Chapter Seven Jagger
Jonah reads faster than I expected.
We've been at this for three hours, side by side at my desk, splitting the Kreiss files between us. He's got a system I don't fully understand—sticky notes in four colors, a legal pad covered in shorthand, documents arranged in piles that look chaotic but apparently make sense to him.
Watching him work is distracting. Both mentally and the growing ache in my cock to slide it between those pursed lips.
He sits cross-legged in my office chair, shoes kicked off somewhere, pen tucked behind his ear when he's not chewing on it.
Every few minutes he makes a noise. A grunt of frustration, a hum of interest, occasionally a triumphant "ha!
" when he finds something useful. It's like working next to a very intelligent, very annoying radio.
"This is wrong," he says, tapping a transfer record. "The dates don't line up."
I lean over to look. His hair smells like my shampoo, and I push that away in the part of my brain I'm trying to ignore. It's getting crowded in there.
"What do you mean?"
"This wire transfer is dated March 2019. But this invoice—" he pulls another document from his yellow pile "—references the same account number, and it's from six months earlier. September 2018."
"Could be a clerical error."
"Could be. Or someone backdated the transfer to hide when the money actually moved.
" He's chewing on his pen cap, a habit I've noticed emerges when he's thinking hard.
The plastic is already dented from his teeth.
"If I had access to the original bank records, I could cross-reference the timestamps.
These are just copies. Copies can be altered. "
"You're suggesting the archive itself has been compromised."
"I'm suggesting that whoever built this system was smart enough to leave false trails.
" He pulls the pen from his mouth and points it at me.
"Think about it. Moore kept this archive for decades.
He was paranoid, careful, obsessive about documentation.
But he was also Silent. He knew what would happen if this stuff fell into the wrong hands. "
"So he built in safeguards."
"Exactly. Kreiss didn't get to where he is by being sloppy.
And Moore didn't survive as long as he did by leaving easy paths to follow.
" He drops the pen and stretches, arms above his head, spine popping audibly.
The hem of his shirt rides up, exposing a strip of skin above his waistband.
I can see the edge of a bruise there. My fingerprints, colored onto his hip.
My cock jumps and I look away, clearing my throat.
"We need the originals," he says, oblivious to my distraction. Or maybe not oblivious. Maybe choosing to ignore it. "Or access to the Swiss banking network directly. Do you have contacts who could—"
My phone rings. Not my work line. My personal one. The number on the screen makes my stomach tighten.
"I have to take this."
Jonah raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. I step out into the hallway and close the door behind me.
"Jace."
"You sound tense." My brother's voice is calmer than I've heard it in years. Softer. Whatever Elliot is doing for him, it's working. "Jinx said you hung up on him."
"Jinx talks too much."
"He's worried about you. So am I."
"I'm fine."
"You're always fine. That's the problem." A pause. I hear something in the background. Birds. He's outside. "Jinx says you've got an asset at your residence. Off the books."
"It's strategic."
"That's what you told him. He didn't believe it either."
I pinch the bridge of my nose. My brothers are many things, but stupid isn't one of them. Lying to them has always been harder than lying to anyone else.
"It's complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"The asset has information I need. Information about Project Omega."
Silence on the line. When Jace speaks again, his voice has lost its softness.
"What kind of information?"
"I'm still piecing it together. But Jace—" I stop. Consider how much to say. "There are things in Moore's archive. Things about us. About how we came to be."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know yet. That's why I need more time."
Another pause. I can picture him standing on some Alpine balcony, Elliot probably watching from inside, that tension he carries whenever he’s apart from Jace.
"You're not telling me everything," Jace says.
"No."
"Will you? Eventually?"
"When I understand it myself."
He exhales. Not quite a sigh. "Be careful, Jagger. Whatever you're digging into, if it involves Omega, it involves the Custodians. They won't hesitate to bury you alongside whatever you find."
"I know."
"And the asset? Can you trust him?"
Can I truly trust Jonah? Even though I tortured and stripped him of who he was?
"I don't know," I admit. "But I'm going to find out."
"Call me if you need extraction. Elliot's been itching for something to do besides teach me how to make risotto. Somehow he thinks he has the capability to be an action hero, despite the fact he screams every time he sees a spider."
Despite everything, I almost smile. "Risotto?"
"Don't start. It's actually good."
"I'll take your word for it."
"Jagger." His voice drops. Serious again. "Whatever this is, whatever you're becoming—I'm on your side. Jinx too. We're still brothers. That hasn't changed."
"I know."
"Good. Don't forget it."
He hangs up before I can respond.
I stand in the hallway for a moment, phone in hand, thinking about the word "becoming." Like he can sense the shift in me from a thousand miles away. Like he knows I'm not the same Architect who watched him fall for an asset and thought it was weakness.
Maybe it is weakness.
Maybe I don't care anymore.
I'm about to go back into the office when my work phone buzzes. I check the screen and feel the familiar cold settle over me like a second skin.
Custodian summons. Holloway residence. Immediate.
I pocket both phones and open the office door. Jonah looks up from his piles of documents, pen cap between his teeth.
"Everything okay?"
"I have to go out."
His expression flickers. Concern, quickly masked. "Work stuff?"
"Something like that." I grab my jacket from the back of the chair. "Keep working on the timeline discrepancies. I want a full list of every date that doesn't match when I get back."
"How long will you be?"
"A few hours. Maybe longer."
He stands, crosses to me, and I know what he's going to do before he does it. His hand comes up to straighten my collar, fingers brushing the skin of my neck, just like yesterday morning.
"Don't do anything stupid," he says.
"I don't do stupid."
"You did me. Twice."
I catch his wrist. Hold it. His pulse beats against my fingers, steady and warm.
"Stay in the apartment. Don't answer the door. Don't contact anyone."
"Yes, Daddy J, SIR." He mock-salutes with his free hand. "Anything else, warden?"
"Don't touch my books."
"Too late for that."
I release his wrist and leave before I can talk myself into staying.
The Holloway residence is old money made concrete. Brownstone facade, wrought-iron gates, the kind of understated wealth that whispers instead of shouts. I've been here a dozen times over the years for various Custodian functions. It never gets more welcoming.
The butler shows me to the study without a word.
Holloway Senior is waiting by the fireplace, a glass of something amber in his hand.
He's in his sixties, silver-haired, the kind of distinguished that makes people trust him on sight.
Kier got the looks but not the charm. Or maybe the charm is just buried deeper.
"Jagger." He gestures to the chair across from him. "Drink?"
"No thank you."
"Always so disciplined." He settles into his own chair with the ease of a man who's never had to hurry. "I appreciate you coming on short notice."
"When a Custodian calls, I answer."
"Indeed." He swirls his drink, watching the liquid catch the light. "I have a problem I think you can help with."
I wait. He'll get to the point when he's ready. Rushing a Custodian is a good way to end up at the bottom of the river.
"Are you familiar with the Bonaccorso family?"
The name hits differently than it would have a week ago. Before I found Kreiss in the files. Before I started understanding how the money moves.
"Italian crime syndicate. East coast operations. Currently engaged in a territorial dispute with the Castillo organization."
"Very good." Holloway nods approvingly. "What you may not know is that old Aurelio Bonaccorso has developed an unfortunate interest in one of our financial partners."
"Werner Kreiss."
His eyebrows rise slightly. "You've done your homework."
"I try to stay informed."
"Then you understand why this is concerning." He sets down his glass with a precise click. "Kreiss handles sensitive transactions for several of our Houses. If the Bonaccorso’s start pulling at those threads, they might unravel something we'd prefer to keep buried."
"What do you need from me?"
"A conversation. Nothing more." Holloway's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Aurelio is nosy but not stupid. A word from the right person should be sufficient to redirect his attention elsewhere."
"You want me to warn him off."
"I want you to make clear that Werner is not a thread to be pulled. The specifics are up to you. You've always had a talent for making people understand their limitations."
I consider the request. On the surface, it's simple. Deliver a message, ensure compliance, report back. Standard Architect work.
But underneath, it's more complicated. Holloway doesn't know I've been investigating Kreiss myself. Doesn't know that the warning I deliver to Aurelio is a warning I'm ignoring myself.
"Where do I find him?"
"He's in the city for the week. Staying at the Castellano Hotel under the name Romano. His lap dogs are with him, but I believe you’re equipped to handle a few dogs." Holloway picks up his drink again. "I trust this won't be a problem?"
"No."