Page 207 of Heartless Legacy

“You hide your thoughts and feelings well, but you can’t hide them from me.”

Holden doesn’t always come right out and say what he’s thinking. Sometimes he talks in riddles so you’ll either dive deeper into the meaning and engage or be so confused youlet the subject drop. But there’s no mistaking his message and meaning right here. He noticed that I was worried about LJ and investigated Damon. That squeaky clean background check makes way more sense now.

Damon’s not too busy with an internship or school work, or whatever other excuses he gives LJ. The reason he’s always got some last-minute shit coming up is because he’s a second year prospect in The League. There’s no way Sasha would’ve found this.

Holden has been very clear about his intentions since I returned to town. He’s decimated businesses, blackmailed members of a sorority, and kept my secrets about what happened to Lazarro’s clinic. And now, even knowing the risk that me winning the bloodline challenge poses to his family and friends, he’s still willing to help.

I’m beyond grateful for that. But helping me with LJ. That’s the most selfless thing he’s ever done. He’s not a good guy and has never pretended to be, but he’s the kind of good guy I need him to be. I go back to eating my food. I don’t want to put Holden on the spot or put on a show for this dining hall, but I definitely wanna jump his bones right now.

My hands are sweating. I wipe them on my jeans, pick up my spoon, then drop it to wipe my hands again. Why am I nervous all of a sudden? I’ve never felt like this over a gesture… wait. Yes, I have. Once. Oh shit.Shit. Shit. Am I? No. I can’t be. It’s impossible. I mean, I was starting to before, but we’re restarting from ground zero. It’s too soon now, right?

Holden’s head is down as he reads his book, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. He said he can read me. Is he reading this, too?

Chapter 113

Pax

Holden enters the bunker, looking like he’s running on fumes. He nods in response to my greeting and goes straight to the computer. I watch as he accesses his cloud drive and opens a few folders, arranging them in neat rows across the screens.

Before he’s finished setting up, Finn walks in and announces, “I know what they are.”

Holden and I share a look, and I ask, “What are we talking about?”

“The documents from Garnet. I know what they are.” He frowns. “Or what they were. They’re pages from charge books.”

I tell him, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Charge books are accounting ledgers, but they weren’t used for general accounting information for a household or business. The entries are league specific notes and instructions and financial data. The books were in the custody of the head of the family line until they passed it on to the next generation. It’s like the original challenge item. You had to keep it safe and protected from other league members. If you lost possession of it, you got fined.”

I stand in awe of all that information he just rattled off. “How did you come up with that?”

“I just came from the archives. There's an entire chapter on them, but the physical copies of the books aren’t used anymore. The financial transactions and sanctions are all automated now.”

“You told me the book you turned into the vault was like the picture from the fire.” Holden says, pulling up the photo.

“It was.”

Holden asks, “If these charge books are supposed to be in the custody of the family lines, what was someone in Connecticut with no league affiliation doing with one? And how come we’ve never heard of this or seen one of these books before?”

Finn says, “It’s probably another one of those things they don’t tell us until we’re in a higher year group.”

I check my watch and get to my feet with a groan. “Sorry to dip out on you guys, but I have dinner with my parents tonight. I’ll check in with you afterwards.”

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I mumble to myself as I approach the door. Am I remembering things correctly? I might not be, since I try to not to think about anything connected tothatparty. But I force myself to think about it now.

That morning, my grandmother took me to a warehouse housing a bunch of crates with stuff from my great-grandfather’s estate. She was going through it and picking out things to donate to one of the charity auctions. There was a crate full of books, with leather-bound covers. I’m almost certain one had gold embossing and looked like that picture.

I don’t want to mention it to my friends until I know for certain. My grandmother says the items are all on loan to museums or the historical foundations around the country, with the exception of the rare book collection, which she gave to my father.

My dad has a place where he keeps rare finds, like the challenge items he’s never turned in. The room hidden in the wine cellar of our cabin requires his fingerprint to open the door. After Holden’s abduction attempt, we spent plenty of hours learning how to dust for fingerprints. His father gave him a latent print kit and evidence bags, along with a courier account to have them sent off to his dad for analysis. Any time a substitute teacher we didn’t recognize showed up at school, or someone new showed up in the pickup line, we’d be dusting for prints.

I break out that skill now, as I swipe the brush over the Balvenie bottle. When the thumbprint appears, I apply the tape, carefully peeling it away from the glass to keep it from smudging. Then press it against the card-stock to transfer it, before sealing it in a plastic bag.

“Oh, you’re here.” My mother says, looking surprised to see me.

“It’s a negotiation dinner. I didn’t know I was allowed to skip it.”

“And where is Eloise?,” She asks.

---