Chapter 13
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Everything about Alistair’s inner circle oozes sex. So why the hell are we stopping at a bookstore?
The limo drops us on North Beach’s Broadway only because the shop is tucked down a cobblestone alley too narrow for a car this self-important. We spill out in sunglasses and hangovers, ten gorgeous men moving as one, and the city looks at us the way it looks at movie stars.
I almost forget we’re owned instead of famous.
Hotaling Bindery is in the basement of a black and gray brick building at the end of the alley, with a single lantern above the door. It makes no sense, unless it stocks antique Kama Sutras and Dae’s being asked to perform book two.
The bell chimes, and we pour inside. Our cologne and heat hit the sweet, musty hush of old paper, and the room seems to pucker, trying to expel us like splinters that don’t belong.
The guys scatter into the stacks except for Jake, who trails Dae and Brad toward the front counter. I stay close because he’d said we both need allies, and he’s the only one explaining anything even if all I’m getting are whispered half sentences.
Nico Pardo drifts the opposite way, running a finger along spines as he distances himself from whatever’s about to happen.
Behind the counter, an ancient man with a monocle squints down at a ledger. He looks like he’s been here since the invention of movable type.
Dae looks more relaxed outside the limo’s camera, but he still glances up at Brad like he needs permission to breathe. Brad is supposed to be the enforcer. So why’s Dae looking at him like he’s the only safe thing in the room?
With my own test as my only datapoint, Alistair’s game seems a lot more demeaning than anything this place can offer.
Dae straightens his back and approaches the monocle-wearing man who’s more a piece of the furniture than a real person.
“I’m here for a book,” Dae says too loudly. “For Mr. Blackwood.”
Brad twitches a hand beneath the counter, too small to mean anything to anyone but Dae, judging by how his shoulders scrunch after glancing back to find Jake and me watching.
Giggling breaks out behind us.
“Shhh!” The man’s magnified eye bulges. “Tell your friends to, please, keep it down.”
“Oh, I’m not with them,” Dae lies, smooth as glass. “I’m after The Spy’s Mask. I’m told you have a copy?”
I pull out my phone and quietly search the title. The priciest one I find goes for a few thousand, maybe ten at auction. One sold last year for $2,700, which is barely more than Alistair slipped into the pocket of the suit he’d given me.
The man adjusts his velvet smoking jacket and reaches across the counter, mustache twitching.
“Barrett McGregor,” he says. “Welcome to Hotaling Bindery. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Dae Jeong.”
Barrett frowns. “I’m afraid we don’t sell to people we haven’t met.”
“Then I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” Dae says.
Barrett snorts, almost approvingly, if he didn’t interrupt himself by shushing the snickers rising again from the stacks behind us before he leaves the counter and disappears from view.
Jake must feel all my unspoken questions. He cups a hand to my ear and pulls me back to whisper. “We never interrupt. Once it starts, it’s between them and Alistair.”
Fine, but what the hell is it? What happens if he fails?
Jake retreats from one of Brad’s silencing stares, and I swallow my questions.
These arbitrary rules remind me of my father’s. He always had invisible lines I learned only by getting punished for crossing them. One week I was too loud; the next, too quiet. Like I’m guessing it is with Alistair, there was no winning with my father, only surviving.
Barrett returns smiling reverently, cradling a velvet pillow with a book on top. I don’t care about books, but the way he handles this one makes me step closer. What is it?
Dae approaches as casually as if he’s snagging a magazine or Tic Tacs from a checkout aisle.
“That’s it,” Dae says, reaching for the book.
Barrett recoils, twisting protectively. “I’m sorry. You’ve been misinformed.”
“No. That’s the book I asked for.”
“This is not the book…” Barrett says firmly. “It’s a first edition, signed, and in near-pristine condition.”
Dae blinks. “Right.”
“Do you know anything about it?”
“I’m here on behalf of Alistair Blackwood.” Dae pauses so the name reverberates. “So… how much?”
It’s a horrible tactic. The man wears a monocle, works in an antique bookstore, and is hunched over like Gollum guarding his precious. This man needs to be wooed. By asking for the price, Dae’s now waiting to be refused.
Barrett’s gaze lingers on the others peeking from the shelves before narrowing on Dae. “Why would I sell this to someone who neither respects this space nor understands what he’s asking for?”
I can’t help silently cheering as Dae’s test unravels and the inner circle loses the upper hand. Dae glances back at Brad before throwing on a new costume, stiffening his shoulders and flicking his hand.
“I said, how much for this dusty old book?”
Barrett’s jaw drops, but before he can speak, Brad steps in.
“My apologies. He’s new. My name is Mr. Kohen, and Mr. Blackwood has authorized me to offer a substantial payment in exchange for that book.”
Barrett doesn’t look impressed.
“How about one million dollars?” Brad adds.
Holy shit. What the hell is this book, and why did Dae torpedo the deal?
Jake and I exchange quiet looks while Barrett pretends not to stumble over himself.
“We don’t get many customers that, uh, generous anymore,” he murmurs, stumbling over himself as he thrusts out a hand. “We have a deal, Mr. Kohen. And tell Mr. Blackwood the bindery appreciates his patronage.”
They shake, and Barrett practically scurries back behind the counter.
“Get the others,” Brad says to Jake and me. As we turn away, he leans toward Dae, eyes wide with something I can’t read. “Later.”
Jake and I herd the others back out into the sunlight.
“What just happened?” I whisper.
“One million is nothing to Alistair,” Jake says.
“But how was that a test?”
Jake glances behind me and grabs my hand, hurrying us toward the limo. “I don’t know, but he failed.”
“How?” I ask.
“Dae was supposed to buy it. Not Brad.”
“What happens now?”
“If I’m right, he’s either out—or, if he’s lucky, Alistair will let him redo his second test. It’s Alistair’s call, and he’s notoriously hard to predict.”
Jake turns to watch the others skipping to the limo.
“He did it on purpose,” I say.
“I know. We’ll see if he gets caught.” Jake squeezes my arm and flips a switch, joining the others’ laughter without even hearing the joke.
He is playing the game, and he’s fucking brilliant.
Jake opens the limo door with a tight smile. “Alistair loves his rules,” he says, continuing our conversation with this casual warning.
Brad is the last to climb in. He tosses the book at Dae and settles into his back corner. It lands on the carpet, splashing champagne.
Dae picks it up like it’s radioactive. “Wasn’t for me,” he mutters, and hurls it at me.
The book lands in my lap with a wet slap.
“Me?”
Dae shrugs, shaking as he pours himself a drink. The rest of the guys are all watching, but no one’s laughing now that Dae’s failed his test.
I run my fingers along the plastic wrap.
Barrett must’ve assembled it so carefully, never guessing it’d be treated like trash the second it left his hands.
The book isn’t that heavy, and even though I know damn well it’s not worth a million dollars, it still feels substantial.
I reach for my phone to look for answers.
The now-familiar ring cuts through the limo.
Brad pulls his phone from his pocket. “Yes, sir,” he says, eyes on Dae. “No, sir… Yes, sir.”
He hangs up. “You’ve failed.”
Dae closes his eyes and goes perfectly still. He’s waiting, tense and braced for more. According to Jake, he’s either out—whatever that means—or he’ll have the chance to redo his second test.
Brad’s gaze moves off Dae. “Nico. Back to you.”
Dae sinks back with an exhale and covers his relief by downing a full glass of champagne.
Jake translates what I’ve already guessed. “Failed, but still in the game. Best he could hope for.”
The inner circle’s hierarchy can wait. There’s something more urgent clawing at me from my lap.
I scroll through search results while my thumb digs into the book’s crinkled plastic. It doesn’t take long to see what this is all about.
The Spy’s Mask is a history of espionage, and Alistair gave it to me.
Fuck.
The plastic crackles in my grip. The red camera light above the divider might as well wink at the book sitting heavy in my lap. There’s no other way to read this gift except as a message.
If Alistair knows I’m undercover, why am I still here?
If he knows, why bring me closer?
If he knows—
Nico springs to his feet with a clap sharp enough to make me flinch. “Listo,” he says under his breath, his smile widening. “Let’s play Secrets and Sins.”
Jake stays close, whispering in my ear. “Truth or dare.”
Cheering bounces around the limo.
Before I can turn the book over, or get my face under control, Nico points right at me.
“Let’s start with the new guy.”