Page 146 of Picture Perfect

"Chess, you got your phone?" Dre whispers, his voice a lethal blade wrapped in velvet.

"Always." I slide my phone from my pocket, opening the camera app with practiced ease. The lens becomes an extension of my gaze, honing in on the two figures now huddled in a secluded alcove, hands fumbling with something that gleams under the sporadic strobe lights.

"Got it," I murmur as my thumb presses down, capturing the moment. The screen freezes on an image of illegal drugs passing between greedy fingers—a damning freeze-frame destined to unravel their carefully curated worlds.

"Damn, they're dumber than I thought," Dre quips, a touch of dark humor flashing in his eyes as we retreat back into the anonymity of the crowd.

"Idiots," I agree, a smug satisfaction curling inside me like smoke. They'd tried to scrub their dirty little secrets from the digital world, had called upon our skills for a clean slate. But they hadn't counted on us being the very architects of their downfall.

Stupid really when they insist on pushing us at every turn. What did they think would happen? We'd let it go? Preston still owes us money.

"Chess, this is going to be epic," Dre says, his voice a low growl mirroring my own thoughts. "Ready to watch them burn?"

"Been ready," I reply, feeling that same darkness within me stir, hungry for the retribution that's been long overdue. They'll pay for every scar they've inflicted on Addy, for every moment of fear or hurt she's had to swallow down.

With this evidence, with this proof of Wesley's involvement, we have everything we need. Plenty of evidence of Preston using, but Wesley was always more careful. He hired us to disappear the proof that he buys his grades.

"Let's make them regret they ever crossed her," Dre adds, his resolve a tangible force beside me.

"Absolutely," I affirm, the word a silent vow. Time's up for Wesley and Preston, and hell hath no fury like a hacker scorned.

Stealthily, we edge away from the crowd, and Dre's fingers curl around my wrist, guiding me toward a shadowed corner. The dimmed light of the ballroom doesn't reach here, shrouding us in darkness as if it's our own private world. My heart hammers a tattoo against my ribs, not just from anticipation of what we're about to do, but from the heat of Dre's presence alone.

"Chess," he breathes out my name like a sinner's prayer, and then his lips are on mine. It's a fierce kiss, one that steals my breath and brands his taste onto my tongue. I can feel every line of his body where it presses against mine, every pulse point that throbs with shared adrenaline from the night's unfolding events.

"They won't know what hit them," he murmurs against my lips, a promise laced with vengeance and desire. "Snowflake will be so pleased."

"Yeah she will," I manage back, words muffled by another searing kiss.

We break apart, chests heaving, eyes locking. A silent agreement passes between us: protect Addy at all costs, make them pay for their sins.

"Come on," I say, voice still raw from the intensity of our kiss. "We've got a queen to guard."

The bass from the speakers vibrates under our feet as we step back into the neon-lit chaos of the dance floor. From here, I can see Addy, laughter lighting up her face as Saint spins her around. She's radiant, a stark contrast to the shadows clinging to her life.

I keep close watch, a hawk circling its prey, making sure no more harm comes her way tonight. My mind races with plans, scenarios on how best to deploy our newly acquired ammunition. It has to be public, irrefutable. Maybe during one of Wesley's golden boy speeches or when Preston is knee-deep in another of his self-righteous rants.

"Timing is everything," I mutter to myself.

"Chess?" Dre gives me an inquisitive look, catching my muttered strategizing.

"Thinking about the grand finale," I tell him, meeting his gaze. "It's gotta be theatrical, you know? The kind of exposure that leaves a mark."

"Something worthy of our Snowflake's suffering," Dre adds, his eyes like ice catching fire.

"Exactly," I affirm, nodding once with conviction. As the beat of the music thrums through the air, I feel it—a symphony of retribution building to its crescendo. Soon, Preston and Wesley will face a storm of consequences, and I'll be the one directing the lightning.

The rhythm of the music pulses through my veins, a perfect counterpoint to the adrenaline that floods my system. I can't help but let a small, self-satisfied smirk play across my lips as I scan the crowd. They're all oblivious to the storm that's about to break over their heads.

"Got that look again," Dre says, his voice barely cutting through the cacophony of the dance floor.

"Which one?" I ask, feigning innocence while my hands itch for my keyboard and the sweet release of the Enter key.

"The 'I'm about to hack the universe' look." He chuckles, a sound that vibrates against the backdrop of pounding bass.

"Can you blame me? The Winthrops have had it coming for a long time." I lean in closer, lowering my voice so only Dre can hear. "And thanks to Mason, we've got more dirt on them than ever."

"Good old Mason," Dre murmurs, nodding with appreciation. "Never thought he'd be the Trojan horse in their little empire."

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