The penthouse apartment at the top of Krossvale Tower reeked of stale whiskey and cigarette smoke, the kind that lingers after a long night of bullshit stories and half-empty bottles.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Draxton's smog-choked skyline, but the heavy curtains were drawn half-shut, letting in just enough gray afternoon light to make the place feel like a tomb.
The boys lounged around the massive black leather sectional — Lucas with his boots up on the glass coffee table, Victor cracking open another beer, Damon scrolling his phone with a lazy smirk, Leon fiddling with a knife, Ren nursing a tumbler of scotch in the corner.
Lucas was mid-rant when the elevator dinged.
"...I'm telling you, man, Vernon just grabs her and bolts like she's on fire. What the hell was that? He's never given a shit about the girls before."
Leon twirled the knife between his fingers. "Yeah, and now he's gone all day. No call. No text. Like he dropped off the planet with her. Weird as fuck."
Damon didn't look up from his screen. "Weird? Bro's been off since that forest night. Maybe she was special.."
Ren sipped his drink " Maybe he's keeping her stashed somewhere. You know, for round two. But why not share?."
The elevator doors slid open.
Vernon stepped out — suit rumpled, coat unbuttoned near the chest. His face was blank, eyes shadowed, long hair tied, few strands loose. He walked in like nothing happened, dropping his keys on the side table with a clink.
The room went quiet for a beat.
Lucas sat up, boots hitting the floor. "There he is. The ghost himself. Where the hell you been, man? Where the fuck did you disappear to with that little piece? You just grabbed her and ghosted like she was your personal fucktoy. What, one night wasn't enough? Had to take her home for seconds?"
Victor leaned forward, beer forgotten. "Yeah, you just hauled her out like she was your damn luggage. Spill it."
Damon pocketed his phone, smirk fading into curiosity. "We checked the rooms after. She's gone. You gone. What gives?"
Leon stopped twirling the knife, eyes narrowing. "You never touch 'em. Never look twice. So why her? And why disappear like that?"
Ren set his glass down slowly. "And why not tell us?"
Vernon stood silent, head bowed, shoulders rigid.
At the far end of the sectional, Kai remained perfectly still—legs crossed, hands flat on his thighs, black suit untouched by the night. He didn't speak. He simply watched Vernon with that flat, unblinking stare: cold, patient, reptilian.
Lucas leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and taunting.
"So where'd you take her, huh? Somewhere private?"
He let the question hang, then grinned.
"Come on, man—give us the details. Was she worth it? That tight?"
Vernon's blood boiled. Heat roared behind his eyes, fists flexing at his sides—but he kept his face blank, breathing steady through his nose.
Vernon replied, voice calm and even, like he was discussing the weather.
"She saw me kill Marcus Hale in the forest that night. So I killed her."
The room blinked.
Victor let out a low whistle. "Shit. The witness? That's why you grabbed her? Damn, bro — could've said something."
Leon nodded slowly. "Yeah, but why not tell us? We could've helped. Made it a party."
Vernon kept quiet.
Kai Kept his deadly gaze on vernon. Waiting for his answers.
Vernon kept his voice calm,
"You were busy killing and enjoying. Didn't want to interrupt. And I wanted more time with her anyway. The place was a shithole. Took her to 'The Velorian Grand' instead. Fucked her till she stopped breathing."
A beat of stunned silence.
Then Lucas barked a laugh — rough, relieved. "Fuck, man — that's cold. But yeah, makes sense. The Velorian Grand? Fancy. You go all out when you finally snap."
Leon grinned, tension easing. "Should've known. Bro's always the quiet one till he ain't. Good call not interrupting — we were balls-deep in fun."
Victor chuckled low. "Hotel upgrade? Smart. Bet she screamed nicer on clean sheets."
Damon leaned back,"Alright, fair. But next time, loop us in. We could've watched."
Ren picked up his glass, smile returning. "As long as she's dead. Loose ends bite."
The room relaxed — laughs bubbling up, shoulders loosening, like a storm passing without rain.
Kai hadn't moved.
His gaze stayed locked on Vernon's face — unblinking, dissecting.
Vernon felt it — that cold drill into his skull. He knew Kai doubted every word. Knew the questions were piling up behind that calm mask. Knew he was in trouble — deep, quiet trouble that wouldn't explode now, but later, when it hurt most.
----
Some moments later.
Vernon stepped out of the elevator into the penthouse lobby, the doors closing behind him with a soft hiss that felt louder than it should. The hallway stretched long and empty, polished marble cold under his shoes. He walked without hurry, but every step dragged heavier than the last, like his body knew something his mind was still trying to outrun.
The drive back to the mansion was a blur of city lights and rain-slick streets. He didn't turn on music. Just gripped the wheel until his knuckles ached and stared at the road like it owed him answers.
When he pushed open the heavy front doors of the mansion, Mr. Eldrin was already there — waiting in the foyer like he always did, silver hair neat, suit immaculate, hands clasped behind his back. But the moment Vernon crossed the threshold, Mr.Eldrin's face changed. The old man's eyes widened, just a fraction, the way someone does when they see a wound before the blood even shows.
"Master Vernon…" Mr. Eldrin's voice faltered, soft and careful. "You're home."
Vernon didn't answer. He shrugged off his coat, let it fall to the floor without care. The black wool hit marble with a muted thud. He walked past Mr. Eldrin toward the stairs, shoulders tight, head down.
Mr.Eldrin followed a step behind, quiet, watching.
"You look… unwell," Eldrin said gently. "Did something happen?"
Vernon paused at the foot of the grand staircase. His hand rested on the banister, knuckles white. For a second he almost spoke — almost let the words spill — but he swallowed them down.
"I'm fine," he said. Flat. Quiet. The lie sounded thin even to him.
Mr. Eldrin didn't push. He never did. Just watched Vernon climb the stairs like a man carrying a weight no one else could see.
Upstairs, Vernon stripped in silence. Shirt, trousers, everything tossed on the floor. He stood under the shower until the water ran cold, letting it beat against his shoulders, his scars, his face.
Steam rose around him, but he felt nothing. No heat. No relief. Just Ira's face again — the sharp crack of the slap, the way her head snapped sideways, the red bloom that followed.
He pressed his forehead to the tile and stayed there until his fingers pruned and his breathing hurt.
When he finally came down, hair still damp, wearing only a loose black sweatpants.
Vernon descended the stairs and went towards the basement.
Mr. Eldrin saw him going towards the basement.
"He have been down there a long time before. But tonight…."
MR. Eldrin thought to himself.
The basement was dim — one overhead bulb, concrete walls, the heavy bag hanging in the center like a hanged man. He wrapped his hands without looking, tape pulling tight over old scars. Then he started.
First punch — controlled.
Second — harder.
Third — the bag jolted.
He hit again. And again. Faster. Harder. The impacts echoed off the walls — thump-thump-thump — steady at first, then wild.
His breathing turned ragged. Sweat glistened across his skin, gathering along the hard lines of his chest before sliding slowly downward, tracing the ridges of his sculpted abs. Droplets fell one after another, darkening the floor beneath him.
Every kill. Every crime. Every pain came rushing back.
All the memories.
And now — Ira.
Ira's face kept flashing behind every swing — her wide eyes, the red mark spreading, the way she'd flinched like he was the worst thing she'd ever seen.
He'd hit her.
He'd fucking hit her.
The guilt came in waves — hot, choking, worse than any blade he'd ever taken. He'd done it to shut her up, to stop the scream that would've brought Kai's gaze down on them both. But the reason didn't matter. The mark did. Her face did.
He growled low in his throat — animal sound — and ripped the gloves off. Bare knuckles now. He turned to the concrete wall.
First punch — skin split immediately.
Second — blood smeared.
Third — pain flared bright and clean.
He kept going. Harder. Faster. The wall didn't give. His hand did. Knuckles tore open, blood streaking gray concrete in dark ribbons. He didn't stop. Each hit was punishment — for her cheek, for her fear, for the monster he couldn't stop being.
He didn't hear the door open upstairs.
Didn't hear Mr. Eldrin's footsteps on the stairs.
Only felt the old man's arms suddenly wrap around him from behind — gentle but firm — stopping his next swing mid-air.
"Master Vernon," Mr. Eldrin whispered, voice thick. "Oh, boy… stop. Please stop."
Vernon froze — chest heaving, blood dripping from his ruined hand onto the floor.
Mr. Eldrin held him tighter, like he was still the child who used to hide in this basement when the screaming upstairs got too loud.
"Don't do this to yourself," Mr. Eldrin said, voice breaking. "Don't hurt yourself like this."
Vernon's shoulders shook once — hard. His voice came out hoarse, cracked, barely above a whisper.
"I'm a monster, Uncle." The old childhood call slipped out, "I'm… really a disgusting person."
Mr. Eldrin turned him gently. Looked up into the young man's face — the lethal beauty now raw with guilt, eyes wet and haunted.
"No, my boy," Mr. Eldrin said quietly. "You're not."
Vernon stared at the floor — blood still dripping. "I hit her."
Mr. Eldrin's thumbs brushed Vernon's shoulders — soothing, steady.
"I know. But I also know you didn't mean it. Not the way you think."
Vernon's voice cracked again —
"I feel… so disgusted. I hurt her."
Mr. Eldrin pulled him closer — hugged him like he used to when Vernon was small and the world was too big and too cruel.
"It's okay, my boy," he whispered. "She'll be alright. You'll be alright."
Vernon stood there — bleeding— letting the old man hold him.
The basement light buzzed overhead.
Blood dripped slowly onto concrete.
To be continued...