Mae

41

I take in the mess. The living room and the hallway are covered in red, not of the walls, but blood. Bodies mercilessly left on the ground, covered in their own blood. All of them dressed in their white shirt and black suit uniform.

I turn to Tristan, expecting disgust or anger, but he's... counting. His eyebrows frowned. "There are 17 bodies." He speaks under his breath.

"So?"

He looks back at me. "There should've been 18."

I pull on Ryan's wrist as he was passing by me with a phone glued to his ears. How much do I want to bet that Dad's on the call? "Did someone get away?"

He covers his phone and says, "No. One of them surrendered." He goes back to talking something about, "... yes, she's safe." And walks away.

Tristan exhales, running his hand through his hair. "Let me guess the traitor."

One man guides us both out of the place. Stepping out of the overhang entrance, I let myself sigh in relief. I never knew I'd be this happy to have the beaming sun above my head. It's afternoon in the middle of July. Being locked up in a room smelling of metal and your own sweat creates this new gratefulness for the sun.

For as long as my eyes go, it's a tree-lined street, probably leading to the flow of traffic.

"It's good to see you." I hear Tristan saying sternly, yet appreciatively. I move my head in the direction he's looking somewhere on my right.

"Stefan," I say. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He doesn't acknowledge me. His face is hard. Disbelief and shock.

He straightens up from his leaned position on his car and walks towards us.

"How—" he closes his eyes for a moment. "How are you—?"

"Alive? Living? In one piece? Oh, come on, Mae only broke the champagne bottle in two." Stefan and I stare at him. "Too soon?"

I roll my eyes and feel my pockets for my phone. I find it. When did he put it there? I pull it out. Hundreds of texts and calls from the Pierces and Carter. It's no surprise that Carter stopped after the third call. He must have called the Pierces. But why were the Pierces calling me constantly? They, of all people, should've known I was in no position to return their calls.

Or were they afraid I might do something stupid, now that Dad knows who Tristan is?

"Why are you here, Stef?" I ask, putting my phone back.

"I couldn't trust Dad when he told me—" he waves his hand at Tristan. So Dad told him too. Dad and I will have to talk once he's out of the hospital. Doctors had said he'd be discharged in a few days. "I wanted to see for myself."

"Whatever," I say, dismissing the subject as quickly as possible. I can't afford it if Tristan somehow spills our plan to Stefan. Not that I don't trust Stefan. I do. He'll be the first person to know about it before our parents. I just don't have the time and energy to deal with all the conversations that will follow.

Ryan steps into view. "What should we do next?" he asks.

I look at Tristan and find him smirking. I pinch his hand, making him quit that smug. We don't need them to suspect anything based on our interactions.

"First, let's lock him up," I say, forwarding my hand to him. "Give me keys to any of the cars you brought." He nods, hands me the keys and disappears inside again.

"Let someone else take him," Stefan speaks. "We can't trust him." He whispers, not wanting to offend Tristan for some reason. I'm suddenly reminded of 14-year-old Stefan and Hayes hiding behind the wall at the end of the hallway at our New York home, to scare me, tickle me and then jump on me until I'm flat on the floor laughing with them.

"You're right. We don't trust him." I say. "That's why I'm taking him." I have no idea why Tristan hasn't snapped yet. There's something insanely fishy going on in his head.

"No, it might be dangerous and—"

I cut him off. "I make decisions here."

He shuts up, eyes Tristan one last time. He slides behind the wheel of his car and drives off.

"He's grown up well," Tristan comments.

"Don't even get me started."

Stefan's always been this protective, not only for me but for every single person he loves. I loved the conversation he and Carter had when he first found out about us. But sometimes, I just wanna slap him and make him shut up.

I spot the Cadillac sedan and pull him with me. He obediently walks behind me like I'm his mom and he's the child crying over the candy I didn't buy him.

When we reach the car, we look at each other. "Looks like I'm gonna have to drive." He asks for the keys, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"In your dreams." I unlock the handcuff on my wrist, hesitating to unlock him.

"I'm not gonna run."

I believe him. I unlock him and tie our other hands as quickly as I can. He doesn't run. I climb inside from the passenger's side and wait for him. I'm glad no one's out here to see Tristan willingly sit in and stand still while I changed the cuff-hands. Either they believe me so much or are too dumb for their own good.

But I know they have a much bigger issue to solve. The bodies.

As soon as the thought crosses my mind, we see two men escorting someone to one of the many cars they brought. Tristan is staring at them, too.

A weak smile plays on his lips. "Why am I not surprised?" he says.

Luke's face is bruised, blood is running down his lips. But those are the only injuries. Whoever submits should not be treated as an enemy. That's what we do.

"Luke's one of us now," I say, watching as Luke sits inside the vehicle. The two guards settled on either side of him, on their way to take him to the Lethal.

"Take care of him," Tristan says. "I wasn't able to."

***