Page 30 of Pucked Around and Found Out

Andrade swallows, squares his shoulders, and blanks his face of all emotion as he meets my glare.

“We have footage of her leaving the⁠—”

“Get the men.” The roar tears from my throat, primal and devastating. “We're going after my fucking fairy so I can rip her lips off with my bare hands.”

I ignore the calls of my men telling me to stay back while they clear the building.

If that bitch wants me dead, it's going to take more than a fucking cheap shot.

My front door hangs off its hinges. I grit my teeth to temper the rage boiling in my veins.

No one—not one single person—has ever dared to do something so brazen.

I walk further into the apartment and head straight for my bedroom. The room she stayed in hasn't been disturbed. Neither has the bathroom. But Caspian's room is completely trashed.

I glare at the sight of my closed door.

Carved into the wood is a message meant for me.

Tink.

I want to claw the fucking name from the door with my bare nails. I manage to refrain and kick it open instead, not giving a fuck about the damage.

I step into the room and stop in the entryway, taking in the sight of complete destruction.

Red paint is splattered over the walls like arterial spray. My dresser is smashed to pieces. She even trashed my wardrobe, clothes ripped from hangers, strewn across the floor.

But what captures my focus is the bed.

The sheets are no longer black—they're white.

There's an outline of a body drawn on them in black marker, red paint sprayed around it with a perfect red dot in the center of its forehead.

Execution-style.

Looks like the fairy found her backbone.

A smirk begins to tug at the corner of my mouth, but it vanishes instantly when I see the picture stuck to the wall above my bed.

The blood drains from my face.

The air is ripped from my lungs as I cross the room to get a closer look.

The instant it registers what the fuck it is, everything inside me turns to ice.

The noise of my men tramping through my home becomes white noise. I hear nothing but the blood pumping violently in my ears, my heartbeat thundering like war drums.

I reach out and rip the image off the wall.

Stare at it.

I have no thoughts. No feelings aside from... I don't even fucking know what this is.

Shock? Terror? Something too big and too devastating to name?

I flip it over and read the handwritten note on the back.

You vowed to hang my lips above your bed.