The black Range Rovers peeled away from the rear loading dock of Draxton High, engines growling low like satisfied predators. Inside the lead vehicle the atmosphere was sour, heavy with the metallic aftertaste of violence.
Victor leaned against the window, still breathing hard, knuckles split and red.
Lucas wiped blood from under his nails with the edge of his shirt, voice cracking on the first word.
"Fuck. That… that went way past fun."
Damon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing crimson across his jaw.
"She pissed Kai off. What the hell did she expect?"
Kai sat in the front passenger seat, profile carved from stone. No one looked at him directly.
Leon replied,
"Yeah, well. She learned."
"Kai… this is gonna be loud." Leon said,
Ren exhaled through his teeth.
"Yeah! One dead girl in the middle of the fucking courtyard? That's not a cover-up anymore. That's a headline."
Lucas laughed once—short, nervous.
"Kai's gonna have our asses mounted."
Kai sat motionless in the front passenger seat. Face blank. Eyes fixed on the dark road ahead. He didn't blink when Victor muttered,
"This went too far. Way too far. We're screwed if anyone talks."
Only then did Kai speak. Quiet. Flat.
"No one talks."
He lifted his phone and called the police. Then he dialed Vernon's number.
Inside the mansion, the grand piano sat silent in the corner of the main hall.
Vernon was seated on the bench.
His long fingers rested motionless on the polished piano keys.
The phone buzzed once against the polished wood.
He answered without greeting.
Kai's voice was flat, clinical.
"A problem occurred at Draxton High. The boys were… enjoying themselves... One girl caused trouble. She's dead now. Messy. Body's still in the courtyard. I've already called the police—they'll wait for you. Go. Clean it. Make sure nothing traces back."
Vernon's grip tightened on the phone. His stomach twisted — hearing the heinous act.
They raped her.
They killed her.
An innocent school girl.
He didn't speak.
The line cut.
Vernon remained frozen.
Slow, careful footsteps approached from the shadowed archway.
Mr. Eldrin appeared, thin shoulders stooped, voice barely above a whisper.
"Master Vernon… is everything all right?"
Vernon didn't look up.
He simply rose—joints stiff, movements mechanical—and walked past the old man without a word.
Mr. Eldrin's trembling hand lifted, then fell uselessly to his side.
----
Vernon went inside the glossy Sedan .
" Draxton High," he said to the driver. Voice dead.
The car moved.
Inside, Vernon stared out at the passing buildings , jaw locked. His mind replayed Kai's words on loop.
*She's dead now.*
He had known they were cruel.
He had watched them destroy for years.
Yet no matter how familiar the sight became, it still hurted .
A school, girls barely older than children —she had a bright future ahead. She had people who truly loved her, cared for her.
The black sedan ghosted to a stop at the main gates of Draxton High. Sirenlights had turned the courtyard into a merciless operating theater.
Vernon stepped out.
Went inside the courtyard.
The courtyard was cordoned off.
Uniformed officers stood rigid, faces pale, eyes averted from the center.
At the centre , the girl's body lay upside down—naked, limbs splayed at broken angles, face-down in a dark pool that had already begun to congeal. Her short, messy dark hair fanned out, the strands soaking into the blood around her.
Police officers stood in a loose ring, radios low, hands on belts, faces carefully blank. The moment Vernon appeared they straightened like soldiers at inspection.
The inspector in incharge approached him shivering, voice low.
"Mr. Krossvale. We've secured the perimeter. No press yet. Coroner's twenty minutes out. How do you want this handled?"
Vernon didn't answer immediately.
His gaze stayed on the girl.
He felt it — deep, sickening ache behind his ribs.
Not guilt this time.
Hurt.
Raw, unfamiliar hurt for a girl he didn't even know.
Then, he said , quietly:
"Suicide. She jumped. No foul play."
The inspector nodded fast.
"Yes, sir. We'll handle the paperwork."
Vernon turned away.
High above, on the second-floor balcony,
Ira was still on her knees sitting on the ground.
She had heard the screams, sirens. But didn't flinch. Several girls asked her to go inside the classroom, she didn't go.
Suddenly, she stood up.
Then she saw *him*.
Vernon Krossvale—tall, dark coat, speaking to the police with the calm of a man discussing paperwork.
Something inside her snapped clean in two.
Her gaze dropped.
An empty vodka bottle lay on its side a few feet away—left behind by the monsters like a signature.
She picked it up.
She stood.
From the railing she had a perfect angle.
Rage surged up her throat, hot and blinding. She drew her arm back and hurled the bottle with every ounce of grief and fury left in her body.
It arced through the air, shattered against Vernon's rigid back in a explosion of glass .
The courtyard went deathly still.
Every student frozen in windows, every teacher pretending invisibility, every officer pretending duty—stopped breathing.
Ira's voice tore across the silence, raw and molten:
"You *monsters*! Just go to *hell*!"
The words ricocheted off every brick.
A girl somewhere hissed, horrified:
"She hit Vernon Krossvale…"
Another:
"She's asking for death."
Ira stood rigid at the railing, chest heaving, eyes red burning with anger, tears cutting clean tracks through her face.
Vernon turned over.
Then slowly—precisely—he stared up at her.
Ira kept cursing him straight .
"Hell's waiting for you monsters! I want hell to skin you alive... Make you feel every goddamn strip coming off while you scream....."
Vernon kept his gaze fixed at her, motionless.
Then he began walking toward the stairs.
Panic erupted in the corridors.
"Oh god—he's going up—"
"She's dead—"
"Run!"
Footsteps thundered away. Doors slammed.
Ira didn't move.
She waited. As if waiting for death itself.
She no longer feared them . She was done fearing them.
Vernon climbed the stairs without hurry. Each step measured. Deliberate.
When he reached the balcony , he walked towards her, his each footstep echoing.
He stopped infront of Ira.
He knelt until their eyes were level.
Ira exploded.
She struck at his face, his shoulders, his chest—wild, desperate blows that barely shifted him.
Vernon caught both her wrists in one large hand.
"Let go! *Let go of me, you monster!*"
His other hand rose—slowly—fingers closing around her chin, forcing her gaze back to his.
"You are too loud," he said quietly. "And stupid."
Ira twisted violently against his grip.
Then she spat—hard—straight into his face.
The saliva struck his cheekbone and slid slowly down the sharp edge of his jaw, glistening.
For a single heartbeat the whole world held its breath.
Ira bared her teeth and snarled into his face:
"You should all *die*. Rot in hell. I want every single one of you *dead*."
From the windows came a collective whisper:
"She's dead."
Vernon studied her—her blazing eyes, her shaking mouth, the way hate vibrated through every inch of her.
Then, wordless, he bent, hooked one arm behind her knees and the other around her shoulders, and lifted her over his shoulder in a single, effortless motion.
Ira screamed. Kicked. Pounded his back with both bound fists.
He didn't react.
He carried her down the stairs, through the silent courtyard, past the body, past the police who looked anywhere but at him, past the students who pressed themselves against walls.
No one spoke.
No one moved to stop him.
He opened the rear door of the sedan and dropped her—onto the leather seat.
She scrambled upright, still screaming, still clawing for his face.
Vernon leaned in only long enough to meet her eyes.
"Mansion," he murmured to the driver.
The driver swallowed once, audibly.
Then the engine purred awake.
The car slid away from the school gates.
To be continued....