Page 13 of Picture Perfect

Nearly every student at Saint Ignatius had downloaded our app, called on us, used our expertise to hide away their dirty secrets. Hell, even some of the faculty. But not Adelaide Winthrop.

"Are you saying you can't do it?"

"You wound me," I cry, clutching my heart. "Have some faith!" I crack my knuckles and begin clacking away theatrically on the keyboard, humming the Mission Impossible theme to throw them off.

Sweet, wounded Adelaide...she has no idea of the storm coming for her and her wretched family.

"What's the plan?"

"I want dirt. I want to unearth every secret that frigid bitch has."

"Maybe she doesn't have any?" I venture.

"Everyone has secrets. I want hers," Saint demands, cutting off my argument. "Then we string along that weasel of a brother and the little fuck she's promised to."

"She makes a pretty bargaining chip," Dre agrees.

I sit back in my chair, staring at my laptop screen as Saint and Dre discuss their plans. This is what we do. This is who we are.

But, I can't shake the feeling that what we're about to do is...wrong.

Sure, I love a little chaos and mischief. I've never had a problem using what we find for leverage against the entitled elite that surrounds us. But, using Addy? Taking up her father's mantle and using her as a bargaining chip? Something about that doesn't sit right for me.

"What's the hold up?" Saint asks, noticing my fingers aren't on the keys following his carefully laid plans.

"I don't know," I admit, rubbing my temples. "I just can't help but feel like we're crossing a line here."

Saint raises an eyebrow. "Since when did you start worrying about crossing lines?"

Dre leans forward, resting his arms on the desk. "Adelaide Winthrop is no innocent victim here, Chess. This is what we do!"

"Right."

This is what we do. Who am I to rock the boat?

Why do I feel like this is going to come back and bite us in the ass?

Chapter eight

Saint

The sun beats down on my G Wagon as we cruise through the quiet streets back toward my uncle’s house. The afternoon traffic is light still, mirroring the atmosphere inside the car, which is relaxed yet tinged with anticipation, the four of us winding down after another day of classes and lectures.

"So, any plans for tonight?" Gen asks from the backseat, her voice cutting through the chatter as she leans forward, curiosity sparking in her eyes.

"Not sure yet," I reply, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. "Probably just the usual."

Dre grunts in acknowledgment, sinking deeper into his seat, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside. Chess, sitting shotgun, taps away on his phone, his mind already drifting towards the evening's potential mischief.

"I heard there's a party at Jackson's place," Chess chimes in, his fingers flying over the screen as he scrolls through messages. "Could be worth checking out."

"Maybe," Dre mutters, his gaze flicking to the side mirror as I change lanes. "Depends on who's gonna be there."

The car falls into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional beep of Chess's phone or the distant hum of traffic outside. Gen, sitting in the backseat, watches the passing cityscape with a thoughtful expression, her eyes scanning the streets for signs of life.

The moment the wheels of my truck grind to a stop in front of Mason's looming house, I can feel it—the shift in atmosphere, the unspoken command hanging in the air like an expectant storm.

"Boys," Mason greets us from the doorway, his voice as sharp as the lines of his suit. "Need you on deck tonight."

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