CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR #3
They pretended to be mine, to love me, to become my family, supplying them with ample time to understand exactly what I was capable of.
Who they were creating me to be.
It’s sad really. A massive oversight. And they call themselves the best.
Now, they’ll choke on the smoke of their own deceit.
The spores of their arrogance.
The air is toxic, boys.
I tuck in my hair, nice and tight, lowering the black ski mask and cinching my hood. Sifting through my bag, I find the drone, flying it high into the air to capture a pretty aerial view.
After I maneuver it above the house, I skip out to my artwork and light my ardent message. The whoosh isn’t nearly as dramatic as the house was, but the video will be. I fly my little filming spaceship around a few more times, pleased with the production.
My work here is adequately underway, so I gather my things, jump in the car, and cover the long stretch of road in a blur. Once the video is sent to Simone, I rest my burner phone on my thigh and settle in for my drive while I await the call .
Unsurprisingly, it comes within twenty minutes, hardly long enough for them to have watched my entire film, accounting for Simone’s delivery time. The ring stirs giddy flutters low in my belly. I flick the Answer button and lift the phone to my ear without a word.
“Hey, Freckles.” Ty’s voice is a bruise and a balm, rolled into one, but the bruising is more identifiable now.
“Ty, I should have known they’d appoint you—the placater. Good to hear you’re alive and well, but don’t fucking call me Freckles.”
He clears his throat, my demand sobering his voice to a tentative huskiness. “Okay, Ivy. I know you’re in pain—”
“In pain?” My tone remains placid, detached, and resolute, but I won’t skirt the issues.
“You think I’m in pain? I’m not in pain, Ty.
I’m numb. Pain is stubbing your toe, breaking an arm, not being able to walk after twenty-four hours of earth-shattering sex.
Pain is not watching a man you love bleed out, trying to save you, before having your world ripped out from under you, only to discover that everyone you’ve ever loved is lying to you, pretending your life isn’t real, and preying on your deepest insecurities.
” Fuck the calm stoicism. “I thought I was losing my fucking mind, Ty!”
He groans a wounded bleat.
Is this hard for him? Hearing what they did to me? I hope to hell it is.
“I know,” he admits. “It’s complicated, and there’s only so much we can share, but we—”
Motherfucking pussies.
Plowing through whatever bullshit he’s about to spew, I cut in with what I need to know most. “What about Liam? Did he survive?”
There’s a quaver to his words when he says, “I’m so sorry, Ivy. I …”
“Right.” Fuck. God, Liam. I’m so sorry. That’s a gutting I wasn’t prepared for, whether I saw it with my own eyes or not. Jesus, it hurts. Moving on. “I didn’t have you call me in the hopes of securing answers or catching up. ”
His tone lightens, as if he’s flooded with relief that I won’t beg him to tell me why they’ve done this to me. “What for then?”
“Did you get my message?”
“We did.” His response is woven with a hint of ire. “What the hell did you accomplish by setting the house on fire? Other than calling attention to yourself?”
“Oh, Mr. Andrew Michaels, tut-tut, now. Ivanna Kingston was nowhere near that tragic fire. Question the realtor or anyone else for that matter. And of course, we know Ivy Wells doesn’t exist, much like Tytan and Andrew.
But it is lovely when life hands us visual metaphors.
Your memories went up in smoke, just like mine.
It burns a little, doesn’t it? Although, you’re all so fond of smoke and mirrors, it probably feels like home anyway. ”
“Fuck, Ivy.” He sighs, and I hear the agony again, but like his lack of explanation, my empathy isn’t there. “You don’t sound like you. I’m worried.”
“Don’t be.” A tear spills down my face, and my jaw tenses. I scold the part of myself willing to mourn and break. They don’t deserve that.
“I’d do anything to hug you right now.” The tremor in Ty’s usually upbeat delivery should please me, but it only seems to twist the dagger they speared me with.
If he’s sharing wounds though, I can hop on that train.
“That’s the thing, Ty. I would’ve loved that, but you stole it from me.
You stole my identity, my life and dreams, my epic love and memories, my best friend, my family, and my hope.
And you weren’t only part of it. Your lack of explanation tells me you authored it.
” My voice cracks on the last three words, and I loathe myself for not controlling it better.
He exhales a gush as we remain silent for a few beats before he finally breaks it. “Freckles—”
“Don’t,” I chide, eyes trained on the bleak stretch of road ahead. “Part of me hates you for what you did— all of you. But there will always be a part of me that loves what you gave me before that. Unfortunately, that me , the one you knew and were best friends with, no longer exists.”
“Don’t say that, Ivy. That’s giving up. It’s almost over.
And Wells, he’s a goddamn mess—I don’t give a fuck!
” He shouts that last line, presumably to someone else because it sounds muffled and is trailed by indistinct, angry murmurs, which fade as his voice chimes clear again. “That man loves you so—”
Balking, I break off his futile vow. “I wondered when we’d be getting to him.
I’m sure Chief Folsom isn’t far, probably basking in the glow of his hard-won seat and listening in.
Gage too. Here’s a message you can share.
Examine that video a little closer and the documents the realtor sent over.
I think you’ll be tickled with what you find. ”
My teeth notch into my lip. I know how caustic and scathing this last detail will be, but if I want to be chased …
“And this will be especially meaningful to Wells. Tell him Liam gave me everything I need—the tools, clues, skills. But most importantly, he seduced me with a knee-weakening parting kiss. It’s his lips and taste that have been lingering on mine for the past five weeks.
That’s the one memory that will never go up in smoke. ”
A chorus of screaming expletives, many with my name attached, roar through the phone, so I end the call with a delightful vision—Wells’s incensed grimace, clenching jaw, enraged emeralds shooting spears of fury.
His hisses of, “Jesus fucking Christ, Ivanna,” while his blanching knuckles strangle his hair.
It’s all so palpable, like he’s seated here with me.
Chucking the burner phone out my window into the thick brush, I imagine it skating across a pond, ripples ringing it as it sinks.
How’s that for making a splash, Liam?
Full fucking circle. I think he’d be proud.
“Pulse points? What are those?” I ask, intrigued by this odd line of work.
Liam stands, probably hoping to end this so he can eat, but I’m far hungrier for answers.
Thankfully, he continues his explanation.
“People they can’t resist calling. Investments they weren’t willing to lose.
Something that is too difficult to completely leave behind.
It’s different for everyone. Most teams don’t manage their erased clients for very long, like we do.
We’re always keeping tabs, ensuring they aren’t fucking it up.
But lack of diligence is generally our gain when we’re looking for someone. ”
I glance up at Wells, who nods for me to keep going. “So, how do you manipulate the pulse points? Monitor phones and other forms of contact, I’m sure. Is that it?”
“It’s normally enough,” Liam says. “But sometimes, we need to make a big splash. Get their attention so they show themselves or even come after us. Every mouse in hiding has a piece of cheese they can’t resist.”
The chaos of the fire and the call is still buzzing like a live wire with the flickering of that memory—my first introduction to the garage full of cars and their covert business. I can hear Liam’s warm chuckle, see the twinkle in his eye as I speed down the highway. He’s with me.
“Well, fuck, that was one hell of a pulse-point manipulation, High Society.”