Page 83 of Carry Your Debt

“I’ve never heard of them,” he mutters without looking up. “They must have formally registered their Southern affiliation with the Red Court sometime between the Arbiter’s announcement and the deadline for nominations.”

I lean in, scanning the whole message for myself, before zeroing in on the line with the unknown nominees.

FACTION: ESCONDIDO CARTEL // De León, Diego; De León, Javier; De León, Luis;

My forehead wrinkles as I parse through what was certainly one of the more stand-out observations of the night for me. The shock of encountering a group of Underworld denizens that I had never seen nor heard of before—at a Symposium, no less—is hard to forget.

A group of six, dark-haired men. Unknown faction. Unidentifiable tattoos. Lead candidate standing in second position from left. Particular interest shown toward Chiron.

“I think I may have seen them there,” I finally say, with a quick look at Knox. “You said you’d never seen cartel markings like that before.”

Our deputy Enforcer nods, shoulders curling forward in thought. His shaggy locks are pulled back in a low bun, while his massive biceps and broad torso are fighting to stay contained within a forest-green Henley.

“TheHiddenCartel—cute, by the way. But yeah, I guess their inkwouldfit with an outfit from that region,” he replies, jaw working in thought.

“Regardless, they’ve got three guys in the ring. All sharing the same name. Could be sons, but could also be younger brothers, nephews, or cousins,” I say, as I continue to mull over the bizarre roster entry out loud. “And, side note—it looks like I was right about the O’Sullivan and Reilly mobs joining forces. Aiden and Benjamin are the nephews of the Mobs’ two Skippers. And then Trick’s nomination is his eldest son.”

Zeus glances up at me from his phone. “They’re in your report?”

“They’re at the top of the list now, for sure.”

“What report?” Apollo cuts in sharply.

I watch Zeus’s profile, amused at the jump of his pulse point as he works to iron out the scowl that wants to take over his face. Apparently, he doesn’t like his younger brother’s demanding tone of voice.

A little too close to home, Capitano?

“Sabine is expected to prepare a report, listing each identifiable patron in attendance Sunday night,” he explains evenly.

Four sets of eyes instantly swivel back to me.

“Librarian, remember? That’s why I was there in Themis. To take all the data that we’ve ever compiled about the Underworld—physical descriptions, identifying markers, faction signets, et cetera—and use it to identify each guest. I then report that list back to the Grey Men, along with any particularly significant interactions or conversations.”

“But no one was allowed phones or recording devices,” Ares insists. His expression is particularly dubious.

“I know,” I say with a pained smile.

“Then how would you even remember all of that?”

With a sigh, I push the hair back from my left temple. “I know you’ve all seen my scar.”

It’s hard to miss. Even after almost seven years, the scar there is still prominent.

“I was in a car accident when I was twelve. Traumatic brain injury—only it left me with what is basically a supercharged photographic memory.”

Apollo leans forward then, the look on his face oddly expectant. He probably has a million questions to test me with. Most people do.

But all he asks quietly is, “When you were twelve?”

I drop my hand back to my lap and offer him a half-hearted shrug. “So I’m told. I have no memories of anything before the accident.”

There’s an eerie moment of silence while each of the Rox Boys stares at me in mute shock.

Before Apollo can open his mouth again, Hermes whispers brokenly, “You don’t remember…anything?”

“Uh—” I start before Ares leans forward to grab the couch behind Apollo.

“Nothing?” he grits and the vicious scowl he shoots me has confusion pinching my own brows together.

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