Chapter Nineteen
Romy
A cold shower was exactly what I needed to get Caius’s scent off me. It also helped to bring clarity back to my mind. As I towel off, I replay the entire evening over and over again in my head.
Gareth likes me but is loyal to the Crownes because he easily betrayed me.
Theo likes me and can be swayed if I work him right.
Orion is still shrewd and terrifying.
And Caius…I saw cracks in his impenetrable ice tonight. He’s not emotionless like he outwardly portrays. In fact, I dare say he might be hiding an incredible vulnerability. I’d seen a flash of genuine tenderness when he’d put on his show in front of Solomon.
I shiver at the thought of Solomon Grayhawk.
The man himself is nondescript. Plain salt-and-pepper hair, plain features, plain build. Nothing about him screamed “bad guy,” and yet…he’s definitely bad. When he appeared with blood on his face and a dead, naked girl in his arms, his bad-guy status shot through the roof.
Who was the girl?
Why did he kill her?
I’m dying to ask Theo more about Solomon, but it’s late and I know he’s still at the party. Caius is hiding out somewhere in this big house. I wonder if he’s hiding from me.
Guilt. Shame. Anger.
I swear I sensed hints of all those emotions on our drive back to his house. For an unfeeling kidnapper, he’s clearly going through something after tonight.
Was it me?
Was it because of the dead girl? Because of Solomon?
Once I’m dressed in pajama pants and a T-shirt, I grab my phone and seek out a cozy place to hang out away from Caius. Luckily, he’s not in his bedroom but has stoked the fire, so I curl up on a chaise nearest to the fireplace. A thick, fuzzy blanket is draped over the back of the furniture, so I grab it and cover my legs with it.
Time for a little research.
Since I don’t have any text or email replies from my family, it’s obvious the Crownes have cut me off from them. Otherwise, I’d have already been contacted. They’ve done something to my phone, though I don’t know what, to keep me contained.
At least I have the internet, even if some sites and apps are blocked.
The first thing I look into is Solomon Grayhawk. I learn that he’s in his late sixties, is married to a former congresswoman, and has three adult children. They live in Pennsylvania just outside of Pittsburg. His steel company is successful, and their website is professional.
How does a family man with a thriving steel business get involved as an investor for the Crownes? Solomon is a sicko murderer, so they must be into the same twisted extracurricular activities as him. They’ve kidnapped both Megan and me. Not exactly saints in comparison to Solomon.
Crowne Unity Project’s Instagram page flashes in my mind. There were celebrities, politicians, athletes, and wealthy businessmen galore. All the people photographed and shared on the page were proud to support CUP.
Solomon Grayhawk was there.
I vaguely remember a picture of him with his wife and Orion. And someone else… Closing my eyes, I attempt to piece together the fragmented memory of what I’d seen. It was an older woman, around Solomon’s age, with lots of surgical work to maintain a youthful appearance. Red hair, green eyes, plump lips.
Ava Herring.
Popping my eyes open, I type in Ava Herring into my internet search. The woman I’d remembered seeing in the photo is a philanthropist. According to my research, she’s donated millions to CUP, but her apparent passion is building orphanages in third world countries and then connecting those abandoned children with US families looking to adopt.
On paper, like Solomon, she looks like a good human.
Looks can be deceiving.
I mean, Caius looks devilishly handsome and put together at face value, but he’s actually a kidnapping, mind-scrambling, asshole beneath the lovely exterior.
My attention is drawn back to Ava. I find an article on her newest endeavor—a group home for troubled teen girls in Venezuela that recently opened. Despite knowing the name of the group home, Proyecto Renacer, I’m unable to find a website for it. I file away the name in my memory.
Something about Ava, with multiple photographs found freely on the internet, always standing close to Solomon, has me feeling unsettled.
Caius didn’t seem particularly surprised about Solomon’s situation earlier. He’s cleaned up Solomon’s messes before. It’s obviously a common occurrence. The thought of Solomon raping and killing other young girls has bile burning my throat.
And he’s so friendly with this Ava lady.
Queen of Helping Children and Teens.
I go back to digging into Solomon. He’s squeaky clean in every article I find about him. Couldn’t be further from the truth, though. When I come across a picture of Solomon with a familiar man, I pause to investigate.
I’ve seen this man before.
Where?
I close my eyes again to think. It only takes a few seconds and I remember seeing him at a charity event at Veil Media Group headquarters. I’d been about fifteen when I’d seen the man. His shiny, bald head stuck out to me. He also had beady eyes that covertly studied everyone in the room. It creeped me out.
After a search of past charity events at my father’s company from several years ago, I come across photos from the event. Sure enough, there’s a picture with him and my father.
Ted Preston.
On a new rabbit trail, I dig into Ted. I’m desperate to piece all these people together. I feel like they fit somehow—I just need to figure it out.
Ted, according to what I uncover, is a humanitarian consultant for international stability. Whatever that means. To me, it sounds like a made-up profession.
How does a person even come into such an obscure job?
I discover his old, abandoned LinkedIn profile and learn Ted was once a National Security consultant for the US Department of the State over twenty years ago.
What if Ted is with the CIA or FBI or some undercover agency? Maybe he was looking into Solomon.
My mind reels, wondering how someone my dad knew could be someone Solomon also knows. I’m about to give up for the night when I find an old picture of Caius.
Not Caius Crowne.
Johnny Caius McElroy.
In the picture, he can’t be more than sixteen or seventeen. Though young and wearing a worn-out hoodie and jeans, he still has the cold stare, even back then. The photograph also features Ted Preston, with a full head of hair, and a much younger Orion Crowne.
A Humanitarian Gift to the World: Crowne Unity Project is Born
The title of the article flags a memory for me. I’d seen something similar written in the pamphlet I’d found in Megan’s dorm room. CUP’s mission had been somewhere along the lines to transform and uplift people who’d been left behind in modern society.
Like a troubled foster kid? Is that what Caius was and why Orion adopted him? To “transform” him into something better and more valuable to the world?
It’s all connected…
The article is from a local, no longer in print, newspaper based in Reno, Nevada, called the Reno Local Ledger. Another search lands me on a boys’ group home, Reno Umbra Center for Boys, in the area with ties to none other than Ava Herring. If I had to bet, Caius came from this particular group home.
So Dad knows Ted Preston, a man with a questionable job title. Sketchy Ted has also known Caius since he was a broody teenager and the guy obviously had connections with Orion. Solomon, too, was photographed with Ted, which makes me question who Ted really is now that I know that Solomon’s a murderer. Solomon, an investor in Orion’s company, is an acquaintance of Ava, who happens to be a CUP mega donor but also behind the ownership of the boys’ home Caius most likely came from.
Are they all part of some huge, complicated human trafficking scheme?
Was Caius taken too?
Or, Romy, you’re connecting dots that don’t match, desperate for answers to questions you’ll never truly have.
A sick feeling twists in my gut. The same men who kidnapped me, played psychological games, and messed with my phone could very well be responsible for all the information I’m uncovering.
This could be another stupid psyop of theirs.
My head aches at that possibility that all my mental gymnastics could be a calculated attempt to brainwash me into thinking what they want me to think.
Why, though?
It doesn’t make sense.
There’s no way they could have known I’d go searching for these things. They’re not inside my head. I’m being paranoid.
With a steadying exhale, I shoot Theo a text.
Me: Which group home did you come from?
Then I send another one to Gareth.
Me: You did me dirty earlier. Is Megan even here? Did you give me the keys to watch me get caught? I must be so amusing to you.
Before either responds, I get the creepy sensation someone’s watching me. Jerking my head up, I see Caius leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, eyeing me intently.
While I showered, he must have changed out of his party clothes as he’s wearing gray sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt that hugs his muscular physique. I hate that I even glance down at his crotch, remembering with a flash of heat how it felt to have his cock rubbing against me. I jerk my gaze back up to his face, where his features are impassive, giving nothing away.
“Spying on me?” I ask in a snippy tone, closing down the internet on my phone, and toss it onto the chaise cushion.
His eyes narrow a fraction. “Nah, that’s you, little girl.” He holds up a folded piece of notebook paper and arches an eyebrow. “Been in my office, I see.”
I stiffen as he pushes away from the doorframe and begins slowly prowling my way. With each step toward me, my heart speeds up until it’s tripping over itself. He makes me nervous, but I can’t tell if it’s in a good way or a bad way. I’d like to think I’m naturally afraid of him. The alternative, that I like when he’s near, is too shameful to even think about.
My phone buzzes and though I want to see what his brothers said, I don’t dare take my eyes off Caius as he nears.
“What were you looking for?” he asks, a hint of irritation in his tone.
“Doesn’t matter. I didn’t find it.”
He doesn’t relax. Every muscle in his body is tense, as though he’s poised to strike like a venomous snake. I pull the blanket tighter around me, unable to shake the chill despite the roaring fire beside me.
“You think you found something.” He unfolds the paper and glances briefly at me. “What do you think you found?”
Calista.
I found the word “Calista” on his notepad while snooping in his office and left the evidence tucked away in a book for him to find. He knows this. We both do.
Rather than stating the obvious, I shrug. “Nothing that makes sense.” I pause and give him a saccharine-sweet smile. “Yet.”
He scoffs and tosses the paper into the fireplace. Tension bleeds from him as he watches it burn. I can’t help but also witness the destruction of it.
“Where’s Megan? She’s a project just like you were, huh?”
His head tilts to the side and his eyes turn impossibly darker. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, little girl.”
Irritation has me flinging off the blanket and rising to my feet. As soon as I catch a whiff of his delicious cologne, I mentally berate myself for inhaling it. Standing so close to him is a mistake. My body warms, remembering his expert touch from earlier.
Or maybe it’s the fire that has me breaking into a sweat.
“I really don’t feel like talking to you,” I grit out, turning to leave. “All I get is more and more questions. Never any answers. I’d rather go upstairs and put puzzles together. Alone.”
At least the puzzles play by the rules.
Those make sense.
I can master those easily.
He grabs hold of my bicep, stopping me. Then he drags me toward the fire until my back is nearly pressed against the mantle. Heat burns at my calves through my pajama pants.
The fingers from his other hand snag my chin, biting into the flesh along my jaw. I suppress a yelp as he angles my head up so he can glower deep into my soul.
“Let go of me,” I hiss, squirming in his hold. “The fire is hot and I’m practically on top of it.”
He steps even closer to me. When I automatically start to retreat, he tightens his grip on both my face and bicep, making it impossible for me to move without pain. “Whatever you think you know, you don’t.”
Calista.
He can gaslight me all he wants, but I won’t forget it. It’s just another piece of this elaborate puzzle I’m trying to put together.
“Fine,” I snap back. “Now will you leave me alone?”
The heat against the back of my legs soon becomes nearly unbearable. I find myself leaning into him rather than running away, my legs tangling with his.
His head dips lower until the tip of his nose brushes against mine. A thrill shoots down my spine as I briefly entertain the thought of a kiss. I quickly shove that line of thinking into a mental box where it belongs.
“What was written on that note,” he rumbles, voice barely a growled whisper, “can never be uttered aloud. Ever. Are we clear?”
Ahh, so Calista is important. A secret meant to be kept quiet. It’s a flicker of vulnerability in an otherwise stone-cold glacier of a man before me.
I’m definitely not going to forget it now.
“Crystal clear,” I grit out.
He rubs his nose along mine, and I shiver despite the fiery heat that feels as though my pajama pants are about to catch fire. “If you ever so much as think of mentioning it, I’ll take great pleasure in putting a bullet through your pretty little skull.”
His suddenly soft but violent words have me recoiling from him.
Over a freaking word?
What a psychopath.
“Y-You can’t kill me,” I argue, voice shaky with terror despite the indignation rising up inside me. “My dad. He’s a problem, remember? You can’t just erase me like you did Megan.”
He abruptly releases me and steps back, a malevolent energy rippling from him. “I can and will do anything to prevent you from uttering that name.” A flash of anxiety-riddled fury gleams in his eyes. “I’ll pull the trigger before the second syllable comes out.”
Using his hand with the thumb up and finger pointed as an imaginary gun, he aims it at my face and pretends to shoot. “Bang.”
I flinch like an idiot. Without another word, he storms out of the room.
I should be fearing for my life.
All I can think, though, is he gave me another clue.
Calista isn’t a project or a computer password.
Calista is a name.
Calista is his secret.
She is his only weakness.