7. Chess
Chapter seven
Chess
I stroll away as Adelaide's brute of a brother grabs her arm, no doubt berating her for consorting with the likes of me. The sound of Wesley's shrill voice directed at Adelaide fades behind me as I saunter away.
Protectiveness flares in me. I want to go back. To stop him. Which is unlike me and I don't really know how to handle it.
But getting involved will only make it worse for her.
For now.
No, we needed finesse here. Subtle maneuvers. The kind of sly sabotage I excel at. A few planted rumors here, compromising photos there. Nothing too illegal... but enough to make pretty boy Wesley sweat. I had the access, why not use it?
I find myself stalking the halls, my footsteps heavier than usual. The eyes sliding over me are filled with questions.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Maybe it's those finger-shaped bruises I spied on her delicate wrist? Had weaselly Wesley put them there? The thought makes my blood boil.
More questioning eyes. I shake out the tension in my shoulders and stuff my hands in my pockets, whistling a jaunty tune to play the part expected of me.
Laid back playboy. Scholarship kid. Computer genius.
Wouldn't want to break the mold now. Their puny little minds might not be able to comprehend. Maybe they'd explode.
Huh. Maybe I should be fucking with them then.
At the lab door, I key in the code we definitely didn't steal from the principal's office. The perks of being expert lock pickers—both physical and metaphorical, thank you hacking skills —never cease to amuse me.
Inside, Saint and Dre are already hunkered over laptops, looking like teen avengers assembling for battle. So deliciously dramatic.
"Where are we on Winthrop's account?" I demand, skipping the pleasantries. We have business to handle. Adelaide's business.
"Where have you been?" Saint counters.
My thoughts drift back to Addy, how frightened she appeared when I intruded upon her sanctuary. The bruises she'd tried to hide.
I hesitate. We didn't keep things from each other. Well, that wasn't exactly true. Saint fails to share his schemes half the time and Dre... I don't want to know what goes on in his sick mind.
But, I should tell them about Addy. And, yet...
"Ferreting and ferrying secrets, as per usual."
"Right."
"So, Winthrop," I push, trying to remain casual.
"Why the interest?" Dre asks while Saint tells me "The simpering weasel still has time."
I swear under my breath. Having control of Wesley is leverage to keep him in line. And away from Addy.
"Now Preston," Dre offer a feral smile, "that sniveling snail is coming due."
"And, good thing too. We can use that as leverage to get to Adelaide," Saint returns that smile.
"His pretty little girlfriend won't know what hit her."
"Is she still his girlfriend?" I ask. "He's been seen around with Cecily today. A lot."
"I'm not sure they're really even dating," Saint shrugs. "Everyone knows their fathers do business. Marrying into the Winthrop name is part of that. She's a dealmaker."
I bristle, not liking the sound of that. "So she's a business move."
Saint raises an eyebrow at me. "You of all people know how these games are played. The Montgomerys have money, a fuckton of it, but their power is limited to what money can buy."
"Which is a lot, let's be real."
"The Winthrops on the other hand..." Saint trails off.
I know what he's going to say. The Winthrops are a powerful and influential family with connections in all the right places. They're movers and shakers, while the Montgomerys are just...rich.
"So she's Preston's no matter what that shit does." I conclude.
Dre scoffs. "Not if I have anything to say about it."
I turn to him, eyebrows raised in surprise. "What do you mean?"
He smiles wickedly. "Let's just say I may have had a little chat with Preston and his princess at the ball."
"And?" I ask cautiously.
Dre shrugs nonchalantly. "His precious Ice Princess isn't as unfeeling as she portrays herself to be."
My blood boils at the thought of anyone hurting Adelaide. But then again, Dre seems thrilled by it.
"How would you even know that?" Saint asks skeptically.
"Let's just say I got a taste of her at the ball," he continues smugly, "and let me tell you, she might hide her emotions well but she couldn't hide the dilation of her pupils when I touched her."
My jaw drops. Saint tenses beside me.
"You touched her?" he growls slowly.
Dre doesn't seem fazed by our reactions; if anything, he seems pleased by them.
"Then the games have already begun," Saint says, pushing my open laptop toward me. "Let's get started."
"Fear not, gentlemen, your genius has arrived," I proclaim, spinning into an office chair. "Now let's cause some mischief! Who are we hacking today?"
"The Ice Princess."
I falter, the arm of my chair smacking into the desk with a loud bang.
"She...she doesn't use our app."
We'd been smart when we started this joint business venture of ours. Laid the foundation, took precautions. I'd coded an app. One that served as the primary means of communication between us and our clients. It protected us.
But, we'd taken it a step—or ten—further.
You see, within that app, there was a section outlining our terms and conditions. And, within this section, there was also some fine print about granting us access to their devices.
All of them.
Not our fault no one ever bothers to read the fine print.
Nearly every student at Saint Ignatius had downloaded our app, called on us, used our expertise to hide away their dirty secrets. Hell, even some of the faculty. But not Adelaide Winthrop.
"Are you saying you can't do it?"
"You wound me," I cry, clutching my heart. "Have some faith!" I crack my knuckles and begin clacking away theatrically on the keyboard, humming the Mission Impossible theme to throw them off.
Sweet, wounded Adelaide...she has no idea of the storm coming for her and her wretched family.
"What's the plan?"
"I want dirt. I want to unearth every secret that frigid bitch has."
"Maybe she doesn't have any?" I venture.
"Everyone has secrets. I want hers," Saint demands, cutting off my argument. "Then we string along that weasel of a brother and the little fuck she's promised to."
"She makes a pretty bargaining chip," Dre agrees.
I sit back in my chair, staring at my laptop screen as Saint and Dre discuss their plans. This is what we do. This is who we are.
But, I can't shake the feeling that what we're about to do is...wrong.
Sure, I love a little chaos and mischief. I've never had a problem using what we find for leverage against the entitled elite that surrounds us. But, using Addy? Taking up her father's mantle and using her as a bargaining chip? Something about that doesn't sit right for me.
"What's the hold up?" Saint asks, noticing my fingers aren't on the keys following his carefully laid plans.
"I don't know," I admit, rubbing my temples. "I just can't help but feel like we're crossing a line here."
Saint raises an eyebrow. "Since when did you start worrying about crossing lines?"
Dre leans forward, resting his arms on the desk. "Adelaide Winthrop is no innocent victim here, Chess. This is what we do!"
"Right."
This is what we do. Who am I to rock the boat?
Why do I feel like this is going to come back and bite us in the ass?