Chapter 12
VINCENT
I had to give props to whoever was behind the doll and photo. They’d mastered the art of creeping me the fuck out with seemingly innocuous items.
Either they owned a replica of the doll they’d “gifted” me, or they took this picture before they broke into my house, sat on it, and waited until my guard was down before giving it to me.
“This is so fucked.” Brooklyn looked a little green. “Who does this? It’s like something out of a B-grade horror movie.”
“I know.” I scanned the car park, on high alert for any suspicious people or sudden movements.
Nothing. It was eerily empty.
Cold snaked down my spine.
It’d been a month since the intruder broke in—just enough time to lull me into a false sense of security. I’d convinced myself the break-in was a one-time thing, but the photo plunged me straight into paranoia again.
The taste of copper filled my mouth. My skin felt too tight for my body, and I wished I could change out of it the way I did my training kit. Be someone else for a day and leave Vincent DuBois behind.
I’d worked hard for my success. Most of the time, I loved it, but then shit like this made me rethink everything.
“Are you okay?” Brooklyn winced. “Sorry, that was a stupid question.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m okay.” I rubbed a hand over my face and tried to think.
Whoever left the photo was long gone. I could check in with building security, but they were pretty useless for anything other than basic patrols.
Although the lot was closed to the public, it wasn’t impenetrable. Just last year, someone snuck in and keyed Asher’s prized vintage Jaguar. We all knew it was one or multiple Holchester players, but the cameras didn’t catch them, and we couldn’t prove it.
“What are you going to do?” Brooklyn asked. She was still holding the photo, but she looked like she wanted to throw it in a trash bin and set it on fire.
“Bring it to the police and hope they’ll finally get off their ass long enough to do something.” They’d been almost as useless as Blackcastle security. I was convinced the detective on my case had forgotten about it altogether.
“I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to do that.” I took the picture back from her. “Go celebrate with your friends. I can handle this on my own.”
“I’ll take a rain check. I won’t be able to enjoy it anyway.” A half-hearted smile touched her lips, though her eyes remained worried. “We’re in this together, roomie.”
My stomach sank. “Shit. Do you think they know where we live?”
Now that the intruder had found me at home and work, my new (if temporary) lodging seemed like a logical next step for them.
“I don’t think so. I was joking with the roomie comment,” Brooklyn said quickly. “I don’t really think they’re going to show up at the flat and…I don’t know, stage a naked photo shoot with the plushies or something.”
I snorted out a laugh, but my mind churned with worry.
Should I hire a bodyguard? Some players had personal security teams, but I’d never received enough threats to justify the invasion of privacy. The thought of someone following me around twenty-four-seven made my skin crawl.
Plus, if I hired security out of the blue, the media would go wild with speculation. What if the attention emboldened the intruder to pull bigger stunts? I couldn’t risk it. Not yet.
“We should take my car to the police station. It’s less conspicuous. After that…” Brooklyn flicked a wary glance around the lot. “We should go somewhere besides home for a bit, just in case.”
A knot eased in my gut. The situation was still “fucked,” as she put it, but her determination to figure it out with me made it a little less daunting. No matter how bad things got, there was comfort in knowing I wasn’t alone.
“Do you have a particular place in mind?” I asked.
Her brow furrowed for a minute before it smoothed. She smiled, her eyes regaining their usual sparkle. “As a matter of fact, I know just the spot.”
Our visit to the police station was brief. I handed the photo over to Detective Smith, who promised he’d look into it and contact me if they got any leads.
It was the same spiel as the first time, and it didn’t inspire great confidence. I’d thought about hiring a private investigator, but after asking around, I was told there wasn’t much even the best P.I. could do for me. I was better off sticking with the police.
Luckily, I was so distracted by my current surroundings, I didn’t have time to dwell on how much I wanted to grab Smith and shake him until an ounce of care fell out of his overgrown mustache.
“I can’t believe you brought me here.” I looked around with a disbelieving laugh. “I haven’t been to one of these since I was twelve.”
“I thought you might like it.” Brooklyn grinned. “Everyone is so caught up in what they’re doing, they won’t pay attention to you unless you threaten to beat their high score. And even if they do notice you, they probably won’t recognize you.”
I clutched my chest in mock hurt. “Ouch. Way to kick a man when he’s down.”
“I like to take advantage of any situation when I can.” She patted my shoulder. “But you have to admit, the chances of finding a football fan here are slim.”
I had to agree. We were at SQ3, an arcade on the outskirts of London.
Neon lights illuminated the dark space while the sounds of beeps and explosions from various games filled the air.
A majority of the customers looked like teenagers, and Brooklyn was right—they were so engrossed in their games, Godzilla could stomp through the entrance and they wouldn’t notice.
A place that offered anonymity and mindless entertainment? It was perfect.
“Pick your poison,” she said after we retrieved a suitable amount of arcade coins. “Kick It Pro? Pac-Man? Simulation racing?”
Hmm.
I scanned the options and landed on an empty table in the corner. “How good are you at air hockey?”
She followed my gaze and shrugged. “I’m decent.”
Spoiler alert: she lied. She wasn’t decent; she was really fucking good.
“Merde!” I cursed when she scored on me for the third time in a row. “Decent, my ass. What, did you play in the air hockey Olympics or something?”
“Oops. Did I forget to mention I spent a lot of time in arcades when I was little?” Brooklyn said, innocent as a lamb. “My mom’s favorite salon was next door to one. I was too young to join her, so she’d give me some cash and drop me off while she got her weekly mani-pedi.”
My brow creased at the mental image of a young Brooklyn playing games by herself while her mum luxuriated in a salon. “How old were you?”
“Seven or eight.”
“And she left you alone in an arcade for hours?” I stared at her, stunned. “Is that even legal?”
“She became friends with the arcade owner and had them keep an eye on me. I was fine. I didn’t get kidnapped or anything.”
“She could’ve brought you with her. Salons aren’t child-free spaces.”
“Yeah, well, she liked her alone time.” Brooklyn’s tone was casual, but she carefully avoided my eyes as she lined up her mallet for her next shot. “We went to salons together when I was older. It’s not a big deal.”
Fuck that. It was messed up for her mother to leave her underage child with strangers because she “liked her alone time.” I didn’t care if she was supposedly friends with the arcade owner.
All sorts of people came in and out of these places, and the owner had probably been too busy to keep a close eye on Brooklyn.
I didn’t have children, but even I knew that was borderline parental neglect.
I swallowed my argument. It wasn’t my place to question Brooklyn’s relationship with her mother, but I’d never met the woman and I already kind of hated her.
No wonder Brooklyn rarely talked about her. We’d lived together for two weeks, and I’d yet to see her call or mention her mum a single time.
“How did she react when you told her you were moving to London?” I asked.
Brooklyn took her shot. The puck stopped an inch short of making the goal. “She was fine with it.”
“Do you talk to her often?” I had a feeling I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear it from her.
This was the first time she’d opened up about her family, and I was desperate for more.
I shouldn’t be; this skirted too close to an emotional connection when that was the last thing I wanted or needed. But I couldn’t stop myself if I tried.
“We talk when the occasion calls for it.” Brooklyn blocked my return shot. “She has a two-year-old and is pregnant with her second child, so she has her hands full. Plus there’s the time difference…”
“Third.”
“What?”
“She has you and the two-year-old. She’s pregnant with her third child.”
Brooklyn faltered. Pink crept over her cheeks, and she glanced away for a split second before meeting my eyes again. “Right. I meant my second half-sibling. I worded it weird.”
Did I say I kind of hated her mother? I was wrong. I hated her, full stop. Brooklyn wouldn’t slip up like that if someone hadn’t reinforced the sentiment that she wasn’t a “real” member of the family.
Maybe I was leaping to conclusions without knowing the full story, but I suspected I was at least half-right.
“What about you?” she asked. “What’s your relationship with your mom like?”
I went along with the deflection. She’d helped me by not mentioning the intruder after we left the police station, and it was my turn to return the favor.
Still, I had to consciously unclench my teeth and breathe through my rising irritation at her mum before I answered. “It’s pretty good. We haven’t lived together since I was six, but Scarlett and I would alternate summers and holidays with our parents, so I still saw her often.”