63. Chess
Chapter sixty-three
Chess
F rom the shadowed fringe of the dance floor, my gaze is locked on Saint and Addy. They move with a grace that's almost too perfect, like they've been doing this dance for lifetimes instead of just tonight. The way wisps of her blonde hair fans out as he spins her, that little laugh escaping her lips—I can't help but burn with an envy that twists in my gut. Saint's got his hands on her, and I know how warm she feels under those fingertips. How she melts into a touch when it’s right. Because she's mine too, even if right now she's in his orbit.
"Looking sharp, Chess," Dre's voice is a low hum, vibrating through me as his body presses up against my back. His breath ghosts over the shell of my ear before his teeth catch my earlobe, a playful bite that sends an involuntary shiver racing down my spine.
"Can't say you're looking too bad yourself," I quip, though my voice betrays the heat his proximity stokes within me.
"Wait until later," Dre promises with a wicked whisper, trailing a finger down the side of my neck. "When we get Snowflake all to ourselves. Imagine her caught between us—"
I tilt my head back against his shoulder, a smirk curving my lips as I picture the scene he paints—a tangle of limbs, the contrast of our skin against hers. "We'll have to make sure she can handle the both of us."
"Trust me," Dre says, his ice blue eyes glinting in the dim light when I turn to face him. "She's more than capable."
"Then it's going to be a night to remember," I reply, the promise hanging between us, charged and undeniable.
As Dre's words continue to reverberate in the charged air between us, a discordant note hits my ears. It's the sound of venom laced with privilege, and it snatches my attention away from the thrumming anticipation of what's to come later tonight.
"Can you believe that piece of trash?" Wesley's sneer is a poison-tipped arrow aimed carelessly into the crowd, though his eyes are locked on Addy's lithe form on the dance floor. "Prime meat. She's gonna get what's coming to her."
"Watch yourself," Preston warns, matching Wesley's venomous tone. "She might be playing hard to get, but she can't ignore me forever. She and I aren't done."
"Don't worry, you can play all you want when that bitch is put in her place."
My grip tightens until my nails dig crescents into my palm. I cast a sidelong glance at Dre, reading the silent fury etched into his sharp features. We move as one, shadows slipping through the pulsating bodies, following the trail of contempt spewed by Wesley and Preston.
"Chess, you got your phone?" Dre whispers, his voice a lethal blade wrapped in velvet.
"Always." I slide my phone from my pocket, opening the camera app with practiced ease. The lens becomes an extension of my gaze, honing in on the two figures now huddled in a secluded alcove, hands fumbling with something that gleams under the sporadic strobe lights.
"Got it," I murmur as my thumb presses down, capturing the moment. The screen freezes on an image of illegal drugs passing between greedy fingers—a damning freeze-frame destined to unravel their carefully curated worlds.
"Damn, they're dumber than I thought," Dre quips, a touch of dark humor flashing in his eyes as we retreat back into the anonymity of the crowd.
"Idiots," I agree, a smug satisfaction curling inside me like smoke. They'd tried to scrub their dirty little secrets from the digital world, had called upon our skills for a clean slate. But they hadn't counted on us being the very architects of their downfall.
Stupid really when they insist on pushing us at every turn. What did they think would happen? We'd let it go? Preston still owes us money.
"Chess, this is going to be epic," Dre says, his voice a low growl mirroring my own thoughts. "Ready to watch them burn?"
"Been ready," I reply, feeling that same darkness within me stir, hungry for the retribution that's been long overdue. They'll pay for every scar they've inflicted on Addy, for every moment of fear or hurt she's had to swallow down.
With this evidence, with this proof of Wesley's involvement, we have everything we need. Plenty of evidence of Preston using, but Wesley was always more careful. He hired us to disappear the proof that he buys his grades.
"Let's make them regret they ever crossed her," Dre adds, his resolve a tangible force beside me.
"Absolutely," I affirm, the word a silent vow. Time's up for Wesley and Preston, and hell hath no fury like a hacker scorned.
Stealthily, we edge away from the crowd, and Dre's fingers curl around my wrist, guiding me toward a shadowed corner. The dimmed light of the ballroom doesn't reach here, shrouding us in darkness as if it's our own private world. My heart hammers a tattoo against my ribs, not just from anticipation of what we're about to do, but from the heat of Dre's presence alone.
"Chess," he breathes out my name like a sinner's prayer, and then his lips are on mine. It's a fierce kiss, one that steals my breath and brands his taste onto my tongue. I can feel every line of his body where it presses against mine, every pulse point that throbs with shared adrenaline from the night's unfolding events.
"They won't know what hit them," he murmurs against my lips, a promise laced with vengeance and desire. "Snowflake will be so pleased."
"Yeah she will," I manage back, words muffled by another searing kiss.
We break apart, chests heaving, eyes locking. A silent agreement passes between us: protect Addy at all costs, make them pay for their sins.
"Come on," I say, voice still raw from the intensity of our kiss. "We've got a queen to guard."
The bass from the speakers vibrates under our feet as we step back into the neon-lit chaos of the dance floor. From here, I can see Addy, laughter lighting up her face as Saint spins her around. She's radiant, a stark contrast to the shadows clinging to her life.
I keep close watch, a hawk circling its prey, making sure no more harm comes her way tonight. My mind races with plans, scenarios on how best to deploy our newly acquired ammunition. It has to be public, irrefutable. Maybe during one of Wesley's golden boy speeches or when Preston is knee-deep in another of his self-righteous rants.
"Timing is everything," I mutter to myself.
"Chess?" Dre gives me an inquisitive look, catching my muttered strategizing.
"Thinking about the grand finale," I tell him, meeting his gaze. "It's gotta be theatrical, you know? The kind of exposure that leaves a mark."
"Something worthy of our Snowflake's suffering," Dre adds, his eyes like ice catching fire.
"Exactly," I affirm, nodding once with conviction. As the beat of the music thrums through the air, I feel it—a symphony of retribution building to its crescendo. Soon, Preston and Wesley will face a storm of consequences, and I'll be the one directing the lightning.
The rhythm of the music pulses through my veins, a perfect counterpoint to the adrenaline that floods my system. I can't help but let a small, self-satisfied smirk play across my lips as I scan the crowd. They're all oblivious to the storm that's about to break over their heads.
"Got that look again," Dre says, his voice barely cutting through the cacophony of the dance floor.
"Which one?" I ask, feigning innocence while my hands itch for my keyboard and the sweet release of the Enter key.
"The 'I'm about to hack the universe' look." He chuckles, a sound that vibrates against the backdrop of pounding bass.
"Can you blame me? The Winthrops have had it coming for a long time." I lean in closer, lowering my voice so only Dre can hear. "And thanks to Mason, we've got more dirt on them than ever."
"Good old Mason," Dre murmurs, nodding with appreciation. "Never thought he'd be the Trojan horse in their little empire."
"Neither did they." I relish the thought. "But everyone underestimates us, don't they?"
"Until it's too late." Dre's agreement is grim, a dark promise.
"Too late for them," I correct, eyes glittering with anticipation. "Just in time for us."
"Chess," Dre places a hand on my shoulder, grounding me. "You really think this'll work? Taking down the Winthrops?"
"Without a doubt." I turn to him, letting the mask of confidence slip enough to show the steel underneath. "They've been playing God for too long. It's time they learn they're just mortals."
"Then let's make sure they fall hard." Dre's grin mirrors my own, a reflection of the shared hunger for justice—or is it vengeance?
"Like Icarus." My gaze drifts back to Addy, the reason we started all this, the reason we can't stop until it's finished. "They won't know what hit them."
"Here's to watching the flames," Dre raises an imaginary glass, a toast to the chaos we're about to unleash.
"May they burn bright and relentless." I raise my own, clinking it against his.
We stand there a moment longer, caught in the eye of our brewing tempest, before turning back to the dance floor. The pieces are set, the players unwitting pawns in a game they never saw coming. And when the fire starts, I'll savor every second of the inferno.