Chapter 7 #3
Reese flipped us off over his shoulder, at the same time as he backed away from the house wall. The pale UV glow shone a light on more than one circle, I realized. It was a word.
Soon.
“What the…” Colt stood straighter.
So did I.
It wasn’t just painted once either. Reese walked along the house wall and revealed someone had painted the same word over and over, wherever they could reach. Soon, soon, soon, soon. Between windows on the first floor, underneath the windows, along the concrete of the crawlspace.
“Those motherfuckin’ brats,” Greer sighed.
“Whoa!” Nora exclaimed. “A little soon to point fingers, isn’t it?”
“Soon, she said,” Colt pointed out. “Funny choice of word, that.”
Nora rolled her eyes.
“To be fair, sweetie, this has the brats written all over it,” Pen reasoned.
I scratched my chin.
“It’s glow-in-the-dark paint,” Nathan murmured. “We see it more now because it’s getting darker.”
Aye, the sun had gone down.
A beat later, I heard a rush of dings and vibrating sounds, indicating an impressive number of texts had been sent simultaneously. Greer pulled out his phone with a frown, KC was next, Penelope too—and Nathan. And Reese.
“What is it?” I demanded, and why the fuck was I excluded? So was Colt.
“It’s a link,” Greer muttered.
“To a countdown…?” Nate showed me his screen. “Coming soon, it says.”
No menu or any other links, just a single page showing an animated countdown to… I squinted, practicing my math skills. Uh, sometime in August?
“What’s in August?” KC asked.
There weren’t enough brats in front of the house. Reese and I locked eyes, and we knew what we had to do. He started walking toward the side of the house, and I followed. Greer and Colt weren’t far behind.
For chrissakes, the brats had just pulled a major stunt. Speaking of soon? This was too fucking soon!
“It’s here too.” Reese slapped a hand on the wall along the side. “Someone did this last night—or around sunup. The whole day’s safe. Paint’s invisible in the sun.”
“Hold on—stop, stop, stop.” I caught up to him and grabbed his shoulder. “Strategy. You crank up the anger, and I’ll see who reacts. We know these boys. They love to raise hell, but they don’t wanna piss anyone off.”
He nodded with a dip of his chin. “Okay. Yeah. Agreed.”
Colt and Greer caught up too, and the former, for some fucking reason, emptied his coffee mug on the wall. But that wasn’t coffee.
“What the hell’s in that mug?” I blurted out.
Nate showed up too.
Colt shrugged. “Wine.”
Sure, why not. Now I could smell it too, and I realized why he’d done that.
The paint was coming off.
He pointed at the wall. “This will be gone in the next downpour, so at least the brats put some thought into it.”
That mattered. It was a harmless prank.
I turned to Colt and Greer. “Which one of you terrifies the brats more if you’re angry?”
The two eyed each other.
“Lemme cut to the chase,” Reese said. “On any given day, brats tiptoe around Greer more because he’s Master material and known to get serious when the situation calls for it. Therefore, the answer is Colt, because I don’t think anyone out here has ever seen him angry.”
Fair enough. It made sense.
“Colt, you’re with me,” Reese went on. “Greer, Nate, and Ash, y’all get a proper look at each brat and read their expressions. I wanna know who they seek out, if they get worried, defiant, whatever—every twitch in their bratty little faces.”
I grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re on it.”
“Quit smilin’, bro,” he told me. “Look more like your husband.”
Nate was already furrowing his brow. “I happen to know Lucas only buys nice wine, and Colt just wasted it on a fucking wall.”
I had to kill my laugh real quick, because the brats would’ve heard me, but that was fucking hilarious.
Colt smirked and threw an arm around Nate’s shoulders. “How about Luke and I have you and Ash over for wine sometime soon? Will that make up for it? You can tie up Kit too if you want.”
“Or we can get this damn show on the road,” Reese pressed impatiently. “KC’s probably waiting for us inside because he was smart enough to walk straight through.”
Okay, game face. Mean face. We’d put some brats in their places. No problem.
Nate patted Colt on the chest. “We’ll talk. I’ll bring rope.”
With that out of the way, we followed the sounds from the patio, where a setup party was in full swing.
Which, in my humble opinion, was sometimes more fun than the event itself.
When we threw some steaks on the grill, listened to better music, and spent the night shooting the shit and hanging up decorations.
The moment Reese and I rounded the corner, I did a quick count.
Maybe some twenty people were present. Everyone was in a good mood.
Noa, Kit, Corey—that was three brats. Shay, Tate, Jack, Franklin.
A few I didn’t know well. Penelope and Nora had joined the crowd.
Lucian and Cam. Ty and Lane—I remembered them from the TPE event.
Just then, KC walked out onto the patio with his cane.
Gael was here too, in the pool, with Santiago. Which meant Dean was probably nearby.
“Everybody shut the fuck up!” Reese climbed up on the patio, and heads whipped around. “Kill the music!”
Colt went next, and I followed, zeroing in on the brats in the crowd.
Colt pointed at the wall. “We wanna know right fuckin’ now who spray-painted the whole goddamn house.”
Noa, Kit, and Corey looked confused and taken aback. Definitely taken aback by Colt’s anger.
I narrowed my eyes. Shay—did he look uncertain there for a hot second? If I didn’t know any better, he’d quickly glanced toward Nora.
“What spray paint?” Noa huffed. “Don’t start your mind games with us, Reese’s Sexy Pieces.”
“Yeah,” Kit agreed. “We’re still recovering from when we whooped your butts the other week.”
“Whoa! I see it!” Corey pointed to the wall. “It says ‘soon’ right there!”
They couldn’t possibly be that good at acting.
What about the other hellions, then? Tate, Lane, Shay… Where the fuck was Macklin? He’d been the mastermind last time.
Lucian frowned and turned to Cam.
“I don’t know anything, Master,” the boy promised.
I glanced back at Shay, who was leaving the loungers around the pool and aiming for one of the picnic tables. He’d composed himself by now and appeared mostly confused. Hmm.
“What’s with Tate’s smirk?” Greer asked under his breath.
Good question. I hadn’t seen that until now. But if he were guilty, would he flaunt with a smirk?
“At least one of you knows somethin’, so start fuckin’ talkin’,” Reese growled.
Ty whispered something to Lane, who lifted his brows and shook his head quickly.
“This is some bullcrap.” Nora spoke up. “You’re out for revenge because the brats beat you last time. So you’re trying to mess with our heads. You probably spray-painted the walls.”
“Yeah!” Noa and Corey hollered in agreement.
Diverting the attention to us, Nora? Nice try.
She and Shay were my prime suspects.
Right then and there, I heard more dings like last time, and six or seven members pulled out their phones and looked more confused than ever.
“Coming soon…?” Lane uttered.
Lucian, Lane, Shay, Santiago, Tate, Jack, and—damn. It happened again, and this time, my phone buzzed too.
I got the same text, and so did several others. Were they going out to the whole fucking community?
“Okay, what is happening?” Tate demanded. “I was getting excited for a new show, but don’t drag me into your mayhem on my day off.”
I didn’t buy his act either. He made it on to my list of suspects right there.
“Sleep with one eye open, you little shits,” Reese warned. “Tomorrow, all brats will be interrogated.”
“You’re doing it again!” Noa cried out. “You just wanna torture us! Daddy! We’re innocent! Tell him!”
When Reese disappeared inside, we followed again, because we had to talk shit out. I didn’t believe it was the brats this time around.
“I’ll stay out here,” Nate said.
“Me too.” Greer leaned against the doorway. “There’s more to watch.”
Fair enough. We needed all the details we could collect.
Reese went over to the bar, and I barely registered what they’d done to the club area. But damn, shit was fancy. No balloons or streamers here, just classy drapes and vases with flowers. They’d polished the old chandelier too.
“You don’t think it’s the brats either,” Colt stated.
“Correct.” Reese grabbed himself a beer from the fridge and offered two to us as well. “I wouldn’t have warned them about the interrogation if I did.”
Of course. That would give them a chance to go over their story.
I twisted the cap off my beer.
“You’re not joining the Game part tomorrow, are you?” he asked me.
I shook my head. “We wanna focus on James and Jordan.”
Plus, it was so late in the game, no pun intended. We were down to the last one or two monthly Games before they restarted the event year with something else entirely. I’d rather get on board with that.
“Would you be able to interrogate someone?” he asked. “Because the way I figure, our best interrogators are KC, Kingsley, you, Walker, and River and me, if we do it together. Colt and Greer are obviously solid—”
“Oof, no need to butter me up—that ain’t my specialty.” Colt slid onto a stool. “I’d do all right with the brats, but once we cross over to the mindfuck fighters, I’ll lose my patience.”
“And I think that’s who we gotta target,” Reese finished, eyeing me.
“There’s always time for an interrogation,” I answered. “Sign me up.”
“Fantastic. Who are your suspects?”
Colt replied first. “Tate, Macklin—”
“Who’s not even here,” I said.
“No, but he makes it a point to know shit that’s going on in the community,” he said.
He wasn’t wrong.
“So, Tate, Macklin, Nora, and—actually, Jack,” Colt summarized. “I know, I know. Jack’s a Dom. He’s on our side and whatever. But he’s also close with Tate. They share a dynamic.”
True, true.
Reese rubbed his jaw and glanced at me.
“I suspect Tate and Nora too,” I said. “And, honestly, your boy.”