Chapter 24 #2
There’s not a ton of information on V9 online yet—it’s too new, too niche—but what Plato and I found was seriously chilling.
Long-term use doesn’t just damage the body and deplete calcium from bone; it shrinks parts of the brain vital to empathy, memory, and identity.
It turns already callous men into sociopaths or worse.
The subreddit we stumbled upon in our research nicknamed it the Serial Killer drug, and as Dex and two other big, scary men I haven’t seen before are walked past our hiding spot, I can see why.
There’s something in their faces…
Or a lack of something, I guess, is a better way of putting it.
There’s nothing human in their eyes, their expressions, the set of their jaws. They don’t look troubled by the fact that they’re being arrested. They just look…flat. And mean. And dangerous.
They probably would have killed me, I realize.
Even if I’d told them about the dead man’s switch.
I shrink closer to Dean, stomach heaving as they pass by, deeply grateful they haven’t seen us. Not that it matters, I guess. They obviously know exactly what I look like.
“They’re going into custody, and they aren’t coming out again,” Dean whispers, as if reading my mind. “And that’s it, the entire operation. They apparently kept it small, so they wouldn’t have to split the profits more than four ways.”
“What about the crooked cops?” I ask, my voice wobblier than it was before as the “this is all too surreal to be believed” haze begins to fade. Suddenly, this all feels way too real, and I am deeply unprepared for how much my stomach hates it.
“I don’t know,” Dean says. “I’m sure it will take more time to deal with that, but I don’t see why they’d come after you.
Not without someone around to make it worth their while.
And we don’t even know if Dex and his people told the cops about the hack yet.
That’s something the FBI will have to figure out when they’re questioning them, I guess.
” He turns fully to me. “Speaking of, they’re going to want to talk to you and Plato, too, obviously. But Peter said he’d try to—”
Dean’s phone buzzes in his jacket pocket. He fetches his cell, flashing the screen my way as he says, “Speaking of Peter…” He answers with a warm, “Hi, Peter. How are you? I’ve got Clover here with me. Everything okay on your end?”
He pauses, and I hear Plato’s dad’s voice on the other end of the line, though I can’t make out what he’s saying.
But it must be good news because Dean’s shoulders sink farther from his ears as he says, “Great. Good. Well, you two get home safe, and we’ll wait to hear from you tomorrow.
And thank you, Peter. I seriously can’t thank you enough for this, but I hope you’ll at least take me up on those season tickets.
” He smiles at something Peter says, then nods. “Okay. Talk soon.”
He ends the call, sliding his phone back into his pocket as he takes my hand. “The FBI is giving you both until tomorrow afternoon. They’re going to coordinate times for interviews with Peter, and he’ll get back to us tomorrow. He’s taking Plato home now.”
The relief that washes through me is so complete it’s almost nauseating.
Plato is safe. He’s with his dad, on his way home, and it looks like we’re both coming out of this relatively unscathed. I wish I could text him to tell him how happy I am that he’s okay, but both of our phones are dead to the world in the backpack in Dean’s hand.
Maybe we’ll be able to go back to using them after the FBI is done with them, maybe we won’t. Either way, I’m too grateful to care. And too tired. Getting in deep with the criminal element isn’t just scary, it’s exhausting.
“Come on, I’ll take you home,” Dean says.
I don’t ask if I’m going home to the apartment or to his home, the home we were going to build together before things suddenly got so deeply fucked up. He’s clearly glad I’m okay, but his energy is still off.
He doesn’t lay a hand on my knee on the drive back to his place, and there isn’t a hint of sensual invitation in his voice when he says, “I think you should stay with me. Just in case. I don’t want you in the apartment alone.”
I nod. “Thanks. I’ll just go grab some things to change into, then? I had a suitcase with Plato, but…” I trail off, knowing he’ll connect the dots.
I’m too tired to finish sentences. So tired that my muscles shake on the way up the stairs to grab pajamas and my extra toothbrush, while Dean waits for me in the garage.
I quickly gather my things and follow him across the lawn, feeling like a kid who got caught drinking at an underage party and had to call her dad to pick her up.
For the first time in our relationship, I feel every one of those eleven years between us. I feel very young and very dumb and not sure I deserve the kindness with which he tucks me into the guest room upstairs.
In the moment, I was certain I was making sane, rational, adult decisions, but now…
“I’m sorry,” I squeak as he turns off the light and crosses to the door. “I didn’t mean to be an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” he says, but it’s hard to believe he means it when he’s using his “disappointed dad” voice. “Rest, and sleep as late as you want. Elly and Grammercy are keeping the girls until dinner tomorrow, so we have time.”
“Okay, good night,” I say. I want to add “I love you,” but we’ve only said it once. It isn’t easy in my mouth, yet. It isn’t easy in his, either, a fact he proves by murmuring a simple, “Good night,” before shutting the door, leaving me in the dark.
The backs of my eyes begin to sting, a part of me afraid that I’ll never hear him say it again, that I’ve ruined my chances at a future with Dean, right as I finally decided that I was all-in.
But thankfully, I’m too tired to cry.
I’m too tired to do anything except exhale a shuddery sob of relief and let sleep take me.