by MV Ellis
“Shit that’s epic.” Tyce’s eyebrows knit together in a deep frown as he speaks.
“Correct. Totally wild.”
“You know that’s a myth, right? The lost city, I mean.”
“That’s hardly the point you shit-stain,” I fire back at Lennon.
“Then what is the point?” It’s a fair question.
“The point is that, like I said before, no government agencies have been able to get even close to The Philosopher for this reason. The network is the center of the operation, but they know precious little about it, and what they do know can’t get them into it, even after employing the world’s best hackers on both sides of the legal divide.”
“I still don’t get how that gives you anything to work with. If the FBI and Interpol can’t get close, there’s no way you can.”
“Yes and no. Think about it, I’m working with The Philosopher on the inside, and although we’ve never met, and only ever spoken on the phone, I’m already closer than they are, or are ever likely to get. And now we have this information, it gives us a little more to work with in terms of clues to gather.”
“I don’t follow.” Not unusual from Jagger.
“Jesus, keep up. This is a massive clue to his identity. Setting up and running a network like that isn’t something a person just falls into. It takes money, time, and most importantly, contacts in the tech world. So maybe we’re looking for someone who might even have a legitimate business in the industry, as a front for the main business.”
“Like your dad?” Lennon flashes a toothy grin.
“Ha! Yeah, exactly like my dad, except without the stick up their ass. Apparently, he used to tear shit up when he was young and wild, but now he’d probably burst into tears and need counseling if he got a parking ticket. So yeah, exactly like Xavier, but nothing like him, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I think I kind of do. So what’s the plan?”
“Tonight at the party we need to look for more information that could lead us to be able to identify The Philosopher. The place is pretty clean, as you know, and I definitely don’t think he’s ever lived there—I mean for all I know, he’s never even been there—but now that we have more of an idea of what we’re looking for, it will be slightly less like looking for a needle in a haystack. That’s the hope, anyway.”
I take out my tablet and pull up the plan for the house I lifted from an old real-estate listing. “We need to search the place again. I’ll be disabling the surveillance system, but it’s always a risk, as no doubt the information will get back to The Professor and raise suspicion. I’ll work on a feasible explanation to feed him if that’s the case, but still, it’s a risk.”
I squeeze the back of my neck again. “Not only that, but knowing what I now do, I wouldn’t put it past him to have a back-up system that kicks into play if the other one is out of action, or just to have a whole secret system running in tandem with the main one. Anyway, we can’t pass up this opportunity, so we’re just going to have to be careful.
Tyce reaches for the device. “What are the red areas?”
“The blind spots that I’m aware of. If we make use of them, we can make it a little harder for whoever might review the footage—assuming an additional system—to work out what the hell is going on. I’ve split the house into zones for us all to comb, so that we’re not tripping over each other to search the same areas, while leaving others. Still, you need to be subtle about it. I suggest that, where possible, you go with a girl and make it look like you’re looking for rubbers, or something, as a legitimate reason to search cupboards and drawers.”.
“No need to tell us twice.” Jagger cracks a shit-eating grin.
“Of course you thirsty fucks don’t need my permission to screw whomever, or whatever you like. I’m just saying that, for tonight, I want you to do it strategically. I’ve assigned you two the pool house and other outdoor areas. Plenty of space for you to do your thing, together or alone.”
“Aye-eye C’tain.” Lennon gives me a cheesy faux military salute. Despite wanting to be serious, his goofing makes me laugh. I flick him the bird.
“Any questions?” Lennon opens his mouth. “Not you, doucheface—I know whatever you’re about to say is going to be bullshit.” He shuts his mouth like a gate on a medieval castle. “No? Good, then go about your day, and please, for the love of all that is good and holy, and a lot that isn’t, don’t screw this up tonight. I’m relying on you. All of you.”
Chapter 30
Blake
* * *
The sound of crickets trills through the air, coming from the trees and shrubs framing the enormous garden surrounding Zeph’s party mansion. This place is seriously, ridiculously incredible, and even though it’s my second time here, I don’t think that fact will ever get old. Plus, the first time, I didn’t really check out the gardens. Now I am, they just add to the overall luxe vibe of the house.
I’m enjoying the cool night air, sitting out on the steps of the huge, ornate gazebo. It’s like something I’ve seen in a fairytale movie. Come to think of it, I swear to God, I’ve been in smaller apartments.
It’s peaceful out here, and there’s even a full moon glowing in the clear sky, bathing the house in luminescent silver light, giving it an almost magical radiance. It’s so good to be away from the noise, smoke, and general chaos of the heaving party, so that I can hear myself think. I have so many thoughts racing through my mind that I really need that right now.
I retrieve my phone from my pocket and touch it to wake up the screen, before quickly entering my passcode.
I scroll through my inbox to find the conversation chain with my dad and pull up the most recent exchange between us, even though I already know the contents of the messages by heart.
ME: Hey Dad, I know you think I’m crazy, or overreacting, or something, but I can’t shake this feeling of worry for Mom. I’m scared.
DAD: Stop being a drama queen, just like her. She’s gone. The sooner you forget her like she wants you to, and stop breaking my balls about it, the better all our lives will be.
ME: It’s just not like her, that’s all.
DAD: You mean it’s not like the character you created for her in your mind. Newsflash: that person doesn’t exist. One day you’ll realize the truth. She doesn’t want us. You or me.
ME: She loves me.
DAD: That’s what she wants you to believe. Really, the only person she loves is herself. She sure as shit doesn’t love the other guys she’s been screwing around with. I hope you haven’t inherited those genes from her. Selfish…self-centered…user…
Now I know for a fact that he’s full of shit. There’s no way in the world she would ever have cheated on him, not even after the way he treated her. She just wouldn’t do it. In fact, if anyone has been cheating it’s him. I’m pretty sure that exact thing was the source of some of their fights over the years.
ME: Stop it dad. She wouldn’t just leave me.
A big added bonus of being tucked away here at the back of the garden is that I’m out of the path of Zeph and the rest of The Fallen. I don’t feel strong enough to deal with their shit today. Any of them.
It was such a dumb idea to come to the party, and I’m kicking myself for not following my gut, and staying back at the dorm. Not that it was actually my idea, it was Geneva’s, but I should never have let myself get caught up in her bubble of enthusiasm, especially when I know the reality of the situation is totally different from the picture she painted when we spoke about coming. The fact is, as much as she’s convinced we’re going to slay tonight, I’m worried that I’m way more likely to be slayed.
I hear footsteps on the paved pathway behind me, and as I turn around, every muscle in my body stiffens and I freeze. Shit. It’s Zeph walking straight toward me with a sense of purpose. I can’t see his features clearly from this distance, so make do with trying to read his body language as he comes closer. Like always, he seems like a tightly coiled spring.
When he reaches me, he stands towering above me, and I hate the feeling of being dominated that way. It’s a thinly veiled and completely unnecessary display of dominance. He should have saved his energy; as much as I wish things were different, we’re both very clear about who holds the balance of power between the two of us.
Maybe I should have stood up as he approached, but I don’t want to seem like I’m showing him deference in any way—it’s the last shred of my dignity I can cling to, when it comes to him—so I remain seated. Even so, I’m freaking out on the inside.
“Hey.”
His voice is unbelievably sexy—smooth and deep, making him sound older than he is. I’ve noticed it before, but tonight it seems to affect me more than usual, hitting me right between my legs.
“Hey.” I practically croak out the greeting like a recluse who’s out of practice communicating with other people. I don’t know how the fuck can I screw up a single, simple word, but somehow I manage it.
His expression is softer than normal, and he seems mellower. He doesn’t flash me his usual smirk—the one that equally drives me wild and makes me want to slap it off his smug face at the same time. Maybe he’s going to be nice to me.
“So, Budget Barbie, are you enjoying the party?”
Or maybe not.
I roll my eyes and finally stand up, less deferring and more making it clear that I intend to get the hell out of here. I really don’t have the time or headspace for this right now. I should have let Geneva come alone, given she was so desperate to be here. We’re given instincts for a reason, and I’m kicking myself for not following mine.
If nothing else, with Geneva out most of the night, I could have spent the time getting familiar with my new collection of toys—so satisfying and way less trouble than Zeph, or any guy, for that matter, especially any of The Fallen.
“Can you please not? I just can’t—” Fuck. My lower lip starts to tremble, and despite my best efforts to bite it and stave off the tears pricking the back of my eyes, they fall before I can stop them.
Why the hell am I crying in front of Zeph Cross of all goddamned people? I’m beginning to think that maybe I’m not playing with a full deck of cards. I swat at my tear-streaked cheeks, angry with myself for being so weak, and push past him on the gazebo, hoping he hasn’t realized I’m crying.
Even though I’m a hot mess, and the last place I want to be right now is in the middle of a raging party, I’d rather that than be alone with Zeph in the garden, giving him another reason to ridicule me.
“Wait.” I manage to take a few steps, but then am stopped in my tracks by his steely grasp.
I don’t even turn to face him, just speak out into the garden, while Zeph is still behind me.
“Not tonight, please, Zeph. I mean it. I don’t have the energy to deal with you, right now, or anything else, for that matter. I know coming here was a bad move, but I stupidly let Geneva twist my arm again. I promise I’ll stay out of your way, just, let’s not do this tonight. Please.”
“Turn around.”
I don’t move. “Zeph, I—”
He squeezes my wrist tighter, painfully so, this time. “I said. Turn. The. Fuck. Around. Now.” His voice is nothing more than a low growl, but the menace conveyed in those few stern words chills me to the core. Just like Geneva, he’s not about to take no for an answer.
I pivot toward him warily.
“What the fuck? What’s the matter?” He looks and sounds genuinely concerned, which throws me completely off guard.
“It’s nothing.” He’s still holding tight to my right hand, so I use my left to swipe at the fresh tears littering my cheeks, but don’t meet his gaze, instead staring studiously at the floor.
“Bullshit.” He nudges my chin upward with his free hand, forcing me to meet his enquiring stare, then doesn’t drop his hand when I do. “You’re crying your goddammed eyes out, so of course it’s something. I asked what’s wrong, and I expect a fucking answer.”
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing that concerns you. It’s my personal business.”
“I meant what I said in the cafeteria that day. Your business is my business. Now don’t make me ask you again.” His eyes bore into mine, so piercing and intense I can scarcely breathe, let alone think straight at the impact of his words.
Intense. That’s the right word for Zeph as a whole, not just his eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more overwhelming person in my life.
I can tell he’s not about to let me off the hook without an answer, which is a shame, because I have zero desire to tell him anything. I hesitate, taking a moment to weigh up my options, even though I know I don’t really have any. I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
“I’m worried about my mom. Like really worried.” I can’t look him in the eye, so I look off to the side of his head.
He nods, but doesn’t say anything, forcing me to meet his gaze again. Clearly I’m going to have to give him more than that.
“I haven’t seen or heard from her in weeks. Months, actually, now. She just disappeared one day... like... totally vanished without a trace. I haven’t had any kind of contact with her since. Not a call, text, email, fucking snail mail. Nothing.” I gulp back the fresh round of tears threatening to fall.
“My dad is playing the whole thing down and saying she’s left him, which, to be fair, she would be wise to do. It just really doesn’t fit with her personality for her to vanish without contacting me, regardless of whatever shit might be going on between the two of, you know?” He nods, but stays silent, urging me on with his eyes. “I’ve been wanting to file a missing person’s report, but he keeps dodging the issue.”
“This is the shit Thunder’s been working with you on, right?”
“Oh. Um... yeah.” I try, and no doubt fail miserably, to hide my surprise.
“Don’t look so shocked. No secrets between us. What one knows, we all know.”
“Even…” I let the words hang in mid-air, not wanting to voice them, as though somehow saying the words aloud will make them true.
“Especially who we fuck, how, when, and where.” Clearly he doesn’t share my desire to be discreet.
“Okaaaaay.” I can’t even begin to deal with the implication of what he just said right now.
“Yeah, he’s been helping me out with the legal side of things. Research, I guess you could call it. My mom apparently took nothing with her. No purse, or pocket book. No phone, no clothes. Literally nothing. Everything is still at home, including her driver’s license. She has no money, and no ATM card. I mean, unless she secretly has doubles of all of those things, then how is she surviving?”
The question has been gnawing at my mind for weeks. How the hell is it even possible?
“But even if I entertain the idea that she does somehow have the means—a secret bank account, a totally different identity… whatever, the thing I can’t accept is the fact that she hasn’t tried to contact me. I just know that if she was physically able, she would have found a way somehow. It doesn’t feel right. It’s hard to explain, but I trust my gut on this.”
He nods again, adjusting his grip on me so that the hand that was on my chin is now lower on my neck. He moves his thumb back and forth, lightly grazing my cheek.
“My dad’s reaction is especially weird. If my mom had upped and left him for real, I’d expect ranting, raving and tearing the place apart, but instead, unless I specifically mention her, he’s acting like she never existed.” I really want to fucking stop talking—I’ve said too much already—but somehow I can’t.
“If I really push the issue, he just mutters something about her being a selfish bitch, then goes on, business as usual. It’s out of character for both of them, and I really
don’t think that’s a coincidence. Still, I’m in two minds about what to do, you know?” He raises his eyebrow indicating that I should continue.
I sigh loudly, not wanting to go on, but somehow needing to. “I have to go to the police, but I’m really not sure what I should tell them.”
“What do you mean?” I have his genuine attention, and I squirm under the weight of his concerned gaze.
“Like, I honestly don’t know whether I should report a missing person or a murder.”
“Murder?” Zeph’s eyebrows shoot up.
I nod slowly. My blood runs cold at the words I’ve just said, and the ones I’m preparing to
say next.
“Yeah.” Here goes nothing. “I think my dad killed my mom.”
Chapter 31
Blake
* * *
Whoop, there it is. The bombshell I’m too scared to even think most of the time, let alone say aloud, and because I’m out of my tiny little mind, the first person I confess my deepest darkest fears to is Zeph-motherfucking-Cross. As soon as the words float from my lips I want to bitch-slap myself, and retract them like a cartoon character with a comedy fishing pole.
I know my life isn’t a box of fucking cherries right now, but why do I have to add to the train wreck by walking ass first into situations that make it exponentially worse?
Instead of speaking, I hand Zeph my phone and watch as he scrolls through the message chain between my dad and me, a deeper frown carving into his breathtaking features with every second that passes as he reads.
At the same time, the last text my dad sent scrolls over and over in my mind.
DAD: Grow the fuck up. I messaged her this morning. AGAIN. Been messaging her this whole time. Getting the read receipts back, so she’s seeing all these messages and can’t even be bothered to answer. Face facts. She doesn’t love you, and never did. She’s not coming back.