21. Sawyer
SAWYER
My wrists lay over the edge of the library desk, the computer’s blue light bleaching my knuckles against the dark.
In the absence of clacking keys or the ping of Iris’s message, the stark silence draws my attention.
No footsteps in the hall. No distant clatter from downstairs.
Even the pipes stay quiet, like the Keep is holding its breath after tonight’s mayhem.
Ping.
One side of my lips stretches.
Saw_yer85: Nothing is too personal for you. We’ve never even met, and I feel closer to you than I do my friends.
Three second pause.
Saw_yer85: My wife passed away three years ago.
Saw_yer85: MS.
Greasemonkey674: OMG I’M SO SORRY! I shouldn’t have asked.
I picture Iris fidgeting on the other side of the computer, her eyes strained from leaning so close to the screen. If she’s a nail biter, they’re in her mouth. If she’s a bracelet wearer, it’s snapping her wrist.
Not once do I imagine her considering the unequal distribution of backstory. In only six days, I’ve learned enough to make a decision.
Newly divorced barista.
Only child, dead parents, all her friends lost in the split from Rick the Prick.
Lonely. Very lonely.
She became a housewife straight out of college, and after six years with no work history, her economics degree is two notches above useless. So she works double shifts in a coffee shop with twenty-something hipsters who laugh behind her back and take too many mental health days.
She’s barely getting by. And to make things worse, Rick’s lawyer managed to get him out of alimony and he got to keep the house. She’s surprised, but this is usually the case.
Desperate, lonely, and heartbroken, Iris is just looking for a place in this world to belong.
Greasemonkey674: I feel close to you too…
Warmth settles in my chest as I read the words a second time. It doesn’t matter how many times I exchange these lines with a stranger, or how duplicitous the attachment may be—in moments like these, the connection is real.
It’s too damn unfortunate that we’re driving down a dead end street.
Saw_yer85: Maybe we should meet.
The computer dings with little delay.
Greasemonkey674: You’re in Fiji. I’m in Ohio.
Not a no.
My fingers fly with a response, but I hesitate to send it. This is the beginning of a series of tests, each one more important than the last—is she brave/trusting? Does she handle rejection? Is she ready to jump?
In no reality would I meet a potential playmate in person; never in the past, certainly not now.
Luna would know that. But if I set up a meeting, however false … would she act anyway?
The wool of my sock dulls the sound of my foot tapping against the floor. I hook one ankle over the other and lean in toward the keyboard.
Luna is many things.
Impulsive isn’t one of them.
Saw_yer85: I’ll be in the States next week for business. I could fly to you.
Ten second delay.
Greasemonkey674: Where are you going for business?
I start typing: Chicago. I’m working Wed-Fri, but if you have free time over the weekend… I would love to
“What are you doing?”
The chair rolls backward as I bolt upright, hands snapping away from the keyboard. Eyes wide, spine straight—I might as well have my cock in my hand.
Luna watches me from the entryway with her hair fanned around her shoulders and her hands hung at her sides. If she flipped on the light, she’d look like her pissed off self. Behind the glow of the computer screen, she’s a ghost.
“Fuck.” Hand to my chest, I try to laugh. “You scared me.”
Her arms sway as she storms to the desk and twists the laptop, face brightening in the cold glow of the screen. “Who are you talking to?”
“Iris…”
“Who is Iris?”
She looks at me like I’m waiting beneath a streetlight with my hands tucked inside a trenchcoat. Borderline dramatic.
When I don’t respond within the half second allotment, she returns her attention to the computer. I arch my neck to watch her log out of the chat, then hurry to check the VPN. Once she sees that it’s secure, she lets out a deep sigh.
Her eyes close as she leans against the desk; massages her temples. I reach over to flip on the lamp before the computer goes dark.
“You can’t be in here by yourself… Someone is to supervise you at all times.”
“Why?” I expect a glare, but Luna’s eyes never open. She looks tired, her face sunken as she rubs away tension. It’s the middle of the night … but it’s more than that. “You have this thing locked down like an overprotective parent. Someone is constantly watching the screen. What are you afraid of?”
She doesn’t answer.
I count to ten… still nothing.
“I figured you’d stay with Thorne tonight.” I pick at the edge of the desk. “Was he mad?”
Air puffs from her nose in a short burst. “What do you think?”
My nail carves a thin slit in the wood—one strip of light brown to blemish the dark mahogany. “I don’t suppose we’ll be picking up our earlier conversation…”
No response.
Wood digs beneath my nail as I carve another crack. I twist my thumb at the base and drag the line sideways into an L.
Luna’s hand clasps over mine.
“I have something for you.”
As her touch leaves, I rest my arms on the chair and swivel to face her. The leather of her black jacket squeaks as she reaches inside and pulls out an envelope.
She sets it on the desk in front of me.
One brow raising, I give the envelope a few shakes. Four sharp corners tap with every twist of the envelope. A piece of paper. “What’s this?”
Luna doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even meet my eyes.
My stomach sinks.
Angel.
Luna busies herself taking off her jacket while I rip open the envelope.
My fingers tremble as I reach inside. There’s a pause before I pull it out, like I’m trying to stretch the final second before everything changes.
The slow walk to the door where uniformed officers await.
The moment of silence before a mortician pulls back the blanket.
A photo of a corpse. An obituary.
Holding my breath, I slip the thin piece of paper from its sheath, flip it over, and narrow my eyes.
What?
“It’s what you want, isn’t it?” Luna asks with a voice uncharacteristically gentle.
I want to read her expression, but my eyes struggle to move from the check in my hand.
Thirty million dollars, made out to the foundation in my mother’s name. Dated December 31st, right on time to meet my yearly contribution.
Every penny I planned to take, placed in my hand like a return-reward drawn up for a thief.
If it’s a trick, it’s a cruel one.
I shake my head while lowering the check to the desk like it’s made of glass. It takes me several seconds to speak.
How did you find the organization?
How do you know my mother’s name?
When did you learn mine?
These are the questions I would ask if I had the breath to do it.
“Why?”
Finally, I meet Luna’s gaze. She’s propped against the desk with her hands clasped on her stomach, long hair draped over her shoulders.
In the light of the lamp, she’s less of a ghost, but even less of herself.
Every hour that passes seems to morph her features further into an exhausted mess, the skin beneath her eyes slowly melting down her face.
And yet the word that comes to mind is: beautiful. More so than yesterday.
“Because I need you,” she says simply. As if a thirty million dollar check could ever be so simple.
In some ways, it is. I can see in her eyes that it is. I can see what she’s telling me. Asking.
Please. Help me.
I look down at the check. My tongue prods my cheek as my head spins. “The Shadow Sanctum doesn’t believe in banks. All your money is kept—”
“Officially, you’re correct. The money in the mines comes from the Rhodium, which is what the public and our people are aware of.
But when initiates enter our society, they transfer their wealth electronically to offshore accounts…
The money is real. You have my word, the check isn’t going to bounce. ”
My tongue stops prodding my cheek as her words settle. “What would your father do if he knew you gave me this?”
Luna’s feet shuffle as something crosses her expression. Not fear—that, I look for. Shame, I think.
“He won’t… I’m the one who handles the new initiates and the wire transfers. Now that all my focus is on this work, it’ll be simple with the influx of cash coming in. Just… trust me. If you can.”
I nod. “I trust you.” I don’t even consider it’s a lie.
I believe her. I don’t trust her. But I believe her.
She was once a mystery, but now…
“But I don’t trust your father. I think he has a closer eye on that money than you realize.”
She tucks hair behind her ear and opens her mouth, but I cut her off before she can speak.
“And I think that because when it was me charging people to live in a sexual deviant’s paradise, not a single dollar moved without my knowledge.
When you work that hard to build something—fucked up or not—you protect it.
I tried to kill my own best friend to protect my island.
I don’t know the lengths your father would go to, but I wouldn’t count on a familial bond to save you. ”
“My father isn’t like you,” she spits. “This isn’t a trafficking ring. We aren’t here for profit. This is…” Her nails claw the edge of the desk as she takes a deep breath. “This is my home.”
The tremble of her voice sobers me. When she looks away, I stay quiet.
She pushes off the desk and clears her throat. “Shut the computer down and go to bed. If I catch you in here alone again, there will be consequences.”
“Luna.”
She turns and takes a step, but halts when I grab her wrist.
“Wait. Just… Come here.”
There’s unflinching resistance when I tug, but after a few tries, she lets me guide her to stand between my legs, tailbone pressed against the desk. I roll the chair back to make more room and circle her waist. She shivers as my thumbs hook the delicate curve of bone at her pelvis.
“I’m sorry.” I peer into eyes that are somehow both hardened to rock and delicate as glass.
Lifting the check, I raise my brows. “Thank you.”