Page 139 of Kept in the Dark
I sit at my desk and reopen the various windows I obsessively close every time I leave the room. The last requires a tertiary password and brings up the few bugs I secretly installed within the house. I know it’s a gross invasion of privacy, but they’re focused solely on my own hallway, and I only use them to ensure that I won’t be interrupted. It’s far less conspicuous than a locked door. And in a house where we’re all on top of each other, someone will assume I’m having a wank and I’ll never hear the end of it.
Once I’m certain, I unlock the middle desk drawer with the unmarked key on my chain and pull out the battered, black Moleskine notebook. The page I want opens automatically from the overworked crease.
Jacob Rossi, arms dealer
Kevin Anderson, corrupt—involved? maybe looking the other way?
Dr. Oliver Pinsk—running synthetic drug lab?
Julia Dennison—counterfeit ring? forgery/elite/lone wolf possibly
Wearing a grim expression, I place a single strike through the next line.
Viktor Volkevich, Russian Mob
There are a few more names, but surrounded by question marks, doubtful notes, and erasure.
Felix Cruz—cleaner? Motives? Well-connected, possible source
John Mariano—Italians… lost turf war with Russians, hobbled but not out?
Alfano Cartel—drugs, distribution… coyotes? Smuggling? Human trafficking? No sophistication, doesn’t fit
Adrian Chekhov—up and coming Bratva, too young/on the radar yet? VIP gambling probably, small ops
That’s the end of the list. Every other name is crossed out with a single neat line, scratched out in anger or frustration, or erased. I flip through the familiar pages that follow, taking care with the paper that’s worn down from all the handling.
I skim the disjointed, scribbled notes that contain dozens of unanswered questions, like: Why Ulysses? What’s the connection? What is the growth source and potential? How did they evade notice for so long? Someone on the inside?
With a long exhale, I amble over to the mini-fridge I installed and crack open a new can of energy. There’s a message blinking on the screen when I settle back at my desk.
mermaidav: I was just sitting here thinking today felt incomplete. Then I realized I hadn’t talked to you yet.
A grin forms on my face before I even finish reading the greeting. My fingers are on the keys in an instant, typing out my response toher—my favorite spider, and quickly becoming my favoriteperson. Full stop.
SpyderMan: Good thing the night is young.
Epilogue II
Mac
“It was so nice seeing you again, Eleanor. You too, Jake. Enjoy your night.”
I grab the edge of Eleanor’s chair, dragging her to my side so she won’t see my eyes narrow at her hero, Red Elephant’s head chef. The fucker keeps “forgetting” my name, and it’s starting to feel real intentional. His face is blank, expressionless, but his unwavering stare feels challenging, and it’s all I can do not to bare my teeth at him.
He’s the luckiest fucker alive that Eleanor loves his food so damn much. It’s, like, the one thing I can’t do for her.
“Jesus, Mac, you going to pee on me next time?” she huffs, but I can hear the rawness underneath the exasperation. I know my girl likes it when I go all caveman on her.
“Maybe,” I grumble.
“He’s not interested like that. We talk food. There’s nothing remotely sexual about our conversations.”
I level her with my most unimpressed look. “Okay, first of all, heisinterested. Second, you talk about food the way some people talk about sex,” I point out. “Don’t you dare try to tell me otherwise, darlin’.”
She shifts on her seat, rolling her eyes. “Fine, but it’s not like whatever is going on is my fault, right? I’m not flirting, I’m… sharing a passion with someone. I’m trying to learn how to improve from someone better than me.”
I can’t hide the grin. “Betteris debatable. And you know it’s not you I’m worried about, baby,” I add, catching her hand and placing a small kiss on the tip of each of her fingers. When she responds with a sultry smile, my cock swells under the table.
