19. Myles #4
Even if they don’t know who I am or what I did, it still doesn’t make sense that they’d risk themselves to help me.
I’m nobody, and to them, I’m probably nothing more than an ant in this ant farm that we call a school.
They have immense power and influence and can get away with literal murder if they can justify it to the right people.
Another loud noise, like the slap of something flat hitting the tiled floors, pulls me free from my thoughts, and I grab my sea sponge and bottle of body wash out of my shower kit so I can finish up.
I’m just going around in circles again. I have no idea why they did what they did, and I can speculate and guess all I want, but that’s all it will be, speculation and guessing.
I also can’t stop obsessing over all the little details I know about my stalker and how they loosely connect him to not just the Rebels, but the Hawthornes as well.
It didn’t occur to me at the time, but there’s something about when he showed me the cabin out in the woods that sticks out to me now that I’ve had a chance to think about it.
He said the cabin belonged to the Rebels and that I’d run right into their territory.
I checked all the school maps and ecological surveys and everything I could find related to the woods, and there were no structures or mentions of cabins on any of them.
How would he know about it if he wasn’t a member?
Then there’s how he asked about the backdoor code I used as my Hail Mary to try and tell whoever was looking into my hack jobs that I wasn’t the one they needed to worry about.
How would he possibly know about that if he wasn’t directly involved in the investigation? At the very least, he’d have to be connected to the frat on some level to have access to that kind of intel.
He also said that the job on Felix was how I got on his radar. How would that happen if he wasn’t looking into it? And he got really pissed when he heard about the blackmail files I found in the Kings’ system. Why would he care about those if they didn’t directly affect him?
I already assumed he was a student, and it makes sense that he’d be part of one of the frats if he makes a habit of stalking people to gather information about them. That’s not really the sort of thing someone does for shits and giggles. At least, I don’t think it is.
I might not know who my stalker is, but I know he’s calculated, clever, and hella strategic.
And he’s really good at what he does. I can’t see him being a lone wolf and stalking people all willy-nilly.
He doesn’t do anything without a reason, so unless he’s a freelancer who contracts himself out to the frats when they want info gathered and tabs kept on people, then he has to be a member.
But one thing I do know is there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell my stalker is Jax Hawthorne. Having similar body types and voices isn’t proof of anything, and neither is how a single look from him can turn my knees to jelly and my brain to mush.
I just superimposed my stalker on him because my dumbass brain is desperate to solve at least one of my problems, and it latched on to the idea that Jax and my stalker are the same person.
I don’t even know if Jax is into guys. Jace is, that’s a well-known fact around campus, but Jax is a mystery.
From what I’ve been able to find, he’s never been linked to anyone on campus, never publicly dated anyone, and, like his brother, doesn’t really use social media or have much of an online footprint.
Turning off the water, I drop my sponge back in with my shower stuff.
Time to drag myself back to my room and drive myself crazy obsessing over why a group of the most influential students on campus stepped in to stop me from being shot and trying to convince myself that my stalker is none other than Jax Hawthorne.
I’m just wrapping my towel around my waist when my eyes land on my phone, and a proverbial lightbulb goes off over my head.
Christ on a cracker, am I really that stupid?
There’s an easy way to check if there’s even a possibility that Jax is my stalker, and I shake my head at how dumb I am that I didn’t think of this sooner.
It takes about a minute to get into the school admin system on my phone, but once I’m in, I easily find the list of students who were on campus the week before the semester started.
There are only about fifty names, and I nearly drop my phone when I see Jax and Jace on the list.
That’s not hard proof, considering their cousin Xave is also on the list, but it’s a hell of a coincidence.
Ignoring their names, I look through the list again for anyone who stands out to me.
I still can’t believe I didn’t think to do this before, but in my defense, I’ve had a lot going on, and sometimes the most obvious answers are the last ones we think of.
No one on the list is familiar, and other than the twins and Xave, there was only one other Rebel on campus last week. His name isn’t familiar, and I look up his student ID.
I vaguely remember seeing him around, but it doesn’t look like he could be my guy.
He has a similar build, but unless he’s lost some weight, he’s bigger than my stalker, and his ID lists a scar on his right hand as an identifying mark and no tattoos.
My stalker doesn’t have a scar on either of his hands, and I’ve seen little flashes of ink under his sleeves, so it can’t be him.
I exit the school admin system and put my phone back on the bench so I can dry off and get dressed. That didn’t help nearly as much as I hoped, and now I’m left with even more questions than when I started.
Thankfully there are only a few guys around when I leave my shower cubby, and I slip out of the bathroom without having to talk to or even really look at any of them.
My head is still spinning when I slip into my room, and I glance at my chessboard before I can stop myself.
One of my knights is gone.
“What the fuck?” I rush over to my dresser to see how the hell he got my knight when I was a move away from putting him in check with it.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter when I see what he did. I was so focused on trapping his king that I didn’t see his bishop had a straight shot to where I moved my knight.
That was a rookie mistake, and I study the board for a few minutes before deciding on my next move. If all goes according to plan, I should have him in four moves.
Satisfied that there are no rogue pieces who’ll swoop in and mess with my plan, I step back from my dresser so I can put my shower stuff away.
Something on my desk catches my eye as I’m heading back to where I dropped my toiletries basket, and I whirl on it like I’m expecting whatever it is to explode or get up and start chasing me around the room.
Laid out on the space between the edge of my desk and the bottom of my keyboard is a long black box, sort of like a necklace box but taller. An identical box about half the size sits on top of it, and next them is my puzzle box.
Curious, I walk over to my desk and stare at the boxes for a few beats. Is this some sort of game? Or maybe it’s a clue? It doesn’t look like they were placed there for any particular reason, and I carefully pick up the smaller box.
It’s heavier than I expected, and I brace for…something as I slowly flip the top up.
Inside is what looks like a folded silver knife, but it’s not a typical pocketknife or a switchblade or anything I recognize.
It’s about the length of my palm, and both the blade and the handle are curved, so it looks a bit like an oval folded up.
There’s a protrusion on both the top and the bottom of the blade right next to the handle, which also has a ring on the end of it like a finger loop.
Carefully, I pull the blade out and snap it into place. It moves smoothly and with very little resistance, and the blade is thick and curved with a pointy end and sharpened edges.
The knife isn’t heavy, and the shape fits comfortably in my hand, but even though it looks like I could inflict a lot of damage on someone, there’s something off with it.
As a test, I run the blade over a page in my scribble book, which is just a notebook I keep next to my computer so I can write notes to myself or doodle in when I’m bored. The blade leaves an indent in the paper but doesn’t cut it.
That’s weird. Why would he give me a knife that can’t even cut paper?
Making sure I don’t pinch my fingers in the mechanism, I fold the blade and put the knife back in the box. Then I pick up the larger box and slowly lift the top.
Inside is another knife, only this one is nestled in a leather sheath.
Carefully, I pull the knife free of the sheath.
The blade is about six inches long, but with the handle and hilt, the knife is probably closer to ten inches.
It’s also gorgeous, with a black handle inlaid with intricate silver filigree and a silver and black twisted blade that looks as dangerous as it is interesting.
The edges on this knife look razor sharp, and I carefully run it over the same piece of paper I tested the other knife on.
The blade doesn’t just cut that piece; it slices through multiple layers of paper, and I’m barely putting any pressure on it.
I slip the blade back into the sheath and put it on my desk.
Why did he give me a knife that’s so dull it can’t cut anything and one that’s so sharp it could probably cut anything? Is that some sort of message or clue?
Nothing comes to mind, and instead of driving myself crazy trying to figure out what he means by the knives, I pick up my puzzle box and examine it.
It doesn’t feel any heavier, and the rattle from inside tells me the key I stored in it is still in there, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t put something in with it.
I’ve solved the box so many times I can do it in my sleep, and I quickly perform the series of moves and manipulations to get it open. Inside is the key, but there’s also a rolled piece of paper, like a small scroll, tucked in there with it.
Being gentle in case it’s fragile, I pull the paper out and put the box back on my desk. The paper is different from standard computer paper or a page from a notebook. It looks vintage, and the thick texture and jagged edges remind me of antique parchment paper as I carefully undo the roll.
On it is a simple message in the most beautiful calligraphy I’ve ever seen: Happy Birthday, Myles.
That sensation of being watched, which has become such a normal part of my life that I barely notice it anymore, intensifies, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up as goosebumps rise on my skin.
Slowly, I turn around and face my closet.
The familiar figure leaning against the closed door with his arms crossed and one leg bent in a casual pose is dressed all in black, with his oversized hood up and hanging low over his face.
I only have my desk and bedside lamps on, so circles of light from them don’t reach where he’s standing, and he’s completely shrouded in darkness.
“You got me birthday presents?” I ask, my voice thick with emotion.
It doesn’t escape me that my first reaction is to be touched and not to freak out that he’s in my room and was waiting for me.
“Isn’t that what people do on birthdays?” His voice is soft and teasing, and so different from how he usually sounds that I can’t stop the sad smile I feel tilting my lips.
“Usually,” I say. “But considering you’re the only person who actually gave me anything this year…” I swallow the stupid lump in my throat. I refuse to get emotional over something as shallow as not getting any birthday presents.
“No one remembered your birthday?”
I busy myself with rolling up the scroll and putting it back in my puzzle box. “My friends always do, but they’re broke, and I don’t want anything other than a ‘Happy Birthday’ from them. But my family… They’re really busy, and I guess they forgot again this year.”
“That’s not right.”
I shrug and lock the puzzle box. “First world problems.”
“You didn’t go for a run today.”
I freeze, my back still to him. “I wasn’t feeling it today. And I’m not really feeling it right now,” I add, and even I can hear the disappointment in my voice.
I’m such a mess of emotions that I’m liable to burst into tears if we play any of our usual games.
Plus, it’s almost ten, and the campus is crawling with students getting ready to seize the day and party and do all the things that normal college students do.
Trying to run through the woods right now would just end with me hurting myself and needing to be saved by the guy who’s supposed to be hunting me.
“I didn’t come here for that,” he says, his voice as smooth as silk.
There’s a timbre to it that I’m not used to. The sexy rasp is still there, and so is the deep rumble that always hits me right in the chest, but the edge I’ve gotten used to is gone, and he sounds…kind.
No, not kind. Affectionate.
I shove those thoughts right out of my head and slowly turn around so I’m facing him.
“What did you come here for?” I whisper.
“To give you your gift and to see if you’re okay.”
I smile, or at least I try to. It doesn’t feel like a real smile, but hopefully he’s far enough away he can’t tell and it passes for one. “I’m fine. Birthdays usually aren’t all that great for me. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
“Really?” There’s a note of skepticism in his voice. “So what you’re feeling has nothing to do with you staring down the business end of an M4 this afternoon?”
It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room as my brain glitches out and goes completely blank for a few beats.
“You know about that?” I croak.
“Yes.”
I blink a few times as my brain comes back online.
Was he watching when that happened? Or was he there?
“Go ahead,” he encourages. “Ask what you’re thinking.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” He tilts his head to the side. With his hood still up and his face obscured by shadows, the effect should be scary, or at least eerie, but it looks curious and is somehow endearing.
I bite my lip and shake my head.
“Come on, Myles. Say it.”
“Were you there?” I whisper and brace for him to tell me I’m being stupid and he was just watching from afar.
“Yes.”
I gape at him. No, there’s no way. It’s not possible. It can’t be possible, can it?
“You know who I am,” he tells me in a soft tone I like way too much. “I know you do.”
My breath hitches as he takes a step closer to me.
“Say it.” Another step. “Say my name.”
My lips part as I try to get the word out, but it’s frozen in my throat.
The fear of being right is almost as strong as the fear of being wrong. If I call him by the wrong name, I could lose this, and that scares me more than it should.