Page 22 of Wicked Games

“The proof is their calling card.” Jace closes his laptop. “I can’t find an actual signature in their code, but whoever did this wanted us to know they did. I have no clue if it’s aFuck you, I got into your systemmessage or aHaha, I got into your systemone, but this is definitely them flexing on us.”

“That makes the whole sloppy hit theory more plausible,” I muse. “The hacker is a pro, but them leaving so much evidence feels like they’re so sure they won’t get caught they don’t care if the guy who hired him is.”

“Yup,” Jax says. “This also tells us whoever did this is going to try again. You don’t go through this much trouble to take out a college kid unless you really want to take him out.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Did you see what happened to his bag?” I ask Jace. It wasn’t in the bathroom, and I didn’t see it anywhere in the room when I left this morning.

He shakes his head. “Not after he gets in the pool.”

I lean back against the settee and rake my hand through my hair. Did his attacker take it? And if he did, why? Was it part of his plan, or did he panic?

I’m just about to voice my thoughts when all three of our phones go off.

“Are they here?” I ask Jax as he checks his phone.

He nods.

I let out a sigh and shut my tablet down.

The last thing I want right now is to face the house’s leadership, but it’s not like we have a choice. It doesn’t matter if whoever did this was targeting Felix and not a member. An attack on him in our house is an attack on all of us, and there’s no way in hell we can let it go unpunished.

7

FELIX

It feelslike my brain is trying to pound its way out of my skull as I drag my ass across my room and face-plant on my bed.

I’ve spent most of the day buried under the covers and trying to shut out the world, but there’s only so long someone can ignore their full bladder before they risk making a mess in their sheets. And after everything that’s gone down in the last twenty-four hours, I refuse to piss my bed like a toddler.

I don’t remember a lot of what happened last night, not after I got to the pool, at least, but the one part that’s crystal clear is when Killian found me lying on the floor of the bathroom.

I really wish my temporary amnesia covered that part of the night because my interaction with my stepbrother is confusing me as much as the fact that someone tried to kill me.

He was so…nice, and the protectiveness he showed is fucking with me way more than I want to admit.

Killian doesn’t like me, and I don’t like him, but instead of leaving me to languish on the floor, he helped me. And he took care of me in his own Killian way.

I had no clue what to do with that. He could have just dragged my ass to my bed and left me to fend for myself, but he didn’t.

He asked what happened, actually listened instead of brushing me off as a liar, and he believed me.

Then there’s the whole thing where he checked my head injury and told me I was his.

I didn’t choose this, and I don’t want you here, but you are. That means you’re mine, and Ialwaysdefend what’s mine.

Did he mean that, or was it the booze and whatever else I could smell on him last night talking? He went to a party at King House, and they’re notorious for their illicit party favors. He definitely had more in his system than just liquor last night.

Or maybe I’m remembering things wrong and that entire conversation was some sort of concussion dream. Maybe he only got me back to bed and there was no talking or checking injuries or assurances that he believed me and he’d find who tried to hurt me because I matter.

But I don’t matter, not really. He said an attack on me is an attack on him, not that he gives a shit that someone tried to off me. He’s only insulted because my mom married into his family, and the Hawthorne men are obsessed with protecting their inner circles.

He doesn’t give a shit about me or my well-being. He’s just pissed someone fucked with something he considers his.

Groaning, I roll onto my back and stare up at the ornately carved ceiling and ridiculous chandelier hanging over my bed.

I have no idea what time it is, but my rumbling stomach tells me it’s at least the afternoon. I should try to eat something, but I barely made it to the bathroom without passing out. There’s no way I can make it to the dining hall.

And even if I could, I doubt I’d be able to keep anything down right now. I’m hungry, but I also feel like I’m going to puke ifI move too fast or try to do more than lay on my back like an invalid.

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