Chapter Twelve
I watch Kiera disappears through the door with a look on her face like she’s trapped in haunted memories and can’t quite find her way back.
On paper, she’s living a good life, sure—but I know better than anyone that paper lies.
Something is eating at her. I just don’t know what yet.
After I pay, I head to my truck and pull out my phone to text Cam.
Me: Heading home. Pull up all you
can find on Kiera, please.
Cam: Got it!
After about twenty minutes, I’m pushing open the door to Cam’s bedroom. “Got anything?” I ask, against his desk.
There are a million things pulled up on his monitors. “I only found the usual—basic records, social media, charity photos—nothing juicy,” he says. “Except for one thing. After a lot of digging, I found an old post on the dark web with her name linked to something called the Cicada.”
I don’t bother hiding the edge in my voice as I drop into the chair beside him. Cam fumbles for the mouse, dragging the blurred image into the center monitor until it swallows the screen. The post looks like a screenshot of an old forum board.
Post from February 2007
Anonymous User
A group of donors is looking for help with Cicada files. Some of you may have heard about it. It’s still a work in progress. We have a 7-year-old girl, Kiera Hawthorne. Seeking a boy around 12.
A white-hot rage floods my veins. What the fuck were these people planning to do with her?
“Find everything you can on this Cicada thing,” I say, jaw clenched.
“Something isn’t adding up between her mom’s murder and her dad’s charity auctions.
” Cam just nods as I turn and walk out. Nothing good is going to come from this.
Good thing I’m already on the guest list for tomorrow night.
Wade invited me, hoping that whoever’s doing the blackmailing might show their face.
My money says they will, and I’ll be waiting.
I grab a sandwich and a beer from the fridge and head for my room.
I pull up the cameras and watch Kiera crawl into bed, disappearing beneath the covers.
Does she know about the files? Did her mom?
I need to figure out exactly what she knows—and how much.
The name Cicada needles at the back of my mind, familiar and wrong, but I can’t pin down where I’ve heard it outside of background searches.
I finish my food, kill the beer, and stretch out on the mattress.
I let darkness take me, hoping sleep will shake something loose.
I come to in a different room. Mom must have moved me after I passed out.
My stomach cramps and growls. She hasn’t given me food in days—just tiny sips of water, barely enough to keep me alive.
The echo of a door opening ricochets through the space.
“Well, someone woke sooner than I expected.” A man I don’t recognize steps into view.
“You must be Sterling… Angelina’s son.” He comes closer, and I shove myself back until my shoulders hit the wall.
He’s tall, his silhouette swallowing the weak light spilling in from the open door.
Dark hair slicked back off a sharp, angular face.
His eyes are a deep brown—steady, watchful, edged with something like urgency.
“Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you.” He lifts his hands, palms open, like he’s giving me a choice to believe him.
“I know you’re confused. Your mother has been… busy. I’m here to help.”
I keep my mouth shut, just watching him.
He shifts his weight, his eyes skimming the room before landing back on me.
“I know you haven’t eaten. We can change that.
” He pulls a small plastic-wrapped bar from his pocket.
The sight of it makes my stomach roar, a raw, ugly sound in the quiet.
“Just something to tide you over,” he says, taking a small step closer but leaving space between us.
“It’s safe. I promise.” Every instinct I have screams at me not to trust him, but hunger has its own voice, low and coaxing.
He seems to read the war on my face and softens his tone.
“I wouldn’t let you starve. You deserve better than this.
” My fingers curl against the floor, torn between staying pressed to the wall and reaching for the food.
He studies me, a flicker of what looks like concern tightening his features.
“Look, I have a plan. But first, you have to trust me enough to eat.”
I drag in a shaky breath as I weigh my options. This could be a trap, or the only chance I have to claw my way out of this nightmare. I search his face for a crack, some sort of flag saying it’s a lie. “What do you want from me?” I finally manage.
He takes a step back, hands lifting a little like he’s showing he’s harmless. “I want to help you, Sterling. There are things happening that you don’t understand yet, but we’ll take it one step at a time.” He nods toward the bar. “First, please, just eat. That’s all I’m asking for right now.”
His eyes soften, and something in the way he looks at me makes it hard to call him a liar.
I glance at the protein bar again, my stomach twisting on itself, hunger and fear tangling until I can’t tell them apart.
I drag in a slow breath, trying to steady the pounding in my chest as I brace myself to make a choice that could change everything.
My lungs drag in deep breaths that feel too cold for the room as I start to wake.
A chill traces my spine, the echo of a nightmare laced with a memory that feels like mine—but won’t quite come into focus.
Most of what happened to me when I was a kid is buried so deep I only ever see it in flashes.
The reel doesn’t start playing clearly until my teenage years; everything before that lives behind a locked door in my head.
My heartbeat eases from a sprint to a hard, steady thud.
Sunlight slips through the curtains in pale stripes, slowly stitching reality back together as my senses come online.
I stretch and roll out of bed, padding toward the kitchen.
The smell of coffee drifts down the hallway, dark and bitter. I need a fucking IV of caffeine.
Cam’s hovering over the stove, one hand stirring what looks like scrambled eggs while the other scrolls his phone.
“I dug up more on the Cicada thing,” he informs me without looking up.
“Turns out it was run by Kiera’s dad. A bunch of families applied, but I couldn’t tell who they were—just that they all had kids and were signing up.
What the hell would they want with the kids?
Wade’s a piece of shit, but if he’s sex trafficking, I can’t find a single thing that sticks to him. ”
“You sure know how to start a morning,” I grunt, pouring myself a mug of coffee. “Whatever it was, it sure as hell wasn’t any good.”
“I did find one name that caught my attention. Angel…” Cam clicks off the burner, sliding the pan to the back of the stove. “There’s no way that’s your mom, right?”
“If it was, I don’t remember. There's a gap in my memory from around that age. I would think I would remember seeing Kiera and Wade, though,” I state, piling my plate with some of what Cam’s cooked.
“You’d think I’d remember Kiera and Wade if they had been anywhere near my life back then.
” I drop into a chair at the table. “I’ve got that gala tonight.
Wade’s convinced his blackmailer’s going to show.
If I can smoke them out, maybe they’ll know more about Cicada. ”
“Maybe, but I haven’t gotten any closer to locating them. I hit a wall every time. I’m getting really fucking sick of running into dead ends.” The muscles between his brows knot tighter, frustration written all over his face.
I push up from my chair and clap a hand between his shoulder blades.
“We’ll figure it out. We always do.” I drop my empty plate into the sink and head for the hall.
“I’ve got a couple of jobs to check in on before tonight,” I call over my shoulder.
Whatever Cam yells back is swallowed by the click of the bathroom door.
Cueing up The Death of Peace of Mind by Bad Omens, letting the opening notes bleed into the tiled room as I crank the water as hot as it’ll go.
My gaze stops on the mirror. I search my own reflection, willing something—anything—from those missing years to surface.
Nothing. Just that same blank stretch where my childhood should be.
No surprise there. Exhaling, I strip, stepping under the spray.
The scalding water pounds against my skin until it’s the only thing I can feel.
A few hours later, I’m back under the spray, washing off the shitshow of the day.
The foreman on one job botched the bathroom framing so badly that it all had to be ripped out and redone.
The other site wasn’t a total loss—more of a preventable headache they should’ve handled without me.
I make a mental note to talk to Cam about replacing the dumbass we never should’ve hired in the first place.
With the clock ticking, I keep the shower quick, towel off, and shrug into the tux from the opera, letting the familiar weight of it settle me back into the role I need to play tonight.
Straightening the lapels of the suit, I take a final glance in the mirror.
I need answers. Wade’s on my ass about finding this shadow haunting him, but we keep hitting walls.
It’s frustrating. I shake off the annoyance that's flowing through my body.
Now's not the time to start losing it. I grab my keys, shooting a text to Cam, letting him know I’m heading out since he had a last-minute job come up.