Chapter 7 Searching in the Dark
“Fuck!”
I hurl my gloves onto the floor of Aria’s bedroom and knot my fingers through my hair, pacing once—twice—before forcing myself to stop. I don’t have much time before she comes home from work.
After three hours in the living room, I’ve turned over cushions, flipped paintings, and emptied kitchen cupboards. I’ve moved on to her bedroom.
No decoy stash. No sign of any keys, no scraps of paper with passwords or passcodes. Nothing with a string of ten to fourteen characters.
Sweat drips down my forehead, and I yank off my mask, the cool air a welcome chill on my skin.
Where can it be?
I yank open the nightstand drawer. Receipts. Loose change. An old movie stub.
A red ring box tucked underneath it. Empty.
And a framed photo of Aria showing off her ring to the camera, Blake grinning while wrapping his arms around her waist, their matching tattoos flashing on their forearms.
My jaw clenches. A leaden weight settles over my lungs. What once was a happy ending, reduced to a tragedy.
And now you, the creator of tragic endings, want to act all self-righteous, Ren?
Fuck. You.
Hurling my mask to the ground, I tell myself I can’t dwell on the past. The world of what-ifs won’t bring the dead back to life.
But I hate what grief hollowed out of her, how she’s become a ghost of her former self. How, until recently, I haven’t seen her happy.
And I hate that I care.
I shouldn’t.
My phone buzzes, interrupting my unhelpful tirade.
Seb Bishop
Hate to sound like Elias, but you owe me one.
Heck. I bet this is why Elias does what he does. It’s heady. Power.
I roll my eyes and type back.
Ren Knight
Stop wasting my time. What do you have?
Seb Bishop
Background check’s clean. Nothing links her to the Kongs.
Ren Knight
Even the dark web ones?
Three dots appear, then disappear. The cycle repeats. I groan. If he had info, he’d be the first to wave it in my face, the damn psychopath.
Seb Bishop
Still waiting on those.
I’m a mob lawyer. Not a hacker. Go find Aleksei if you want someone faster.
My ribs tighten. Aleksei betrayed us last year and vanished. The Syndicate chessboard is missing its pawn.
I shove my phone into my pocket and continue my search.
Nothing in the dresser—just scrubs, socks, and underwear. A GRE exam book sits on top, dog-eared and highlighted. Beneath it, a pamphlet about insurance appeals and her notes in the tight margins.
Nothing in the closet either. Only a box marked Blake’s things. No loose floorboards or hollowed walls. A neon paper wristband peeks out from the trash beside balled-up receipts from bars and dance clubs.
Aria is an enigma. Put-together do-gooder by day. Edge-seeker by night.
Suddenly exhausted, I stride to the right side of the bed where the comforter is rumpled, the pillow dented—the side where she sleeps—and sit. Then I close my eyes.
Her sweet scent of soap and cotton drifts to my nostrils. A craving tugs low inside me.
This is the part where a better man would stop.
But I don’t.
I grab her pillow, hold it to my nose, and inhale.
A low sound drags out of me, a groan mixed with a curse. I’m back at the theater, not watching the movie, but watching her.
“Somehow, I think you hope…one day, you’ll watch something that’ll surprise you. Because it’ll be much scarier than what you’d encounter in real life. And maybe then…you’d feel…normal.”
She saw through me.
Through my mask, my silence, my unhinged messages.
She saw something in the cold cavern beneath my scar. Something worthwhile.
And didn’t flinch.
But then again, why am I surprised? She picked out The Little Prince. My favorite story. The one I’d ask Mom to read to me as a kid, over and over again, until the pages were worn.
I grew up knowing I’d die young.
One day, my ticker would give out. Mom died of heart problems. I’d follow in her footsteps. My existence was to ensure Celia would be saved, that she was protected after I was gone.
I’d sell what’s left of my soul for that.
I killed to ensure I was indispensable to the Kongs. That if I were, they’d protect Celia. Find her a new heart. Let her go.
But now?
A petite nurse slipped past the walls I thought were impenetrable.
Saw something that made my stolen heart beat harder.
And I want that feeling again.
That’s a problem.
I need to get this job done and leave. Find the key, convince the Kongs not to kill her, and stay the hell away from her. She deserves someone like her dead fiancé—a doctor, a saver of lives.
And like a thief, I’m wearing him underneath my ribs.
You know what you’ve done, Ren.
My chest clenches. I’m running out of time.
Six weeks left. I’ve caught two more sniffers—the Mexican cartels, this time—tailing her after work yesterday. The hospital, with its enhanced measures, is the safest place she could be. Everywhere else? She’s completely exposed.
You don’t care about that. She’s a mark. Think about Celia.
The words don’t land.
Marks don’t force you to watch a cheap horror flick just so you can breathe her in.
Shit.
I scan Aria’s bedroom again—dirty clothes piled beside a simple white dresser, tiny bottles and jars spilled across the vanity, and the bookshelves packed with paperbacks and hardbacks.
A pristine crystal chessboard, set up and untouched, rests by the window.
Order and chaos fighting for the same square footage.
Just like her.
If I don’t come up with the key, Aria dies.
Heck, she’ll die either way.
And the thought is unbearable.
My phone buzzes again.
Seb Bishop
I sense anger. Not sure what you have to be angry about.
I glare at the message as if I could reach through it to throttle the man himself.
Ren Knight
You either have something or you don’t. Pick one. Stop being a psycho.
Seb Bishop
You say psychopath like it’s a bad thing. You’re lucky I’m not an assassin. I would do the job better than you.
I don’t answer him, because anything I say will only rouse the asshole’s suspicions.
Another text comes through.
Seb Bishop
Fine. Here’s what I found if you would’ve been more patient.
A photo of coded gibberish comes through.
Ren Knight
What am I looking at?
Seb Bishop
IP addresses. Pings to five banks in the Caymans. All coming from the Kong residence. All appear blocked. I don’t know what this key is…but I suspect it has something to do with bank accounts.
I sit up, staring at the photo again.
It makes no sense. Why would they think Aria has a key to bank accounts? She’s barely scraping by. There has to be a mistake.
My gaze sweeps around the bedroom once more—the en suite, closet, bookshelves, a vase of fake flowers on the top shelf. I’ve searched all of it. There’s nothing there—
Something blinks in the vase.
I freeze.
Quickly, I leap off the bed and reach the shelf in two strides. I grab the vase and hurl it onto the floor.
Ceramic shatters. Velvet petals scatter.
Sure enough, a long, thin rod appears. A pinhole. A receiver.
A fucking camera.
Someone’s been one step ahead—monitoring her, watching her every move. They’re probably watching me right now, but I don’t give a fuck. We’re all after the same damn key, anyway.
Then I clock the camera angle—a perfect view of the bed and the bathroom.
My blood turns to ice.
Then it fucking boils.
God knows what they saw. Her most private moments laid open to men who have no right to them.
My fists vibrate at my sides.
I think of Jasper, the Carusos, the Alvarezes. Any monsters who want their hands on whatever they think Aria has.
Soon, tailing her or spying on her won’t be enough.
They’ll search the place if they haven’t already. And if they’re like me and can’t find anything, they’ll take her, break her, get the answer out of her.
Then…
They’ll kill her.
A snarl tears out of me as I jam my boot onto the camera, grinding it into powder.
I came here to steal a key. To leave her alive to die later.
Now someone else is inside her life.
And against all common sense…
I know one thing.
I won’t let them have her.