Page 45 of Carry Your Debt

“Ah yes, that’s right.Sabine. The mask threw me,” Tristan amends while waving a contrite hand in front of his face. “We’re honored by the invitation, Mr Winters, but we’re unsure why we’re here.”

The bark of laughter that his answer pulls from Grayson immediately flares all the hairs on the back of my neck.

“Mr Winters, yes, well done,” he drawls, taking a sip of a whiskey that probably costs more than my monthly paycheck at the garage. “But no names here. You understand.”

“Apologies, sir. How can we help you?” I croak when Tristan’s mouth only thins.

His eyes gleam. “My organization is always on the lookout for up-and-coming talent. I’ve found that the sister academies in our Twin Cities tend to produce some of the brightest young minds in the state, especially in the business, politics, and science domains.” He takes another measured sip of his drink before returning it to rest on his knee. “I like to persuade as many as I can to come and work for me before they are plucked up by someone else.”

My own gaze desperately wants to slide back to Sabine in accusation, but I keep it fixed on the Gray Man.

I’m only at your Academy to do a job.

Is that what a ‘librarian’ was for? Finding these kids before they were snatched up by one of the out-of-state Ivy Leagues or a Fortune 500 company?

“And I think the four of you are headed for great things,” he finishes, lifting his glass once more. He watches us from over its rim.

“You want us to come work for you?” Tristan asks, injecting just enough incredulity into his voice.

“You already hold quite an advantage over most graduates. They might hear the rumors and tales, but not many come to me with any real working knowledge of our world.”

“Yes, because we already have an employer,” Tristan says carefully.

I watch as Sabine pulls a subtle face in warning, hiding it from her boss by placing a small piece of sashimi in her mouth. I have to drag my focus away from her lips and force myself to examine the rest of her posture instead. She looks like she’s in pain with how stiffly she’s holding herself.

“I gathered as much from your presence here tonight. They sat you with theNorthernSovereignty,” Grayson seethes, the temperature of his voice dropping further with each word. The disappointment seeps from him like ice frosting across the tabletop.

My hackles only rise further.

Shit.

My eyes flick back to Sabine as understanding dawns.

She’s not in pain. She’s….afraid of him.

“We needed to get the Aces off our backs,” I throw out quickly, hoping to appeal to his ego. Everyone knows how much the Suits and the Rox City bikers despise each other. “We didn’t know the Gray Men were an option. We just took the best offer.”

Grayson hums, deep in his throat. His gaze somehow feels both freezing cold and searing hot as it brushes over me, leaving my skin tight and clammy beneath my collar. “I suppose you couldn’t have known better,” he finally concedes.

I didn’t even realize how tensely I was holding myself until his dismissal has my shoulders dropping in what feels suspiciously like relief.

He sniffs. “It’s probably best if you get that sorted then, what with tonight’s announcement.”

“Sir?”

“You’re not going to want to be living in a Southern City without the protection of the South once these Labors begin,” he explains casually, and if we didn’t now know better, it might have sounded sincere. “Sabine holds a wealth of knowledge about our world and has agreed to guide you on my behalf. Her team is stationed in Roxborough for the foreseeable future. I urge you to connect with them before the roster is sent out and targets become set,” he finishes vaguely.

Sabine keeps her eyes fixed on the table before her, but I’m watching her so closely I see the way they flare once behind her mask.

And it’s all the confirmation I need that despite the fact he still hasn’t revealed his relationship to him—or even his name—this man has every intention of dropping Tristan head-fucking-first into this sanctioned shitfight for the Crown.

A heavy,rhythmic thumping snatches me from dreamless sleep.

At first, what I think I’m hearing is just my neighbors getting busy putting thebangingangbanger—but thenmy cumulonimbus-filled brain registers the sound as the door.

As soon as the last of the painfully tense dinner courses with Sebastian and the Rox Boys had ended, Zeus had kept his promise—whisking me away while the after-dinnerdigestifswere still being served.

Surprisingly, I’d been permitted to leave both the tableandthe Symposium with nothing more than a clipped reminder that Dominic would be in touch regarding my report. Imight’ve treated that too-easy dismissal with a lot more suspicion, had it not been for the Little Drummer Boy headlining his own rock concert from behind my temporal lobe.

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