Page 116 of Rattle the Cage

“He got what he deserved.” Cyrus grumbled. “Our Ragdoll saw to that.”

Her dark eyes locked onto mine with pride, and the look cut through the heat of my rage like a cold knife. I’d been so nervous in the moment, but this was all the reassurance I’d needed that my trust in the Freaks was sound.

Unsure what to do with the intensity of Cyrus’ approval, I dropped my gaze into my lap. My lovers went on raging about the podcast and about Rubin, trying to piece together what it all meant. But I sat quietly in the corner, trying to puzzle out what about the clip was still bothering me.

All of it had been bad, obviously. But there was something else about it — beyond the rage-baiting and bigotry, a small hint of what we’d come here looking for.

I turned the clip over in my mind for a long moment before recognition came crashing over me. “Radford.”

“Excuse me?” Nash tilted her head, brows furrowed like I’d just started speaking in tongues.

“Radford University,” I repeated, opening a search tab on my phone.

Nash looked to Blade and Cyrus for guidance while I typed “Radford University + dmt” into the browser, hands shaking as I pulled up the first result. “Bingo.”

I flipped the phone around to face the Freaks and Tracer, who quickly matched my search on her own browser. Aside from the university bulletin I’d pulled announcing the establishment of a DMT research lab on campus, Tracer found dozens of articles about grants, funding, and campus opinions on the research endeavor.

I jolted from my seat, a new type of energy taking over me. “Rubin is friends with Jeremy Zoric. Jeremy went to Radford. And Radford University has a DMT lab. Rubin might be the one bringing it to Valemont after all.”

Cyrus stiffened at the revelation. “Atwood might be too locked down for something like this to happen. But Radford University… just outside of Violence’s jurisdiction. No known Oracle presence on campus.”

She shook her head, eyes wide with awe as they locked with mine. “I think Ragdoll just located our source.”

57

TESS

Apparently, waltzing right onto Radford’s campus wasn’t exactly an option. Over a conversation at Tracer’s shop that stretched into the early hours of the morning, my Freaks insisted that we needed to plan, to surveil, to make sure that we could get in and out of the lab in one piece.

The preparations would take some time. And patience was not my strong suit.

So while Cyrus and the others got busy with scanning satellite footage and hacking into campus security systems, I did what I did best: fixate.

Tonight’s shift at Velvet Paradise was supposed to take my mind off of things. But the latest episode of Jeremy Zoric’s podcast playing over my headphones wasn’t helping my cause.

I rolled my eyes as they started in again on the merits of women knowing when to shut the fuck up and get back to the kitchen. Given all the other heinous shit I’d heard them say, nothing could really surprise me anymore, but it didn’t stop it from stoking the burning rage in my chest.

I tried to convince myself that this was research too. Maybe they would let something slip about the DMT. Maybe Rubin would say out loud that he was illegally trafficking it and using it to dose his followers.

Maybe pigs will fly.

But that wasn’t the real reason I was listening — not the only one, anyway.

Glimpsing at my screen while I did my makeup, it was weird to see Jeremy alive. My mind struggled to wrap around the knife plunging into his chest, the empty look that claimed him as that last laugh slipped his lips.

Every time he made a douchey joke, I wished that I’d tortured him longer. My only comfort was knowing that I’d done the right thing — my Freaks had guided me well.

As Jeremy Zoric’s laugh rang out once more, my skin prickled. I knew he was dead, but there was a lingering paranoia that he had somehow escaped and joined forces with the world’s most delusional stalker.

Rubin…

A chill ran up my spine at just the thought of him. Unlike the dead guy, he was a living, breathing problem who only seemed to grow crazier by the day. And he’d made it known to his followers that he wasn’t going to stop until he had me.

What a creep.

I’d always known he had a thing for me. He wasn’t exactly subtle about his crush when we were kids, despite my lack of interest. And I’m sure Pastor Harris thought it was sweet.

After all, what could be a better endorsement for Heirs than its two most devout strays shacking up together? We could have a perfectly chaste courtship, get married at the ripe age of eighteen, and start sprouting baby sycophants of our own.