Two weeks ago, Carter gave me a file of all the information he was able to glean from his deep dives on our kidnapper’s devices. Like I suspected, the three men I killed all worked for the security company that was contracted for the event, and the fourth member of the team was their supervisor.
None of the men had criminal records, and they all led boring lives. None of them were married or had any dependent children, and everything he found points to it being a crime of opportunity and not the work of career criminals—or even competent ones.
The team I hired to dispose of the evidence at the cabin was worth every penny, and after the police found the charred bodies of the three guys I took out in their burned-out truck at the bottom of a gorge, their deaths were ruled an accident, and the case was closed with no further investigation.
The last member of the team was found dead in his apartment from a single gunshot wound to the templeabout three days after we escaped, and after another quick investigation, his death was ruled a suicide.
Everything Carter found points to him being the ringleader of the group, and while I would have liked to be the one to end him as payback for what he did, I’m not mad that he saved me time and effort by doing it himself.
There’s also no indication that any of them knew Damon’s real identity, or that they looked into my alias. Damon was targeted because of his paycheck for the event, and I got mixed up in things by acting suspicious and hooking up with their mark.
That’s it.
Our secret died with our kidnappers, so there’s really no reason to ever bring it up again. Especially with all the drama going on with my cousins and trying to figure out how this hacker kid got involved in the failed plot to kill Felix.
A strange twinge of guilt tugs at my stomach. I sent Damon an encrypted email telling him the situation was over and that everything had been dealt with once I was sure there were no loose ends in the info Carter gave me.
Even though the email was encrypted and I used a secure channel to send it, I still kept my language vague and didn’t use any words that could trigger someone’s curiosity if they intercepted it, so I didn’t tell him any of the actual details of what I learned. I assumed he’d ask if he had any questions, but a few days later, I got an email back with a simple “Thanks for letting me know.” And that was that.
I probably should have talked to him instead of sending an email, but it seemed like the best course of action considering how preoccupied I’ve been with what happened between us in the smash room.
I’ve gotten a lot of head in my life, and most of it has been from women who knew what they were doing. I have dozensof incredible and satisfying sexual experiences to draw from, but for some damn reason, it’s the fragmented memories of the blowjob Damon gave me that I can’t stop thinking about.
It wouldn’t be so bad if it were just an occasional thing, but it’s always at the most inopportune time, like when I’m flirting with women at parties or sitting in class. It’s even starting to interfere with frat business because I’ve found my thoughts straying more than once while I’ve been in security meetings with Nico, and paying attention to those is kind of important.
I haven’t even hooked up with anyone else since before the Christmas break, and the few times I tried, I ended up bailing before things went anywhere.
Not hooking up for weeks, or even months, at a time isn’t that crazy for me. I might have an active sex life, but I’m not one of those guys who acts like he’ll die if he doesn’t get laid on the regular. I have my dry spells, but they usually happen because I’m busy or distracted with frat or family business, not because I’m too distracted by a blowjob that happened a month ago to feel even the slightest desire to hook up with any of the many options I have around me.
Maybe it’s the fact that the memories are incomplete that’s messing with me. Or that I don’t even really know if my memories are real. I know the blowjob happened, but I have no clue if what I’m remembering is actually what went down, or if it’s just what my brain conjured up while under the influence of the drugs.
I can’t even blame my preoccupation on our hookup being something new or different. I might not have ever fucked around with a guy before, or even really considered it, but I’m not some blushing virgin. I have a healthy sexual appetite and a gift for finding partners who are into experimenting. There’s not a lot that I haven’t done, so being hung up on a blowjob, even from a guy, is weird.
“Huh,” Jace says thoughtfully, pulling me away from my musings.
“What?” I blink a few times to clear my vision. Thank fuck Jace was too busy doing his thing to notice my thousand-yard stare while I was distracted. I’m usually better at hiding that sort of thing, but I’ve found myself disassociating a lot lately while my mind wanders, which is also fucking weird.
“It looks like Damon isn’t as boring as I thought now that I know his real name,” Jace says, glancing at me.
“What do you mean?” I sit up a bit straighter and lean forward so I can see his monitors better.
“I’ve only been able to do a surface-level search so far, but what I’ve found is pretty interesting.” He leans back in his chair and picks up the silver butterfly knife on the desk next to his keyboard. Snapping it open, he absently flips it around his fingers in a dizzying pattern of glinting metal that would make a serial killer nervous.
“According to his birth certificate, his mother was Emily Blake, and his father was unknown,” he says, still flipping and spinning the knife like it’s a fidget toy and not a razor-sharp weapon.
I feel myself frowning as I lean closer to the screen so I can read the certificate Jace pulled up. He’s right; there’s no father listed on it. “Huh? How is that possible if he’s a founding legacy?”
One thing about secret societies is that they live and breathe tradition, and bloodlines are the main criteria for membership. Stepchildren aren’t considered part of the line of legacies, and it’s incredibly rare for the stepkids, or even adopted kids, of alumni to get tapped for initiation.
“That’s not even the weirdest part.” Jace blows a bubble with his gum and pops it loudly. “Bro has two birth certificates. The one the school has on file, which is the same one that comesup when you search for it, was issued when Damon was eleven, and it lists his mother as Emily Blake and his father as Andrew Cosgrove.”
“How can someone have two birth certificates?”
“Money and connections.” Jace switches his knife to his other hand and continues to spin it with the same ease. “Someone put a lot of effort into wiping all traces of the original, and the only reason I even knew to look for it was because of a coding error in the records system. Most people, and even most hackers, wouldn’t know what to look for or how to backtrace it, but yours truly isn’t most people.”
I nod, even though the bulk of the technical jargon Jace said went right over my head.
Jax and Jace, like Carter, are actual geniuses, and I’ve learned to just let them nerd out and nod along when they talk about shit that’s beyond my scope of understanding. If it’s truly important, they’ll break it down in layman’s terms for me.
