Page 16 of Picture Perfect

"Copy that, Halo," they respond in unison, their voices a low hum in the quiet intensity of the War room.

Hours pass, our eyes glued to the screens, our minds running through the infinite possibilities of what might lie behind the pixels and code. It's a waiting game—a game that requires nerves of steel and the patience of saints.

"Surveillance is set," Chess finally says, fingers flying over the keys in a final flurry of activity. "If this bitch so much as blinks in the direction of something interesting, we'll know about it."

"Good work, Rook," I acknowledge, offering a nod of approval. In this shadow world we inhabit, trust is hard-earned and even harder kept. But these guys, these brothers-in-arms, have proven themselves time and again.

"Let's keep it tight," I reiterate, feeling the onset of a long night ahead. "We're the eyes in the dark, the whispers in the silence. We see everything."

"Roger that," Dre murmurs, his voice resolute.

"Ready to catch some ghosts," Chess adds with a wry grin.

"Then let's hunt," I say, settling in. And with those words, we sink deeper into the shadows. Adelaide Winthrop isn’t even a blip on my radar.

Chapter nine

Addy

Icould hear the banging and hushed anger from down the hall. So, I shouldn't be surprised when I push the door open to find Cheryl and William plucking through my drawers like vultures over a carcass.

But, I am. I had little privacy and minimal autonomy, but they usually left my room alone. Which meant one thing.

Preston had decided on a different course of action. I run my fingertips over my lips remembering the kiss Dre had pressed to them. It wasn’t one of affection or even lust. It had been meant to do exactly this. Sow chaos.

I know better than to hope.

"There you are, you little slut" Cheryl says, her voice clipped and cold, sliding over my skin like battery acid. "Don't mind us. We're just taking out the trash."

My heart skips with betrayal, not surprise.

"Trash?" The word slips out, a whisper of defiance.

"Your clothes, Adelaide," William grumbles, tossing a stack of shirts into a box with careless abandon. He looks at me with wild eyes, his face slowly taking on the complexion of a tomato. "You represent this family. Do you understand that? We won't have you parading around like some...some..."

"Like a little fucking slut!" Cheryl finishes for him, her eyes sparking with the kind of zeal found in religious fervor.

I reel, taking their words like a punch to the gut without the bruise. Words claw up my throat, seeking freedom, but I swallow them down. What could I say that they hadn't already decided?

"I don't know what you're talking about," I offer up weakly.

"Your brother saw you with that Ortega boy," Cheryl spits Chess's surname as if it were a curse. "And Preston," she continues, disdain curling her lip, "he told us all about how you whored yourself out for that heathen right in front of him."

Ice water floods my veins.

"I didn't do anything wrong," I try, knowing full well how hollow my defense sounds. Even if it is the truth.

"Noth-nothing wrong?" William sputters, spittle flying from furious lips. "We took you in. We've clothed you. We've fed you."

Debatable.

"We plucked you from poverty and gave you a life of fucking luxury," he wields a finger as he takes a menacing step in my direction.

I do my best to stand my ground. Even a flinch in retreat will be an opening for them.

"Enough," Cheryl snaps. "We'll deal with this properly. You're grounded until further notice."

Grounded. As if I ever had wings here. I retreat within myself, finding refuge in the fortress of my mind.

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