Page 11 of Forget Me Twice

“I do, however, expect a recruitment rate of at least 30% from the student body and 50% from the staff by graduation.”

Ah, there it is. There’s that rare pang of fear I was waiting for. It’s now skating down my spine as my already dry tongue sticks to the top of my mouth. That’s almost 300 lives I need to personally invade and 300 souls I need to bargain away in the name of expanding Sebastian’s gruesome empire.

“Sabine, you will be required to live on campus to maintain the facade. The rest of you will have restricted access to your legacy fund in order to secure housing and vehicles, as well as to cover appropriate living expenses during the school year. Foster, you will send Dominic monthly statements of your team’s spending, not the Accountants. Include with it a copy of all remittance of funds.”

His chair moves silently back as he unfurls, like a Leviathan rising from the Deep. He smoothes down his tie and swiftly buttons the jacket on his perfectly pressed suit. “Consider yourselves on strict probation. I expect your behavior going forward to reflect positively on your positions as Councilors at all times.” He flips the folio closed, leaving it on the table between us.

That one gesture felt weirdly significant, if not a little ominous. Almost like he closed a metaphorical door on a chapter of our lives at the same time.

Nobody on my Crew moves as he strides towards the door, his Second two steps behind him.

As he reaches the doorway, he pauses but doesn’t turn. “Let me be clear, Sabine,do notleave the Rox Boys under the influence of the Aces. Theymustbelong to us by the end of the year, or do not return to Lexington expecting a warm welcome home.”

And then he’s gone, disappearing from the room like smoke.

The room eruptsaround me with raised, defensive voices.

Fuck.My eyes start watering as my headache ratchets up to new, higher proportions with the din. My scalp feels like it could split and start peeling back at this point, the tension is so high in my neck.

If only I had a baggie or a flask in the pocket of this dress.

I could really use some hair of the dog.

I tip my head back and blink my bleary eyes at the ceiling, as if searching for the strength to move forward and wade into this shitshow of my own making. Sober. Yuck.

Here we go.

Dropping my chin, I take quick stock of where each member of my Crew is in their heads right now.

Foster Andrew Brannons, 24 years old, and our newest member, slides down into the chair he was using during the meeting, as if he no longer possesses bones. He doesn’t say a word, just fixes the opposite wall with the haunting, thousand-yard stare of his dark brown eyes. His auburn hair is lank. I don’t expect much else from him right now, if I’m being totally honest. He’s a half-empty kind of guy on the best of days, and always has a dozen emotional brick walls erected between himself and the rest of the team. It’s been impossible to get close to him.

Jax is across the table, growling and posturing sharply at Knox, who despite being almost twice as wide and several inches taller, is still doing his utmost to quietly talk him down.Knox Levi Morales, 22, our gentle brunet giant and second Enforcer will only use violence in the line of duty and usually as an absolute last resort. You’d think that would make him an awful bodyguard, but just his size and presence is usually enough to make opponents shit their pants.

Despite Knox’s calm intervention, I can see that our captain is close to breaking point. It’s not often we see such a display of emotion from Jax—his usual, unwavering composure is probably the only personal trait he does share with his father, aside from his dark, brooding looks.

Jackson Sebastian Grayson, 26.His lips are pressed together tightly and his sculpted jaw grinds, agitation clear.All composure has just boiled completely off at this point. The calm and collected team leader now nowhere in sight.

I anticipate a few airborne chairs in our near future.

I lean over and swipe up the offending folder before the table gets flipped as well.

My arm feels like it weighs a metric fuck load, and I drop it back to my side, the file hanging loosely against my thigh. Everything pulses with the beat inside my skull as I do my best to focus. My tired gaze slides up and collides with Rhett’s.

The wildest, most carefree member of our group is now staring back at me with his full mouth pulled tightly into a grimace.Rhett Matthew Orbison, 22, is our emotional barometer. He routinely rolls with any and all of the punches, always giving exactlyzero fucks. It takes an almost world-ending event to knock the head Enforcer off-kilter. His cheeky smile from earlier has completely disappeared, and his dirty-blond hair is standing up at all angles like he’s been tugging on it in distress.

It’s clear to anybody that Sebastian’s ultimatum has left us all in a tailspin.

“Guys,” I say quietly. Foster continues to stare blankly and Knox now has his large hands wrapped around Jax’s shoulders. Their foreheads are pressed together as they speak quietly. Only Rhett seems to have heard me, his shoulders dropping a fraction at the sound of my voice.

“Guys. Listen to me,” I say, a little more firmly, and I canhearjust how exhausted I am. I lift my hand and distractedly rub my fingers back and forth along my scar. It’s a force of habit whenever I’m close to hitting the wall. I’m not sure how long I’ve got until this hangover slash head injury combo completely does me in for the day.

I let out a sigh, letting my gaze run over the four of them now that I have their attention. They know I’m usually never this serious, but I feel like this particular mess warrants some kind of sincerity on my part.

“Look, we knew this day was coming. We haven’t been blindly following orders like good little Low Men for quite some time now. Sooner or later, he was going to make a move that would bring his wayward sheep back into the fold.”

Jax huffs out a cynical breath and swipes his hand angrily across his bearded jaw. “Darling, he’s separatedyou and Ifor a reason,” he says, emphasizing bitterly and gesturing wildly between us.

I try to ignore the small ripple of pleasure the term of endearment sends through my gut. He’s still almost vibrating with anger. There’s so much power coiled in his rigid stance, it’s like a dark, furious aura.

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