CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE #2
Popping up, I wipe my face, still damp with tears seeping out in my sleep, and think back on the random memories my mind conjured up while I was forsaken in the hospital—breadcrumbs dropped when the guys spoke freely because I was zoned out.
There are three that my brain swirls over.
There was a casual mention of two seats once when I was reading in the great room.
I’m not sure how that will aid me, but any information about KORT seems advantageous.
Another time, after training, we were on the back patio.
I was lost to the floating clouds, the squawking birds, the weight of my aching muscles, and Gage mentioned someone named Mordred in passing.
They were discussing leads on finding the person responsible for issuing a hit.
The rest of the conversation is hazy, but it’s worth investigating.
The last one flickers with a glow of golden light because it coincided with an emotional afternoon.
I’m in the library with Wells. The guys just told me they have no family, and Wells explained how his was killed by a tornado.
My face burrows into his chest while his fingers string through my hair.
I’m nestled in his arms, reeling at the thought of such loss and hating that I can’t take it away.
My mind wanders, but there’s background chatter.
Ty, Liam, and Gage are still in the kitchen, cleaning up and tossing insults back and forth.
Liam scoffs at a grumpy comment Gage made. He’s grumbling about something he lost, but Liam seems to be blowing him off.
“Jason Petrovsky spent his whole life fighting for scraps, whereas I seize the pot of gold with ease,” Liam says.
My drifting attention returns to Wells, who tells me I changed everything, that he was lost to whatever path I carved for him, like a storm.
Something about it reminds me of my masked heartthrob.
Wells never sees me as ordinary. After that, he finger-fucks me into a mind-blowing orgasm before I set off to train with Ty .
It’s strange how some of Wells’s sweet declarations seem more oriented toward my monetary worth now, like maybe the path he’d referred to was regarding his financial gain for finding me.
And the further gain he garnered from protecting me for my father.
Is that how he meant them, or are they simply shrouded by the shadows of deception now?
Researching KORT proves to be fruitless. I dig into each of the family names Wells offered, but nothing on the actual organization comes up, not even on the dark web. It’s not rocket science to narrow down who likely holds the seats, but that still doesn’t provide much for my situation.
The search on Mordred is slightly more valuable and certainly more chilling.
I can’t find anything directly posted by him, but I do eventually discover him mentioned in a thread between two other men regarding a hit on the “O’Reilly girl.
” The leads they share aren’t correct, but this conversation is seven weeks old.
For my own sanity, I move on to the Jason Petrovsky breadcrumb, hoping it turns up less horror-film vibes.
It takes a lot of weeding out at first because I have nothing to go on besides the name and his connection to Liam.
But then I check to see if maybe they knew each other in the Navy SEALs, and that’s when things get interesting.
There’s no record of my guys in the Navy, but there is of Jason Petrovsky.
He died with the rest of his unit six years ago—a fireteam sent on a mission to uncover and invade a terrorist camp in the Middle East. An outraged reporter from the New York Times tagged them the Orphan Unit because none of the soldiers had families to go home to and claimed it was a suicide mission.
There’s a picture of the men who perished. Jason stands in the middle, a hair taller than the next towering man. But the most astounding characteristic about Jason is that he looks identical to Liam Graves.
And Wells, or Chad Folsom, stands beside him—chief of the unit. Not surprisingly, Ty and Gage are there too—Andrew Michaels and Joshua Ricci, respectively. Looks as though the dead soldiers resurrected themselves to a whole new life.
It’s not that surprising, considering their career, but it feels like a final betrayal. The men who I felt were an extension of me aren’t men I know at all.
Doing a deep dive into Chad Folsom, I find out all I can about Wells’s family, even uncovering the Oklahoma town’s tribute to those who died in the tornado, including his mom, dad, and brother.
His mom was beautiful. She had Wells’s raven-black hair and a smile brighter than the sun. And she feels familiar.
I open the folder on the computer of articles and pictures I’ve snipped over the past twelve hours of research, and my pulse accelerates when I reach the Cabrini clippings. His daughter disappeared at the age of nineteen, and her picture is remarkably like that of Wells’s mom.
Fuck. Wells never mentioned he was a Cabrini, which seems like it would be pertinent information.
There’s another Cabrini daughter, but according to her social media, she’s a kindergarten teacher, so I doubt she’s in the seat. Plus, Wells mentioned that no woman has ever held one, and she has no children. I’m guessing the person who possesses the current Cabrini reign is Wells’s grandfather.
Two seats. Was Wells in line for the seat? Why did he hide that from me? Is that where he disappeared to? He got his money and left to assume his position of power? Maybe that’s a jump, but it doesn’t look like it.
I share everything I found with Celeste, and her jaw tightens with each detail.
She hisses a string of expletives before adding, “Maybe it was you or the chair.”
It’s not as though that thought didn’t occur to me, but my heart is still hitched to Wells, broken but refusing to let go. “Why do all your theories immediately paint Wells as a villain? ”
She huffs, exasperated and pissed off. Celeste has plainly had more than she can take.
“Because from where I’m standing, objectively , there is no other option.
Look at the extent to which he’s fucked with you, Ivy.
You’re dealing with all of this, and the asshole is nowhere to be seen.
He lied to you for months and then only divulged half of the truth. How else am I supposed to view him?”
Her animosity against him shoves me into defensive mode. “I get it, but you know me. You know my gut, and I’m telling you, that man loved me. Better than I’d ever imagined being loved. What if he’s suffering somewhere too?”
“I don’t know what else to say.” She sighs, hurling a hand into the air.
“Maybe it was complicated. Maybe some of his feelings were authentic, and that’s what you picked up on, more so because you also wanted it to be true.
But the evidence suggests that whatever he felt, he chose some other gain over you. ”
Maybe she’s right. I can even see Gage being convinced of that even though we were getting close those last few weeks. But Ty? Not with his past, not with our friendship. He wouldn’t just throw me out. This can’t be right.
The last loose end to check out is the gallery I sell my art to. The owner always claimed I had a superfan who bought all my pieces. I think it might have been Wells, so I’d like to pop in and talk with her.
Since I haven’t slept since my cry-fest when I took a power nap on Celeste’s bed, I close my eyes for a few hours, waking restless and eager to move forward.
I’m applying my makeup after a shower when the last day in my old home washes over me.
I unzip the inside compartment of my makeup bag and find the ruby necklace.
My pulse gallops, blood swishing in my ears in a berserk charge.
Holy hell. Physical proof.
As I wander out in search of Celeste, I’m gleeful and dazed and jabbering on and on about finding the necklace with Wells’s boots and hiding it.
“Holy shit!” she exclaims. “We were like, what, fifteen when you lost that? ”
“Yeah.” That answer is breathy because I’m captivated by the necklace dangling from my hand as though it might be a figment of my imagination.
“Who was the girl we hung out with at the camp? The one who had a crush on your security guard. Gemma someone?”
“Gemma Frost,” I supply.
Celeste drops into the desk chair, opening the laptop with a renewed vigor. “Let’s look her up. She was with us when the necklace got lost. Honestly, I always wondered if she stole it.”
I shake my head dubiously. “She had no reason to do that. Her parents were more loaded than mine.”
Celeste shrugs. “Maybe she’s connected to Wells.”
“That’s a stretch,” I snarl.
“It’s all a stretch, sweet pea. Your life is like a drunken one-night stand when you wake up stranded without your clothes.”
I snap my head toward her, equal parts alarmed and amused.
She flaps her hand with a huff. “Fucked up is all I meant. Don’t judge.”
“Right.” I chuckle, moseying back to the bathroom to finish my makeup.
Moments later, she gasps. “Fucking Christ, Ivy!”
I peek my head out while curling my lashes. “Did you find her?”
She spins her desk chair to face me, a contrite frown tugging her lips down. “Not exactly. She disappeared—one month before your eighteenth birthday.” Her tone is threaded with suspicion, and I can’t blame her. The timing of that is suspect for sure.
My gut stirs. I know it isn’t a coincidence. Too many ominous pieces have collided for me to believe anything related to my life is fortuitous. Maybe Gemma did steal this necklace, but I can’t fathom how Wells or anyone else knew it was mine.