“Cami, talk to Izzy and comb through Izzy and Nathaniel’s written conversations to see if he ever let on that he knew about us, because he definitely did. Also, try to find out if he ever met anyone through that app. Marcus, see if you can talk to the werewolves working onThe Packand find the samething about Tyler, too,” I point to them.
They nod. “Lauren has a cast and crew get-together next week. I’ll join her,” Marcus says.
“You do that. Dominic, continue adding to the chemical suppliers and buyers list since that is the only lead we have to find the Vigilante Wolf Hunter before the other killer finds them,” I tell him.
“Perfect,” Meena starts. “In the meantime, I’ll have agents find more about this game and their creators. It’s vile and needs to go.”
We all nod in complete agreement.
Meena leaves, and we get to work.
Vigilante Wolf Hunter is mine, and I’m a territorial bastard. No one gets him but me.
Chapter Eighteen
Hacked Servers, Heated Moments, and Highly Indecent Behavior
Elliot
Ten pm and I’m still sitting in my office, finishing up a research paper that’s not due for another six months. Because what’s the point of going back home? Sleep has decided it hates me, and the closed walls taunt me. My home, my safe place, is overrun with ghosts I don’t have the energy to confront.
I would have tried therapy, but I can hardly share anything real without the danger of being thrown in prison or a mental institute. While I may prefer my office over my house, it’s definitely better than the other options.
I tried sleeping pills, but they make the nightmares worse and I woke up more exhausted than normal. Working with a massive headache is the only option I’ve got.
My phone buzzes with an incoming message. I don’t even have to check to know it’s Nicholas. I should ignore his texts, but what else am I doing? You can only use ‘writing a paper for a conference I’ll skip when I’m selected’ as an excuse for so long. Besides, I’m already halfway done with it.
So, giving a big head to Detective Makes-World’s-Best-Pancake, it is.
Nicholas Harper Oliver’s Friend: Someone misses you.
The message is sadly not followed by a dick pic. It’s a picture of Mickey.
I shouldreallyignore it. It’s a travesty. So cliché, he should be embarrassed. Mickey is cute and all, but what the fuck, Nicholas? It’s definitely not a reply-able text. He just got around to spelling the words right. I pity anyone who reads his reports. Replying to this would just encourage him, and then I would never get him to stop being a dork.
Me: You’re a dork.
I know it’s counterproductive, but it needed to be saidfor humanity. It’s pure public service.
I go back to editing the same paragraph for the fifty-seventh time. Surprisingly, you can’t work your best when you’ve barely slept for two weeks. Embarrassingly, the last time I had a full night of sleep was in Nicholas’s bland bed.
Must be the blowjobs. Or my body was so tired, it gave up. I even woke up fresh and was almost tolerable for all of three days before Ashley started complaining about me being a bitch again. Has grown quite a spine, that girl. At least my insomnia is helping someone.
I replace the first sentence again when my screen distorts like an old-timey television with a bad signal. I jerk back on my chair.
The screen goes completely black, and Sam’s smug face comes on it.
“What the fuck?” I yell, clutching my chest.
He laughs, the bastard. “You deserve it for ignoring my calls for a week.”
“I replied to your messages,” I say, it still comes out a little loud. I clear my throat.
“Not the same. You know, check-in calls arenotoptional. So, here it is,” he says, spreading his hands.
“What is it?” I ask, frustrated.
“Your check-in call, O Invincible Unbeatable Great One,” he taunts.
