“Besides,” Gift said, “if we’re going to play the game, shouldn’t we play the game like we’re a novice high school kid? Not like a professional poker player?”
Park hated to say it, but Gift was right. The key to figuring out the dirty little secret behind the game wasn’t necessarily to win. Nobody ever truly won in casinos except the casinos.
“So, who plays?” Morgan asked.
“We all do,” Remi said. “I’ve created fake accounts in everyone’s names and emailed you the directions for finding the funhouse and logging into the game. Everybody plays. Everybody checks in every afternoon with their stats. Obviously, if something happens or someone attempts to contact you within the game, you tell the rest of us immediately.”
“How do we bet with real money if we’re using fake names?” Dove asked.
“It’s all done digitally. It will walk you through what’s expected of you. If you get to a point where you do need to access money, tell Park. I’m sure the Watch can figure out a way to get the funds you need.”
Remi looked at Park for confirmation. He nodded, his fingers starting to massage Gift’s foot still clasped in his hands.
“Is he calling the shots now?” Drake asked Park, irritated.
Park shrugged. “Seems like he is.”
Drake frowned, brows drawn tight. “No vote or anything?”
“What’s the matter?” Dove simpered. “Afraid your boyfriend will start treating you the way you treat him?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Drake muttered. “And I treat him just fine.”
The barest hint of a smile played over Remi’s lips. “Then what are you afraid of?”
Drake’s mouth fell open at Remi’s cocky reply, but then he seemed to remember their audience. He scoffed at the smaller boy. “I’m a psychopath, baby. I’m not afraid of anything.”
Remi gave him a tight smile. “Don’t call me baby.” His tone was mocking as he added, “Since I’m not your boyfriend.”
“This is so awkward and weird,” Diego muttered under his breath. “Can you guys just fuck already and put the rest of us out of our misery?”
Remi flushed visibly from his neck to the tips of his ears. “Shut up. That’s not going to happen. He’s not my type.”
“Rich and hot’s not your type?” Drake said.
“Narcissistic and douchey aren’t my type,” Remi shot back.
A knowing smile slid over Drake’s face. “Funny, that’s not what you were saying at the bar the other night when I had my hand—”
Remi cut him off with a horrified look. “Finish that fucking sentence and I swear to God, I will never do another assignment for you. Ever.”
Drake shot a startled look to Park then to Remi and back again. “He’s kidding.”
“Mm,” Park said, noncommittal.
He couldn’t even begin to express how little he cared about their homework assignments. This whole experiment was ridiculous as far as Park was concerned. It was one thing to recruit kids out of college. The CIA and FBI were notorious for it. But to entrust government secrets to diagnosed psychopaths seemed like the worst type of hubris. And believing that having a neurotypical ‘sidekick’ to act as their Jiminy Cricket conscience would deter them from turning into a double agent was even more ridiculous.
The whole program could go down in flames as far as Park was concerned. In fact, he preferred if it did. That way Gift could find a real job. A safe job. One where Park wouldn’t give himself a heart attack worrying where Gift was at night.
“Is there anything else?” Park asked, more than ready to be done with this meeting and Gift’s wiggling toes.
Remi shook his head. “No, that’s it.”
Park made a sweeping gesture. “Class dismissed.”
Was it possible to die of sexual frustration? If it was, Park was about to add another death to his long list of kills. Gift was being punished, and while he had spent more than one night thinking about how Park might punish him, it had never occurred to him that simply not touching him might be on the list.
No, not touching him wasn’t even the right way to phrase it. It washowhe was touching him that was the problem. It was like he had ants crawling under his skin. He was so hyper aware of everything. Every breath, every minute movement…
