts, and for the first time ever, I agree with him. I don’t like the way Kai’s speaking to me. It’s not abrasive or cruel or anything, but it makes me feel like a stupid kid. It makes me feel like I’m back at the Compound, where the men and women considered me less than them, different. I already know that Kai is Blade, and he’s the king of the Labyrinth. The gang leader. What else is there to know?

Kai opens his mouth to protest, but Cain forges ahead. “We’re part of a gang, sweetheart. A prison gang. Blade’s group and Rion’s shifters. You see, there are probably one hundred shifters in this Labyrinth, and all of them bow to Rion. The rest of the supernaturals? They follow the ruling of your man, Kai, here. Right now, the shifters are being quiet, but we have no fucking idea how long that’ll last. Rion isn’t telling us shit.”

My brain struggles to process his words. It feels as if I’m wading through tar: each step forward takes considerable effort and patience.

“And this Rion person…” I begin, my tongue snaking out to lick my top lip. “He’s the leader of the rival gang? The one fighting with Kai’s? And he’s Mr. Scruffles?”

My head threatens to explode, but not because of the lack of information, but because I’m suddenly threatened with too much of it. Cain just lit the tinder, and we’re all waiting for the inevitable explosion.

Why didn’t they tell me this sooner?

My hurt and betrayal must be evident, for Damien takes a step closer and Kai tightens his hands on my knees.

“Rion is dangerous,” Kai explains, his voice near pleading. Pleading for forgiveness? Acceptance? Something else entirely?

“He’s my friend,” I protest feebly. I suddenly feel just as tired as Kai looks.

“We also know that Rion was the assistant to Lionel Green before he was arrested,” Abel breaks in, and for the first time, none of his usual mirth and cheer are audible. He sounds almost subdued and resigned, like a prisoner facing the executioner’s block. Which, come to think of it, isn’t a horrible analogy.

“And we believe Lionel might’ve been behind Raphael’s murder,” I deduce. “But why do you think Rion is involved? Hasn’t he been at the prison for a while? I was only arrested and convicted recently.”

Cain blows out a breath, as if my incessant questioning is annoying him. “He might not be involved directly, but that doesn’t mean he’s a good guy. He still has information that could be helpful to discovering the truth.”

“Shouldn’t I talk to him, then? See what he knows?” It may sound crazy, but I know in my heart that Mr. Scruffles—Rion—will never hurt me. If anyone is capable of getting information out of him, it’s me.

The men exchange an eloquent glance, a glance I’m not intended to see, before Kai sighs in defeat.

“You have twenty minutes. And you’re not getting within two feet of him.”

Kai leadsme down the twisting, curving hallway until we stand in front of the throne room door. Two unfamiliar men stand guard in front, hastily crafted knives held at the ready. I have to wonder how much damage something so little can do, but I keep my mouth shut.

“Bronson still inside?” Kai asks the one on the left. The man nods once, casting sly glances in my direction. “Send him out and then leave.”

Without having to be told twice, the men skitter inside and return only a few moments later. They lower their heads submissively before slinking away. Bronson exits shortly after, face twisted in irritation.

“What?” he rasps, scowling. That scowl diminishes when he catches sight of me, replaced by something sweeter and softer. He reaches for me, and I willingly step into his arms. The scent of sweat, musk, and pine surround me, the smell uniquely his. “What are you doing here?” He pushes me back slightly to inspect my body, searching for injuries.

“Visiting Rion,” Kai answers for me. Something in his tone gives me pause, and I slip out of Kai’s head and dive into Bronson’s. The giant man is staring intently at Kai over my shoulder, and I’m able to see Kai give a barely perceptible shake of his head. “I’ll be going in with her.”

Bronson immediately grunts and begins to argue, but Kai cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “You stand guard out here.”

The air between the two men seems to crackle and spark with electricity. They’re two magnets with the same pull, repelling against one another. It’s not like I expected anything different: both Kai and Bronson are alpha males in their own unique way, especially when it comes to me. I don’t quite understand it, but I know that my safety and needs surpass everything else.

Finally, Bronson releases me with a decidedly pained whimper. He reminds me of a man whose puppy was just kicked. Wanting to comfort him—but not knowing how—I lean into his embrace and place my hands on both his cheeks. Memorizing his features through touch alone, I pull his lips up into a forced smile with the pads of my thumbs.

“Don’t be so grumpy,” I huff. He snorts, muttering something incoherent, before wrapping me in his arms one last time. “Good grief. I’m going to visit my cat, not a funeral.”

“Not a cat,” the wolf snarks.

Kai waits until Bronson releases me before interlocking our fingers and pulling me through the wide doors.

“Ten minutes, or I’m coming in,” Bronson snaps just as the door swings shut on silent hinges. I immediately slide into Kai’s mind to get a visual of Rion. Mr. Scruffles. I haven’t seen him since that first time in the bathroom, what feels like months ago.

Instead, I find Kai’s gaze intently on me.

I could be mistaken, but it almost seems intentional. Kai is the only one who knows what, exactly, my power can do. Is there a reason why he isn’t looking at Mr. Scruffles? I feel the beginnings of irritation grip me with cold fingers.

“Buttercup!” an enigmatic voice squeaks from in front of me. I immediately turn a blind gaze in his general direction, but Kai remains focused on me. It’s unnerving—his attention—to say the least.

“Rion?” I ask tentatively, trailing a step closer. Kai immediately tightens his hold on my hand, keeping me in place.

“Rion.” The man snorts dismissively. “Only my mother, family, friends, and strangers call me that. Please, refer to me as Mr. Scruffles.”

“Shifter scum,” I hear Kai mumble beneath his breath.

“That’s Mr. Shifter Scum to you,” Rion retorts.

Tears burn my eyes as I consider the man, the stranger, in front of me. What’s his story? How did he end up here? Why did he save me? Questions build, but I don’t know how to put a voice to them.

I settle on the easiest one. “What have you been doing the last few days?”

“Oh, you know,” he begins flippantly. “Just hanging out with my new buddies. Real sweethearts, those men.”

I nod silently, suddenly unsure of what to say or what to ask. Thousands of questions clamor for attention, and I can’t seem to settle on just one.

“Is it true that you’re part of a…rival gang?” I timidly venture. To be honest, I couldn’t care less about his affiliations inside the prison. I don’t know enough about the social structure to care. All I know for certain is that I’m friends with Kai, Bronson, Damien, and Abel, and Mr. Scruffles saved my life. Oh, and Cain’s a butt.

Rion sighs heavily, the forlorn noise causing acid to churn in my stomach like an active volcano. “It’s true we don’t get along. Usually. But we never had a common goal until now. They pissed on me first, Buttercup, and I just lifted my leg to pee back. Wait. Don’t quote me on that. Actually, please do. Maybe I can become Instagram famous.”

Okay, first: what does he mean by that?

And second: what’s Instagram?

Shaking the cobwebs out of my head, I ask, “What do you mean they pissed on you first?”

“We really should get going,” Kai urges, placing his hand on the small of my back. His attentive, unwavering gaze causes heat to bloom across my body and ignite in my chest.

“I want to hear,” I protest, stepping away from him.

“It’s a long and complicated story, Buttercup,” Rion states sadly. “But needless to say, there’s bad blood between us that can’t be solved overnight. They’ve hurt people I cared about, and I’ve hurt people they cared about. But I can promise you: you’re the person I’ll never hurt. Unless you ask for it…in bed. You’re not into that kinky shit, right? I mean, we can probably get handcuffs pretty easily, but nipple clamps are a whole different?—”

“We’re leaving,” Kai interrupts, ushering me towards the door. Rion’s manic laughter continues to follow our retreat.

“And let me make one thing clear!” the cat shifter calls just as we reach the door. “I know nothing about Raphael Turner’s death. And when I find the person who framed my Buttercup…” His voice lowers to a seductive purr, his cat personified. “I’ll make them wish they had never been born.”