Nightfall (Devil's Night 4)

I hit him again, hitting and hitting until long after he’d stopped laughing and my knuckles ached like they were on fire.

Tears welled and poured, and the whole world tipped on its side as I brought my fist down again and again.

Fuck you. Fuck you.

Kai came in, threatening him not to go near a minor again, and then I came back pounding, kicking, and punching some more until eventually my hands dripped with his and my blood, and I could do nothing else but laugh.

Until he passed out and they had to pull me off him.

We dumped his body on the side of the road, peeled out of the area in Damon’s SUV, and used a burner phone to call the police to tell them where to find him.

And I didn’t care if it brought her back or not. He deserved it.

If he had any sense, he’d keep his mouth shut, too. He knew we knew he’d had River Layton out there.

Witnesses.

If she talked, she could be a liar.

But not all four of us.

Damon dropped Kai at home and then me.

“Wanna go drinking?” he asked.

I shook my head. I had better stuff in my room, but he wouldn’t be down for that.

“See you tomorrow.” I shut the car door, and he drove off as I made my way up the steps of my house, staring down at the blood all over my hands.

I didn’t want to go inside. I looked up at my house—gray stone with three floors, a wine cellar, and a basketball court in the back.

I was a lucky boy.

And a fucking loser.

He was right, and nothing felt better.

I turned around and walked, leaving my truck and clutching the cell phone in my pocket.

I had no desire to ever watch it again.

I walked down my driveway and headed down the road, back toward the village in the black night as I took out the phone to delete the video. I wanted it gone.

I wanted to erase everything about me, because I hated me as much as she did.

“Hey, man!” someone called.

I looked up, closing the phone before I could finish and stuffing it into my pocket.

Bryce rolled up, peering at me through the open window. He had a girl in the car, and I leaned down, forcing a smile and stuffing my bloody hands into my pocket.

He studied me, sensing something. “You need a ride?”

I shook my head. “No,” I told him. “Thanks, though.”

He nodded slowly, still unsure. “O…okay.”

He sped off, and I pulled out my hands, sick of this feeling inside me.