Page 162 of Dukes of Peril

Nick and I do have secrets. The things that happened between us in the motel, the cage, a dicey game of Russian roulette, the visit to Ashby’s security guy–but this isn’t one of them. This is us being too blind to see what was right in front of our eyes the whole time.

“I just saw it,” I tell Nick, racing to Remy’s messy desk. “When we were looking for Remy’s bruin pin, the day of the vote, it was–” I flip through a pile of markers, sweeping them aside.

Upending Remy’s desk drawers, Nick grumbles, “I should have known. I should havefuckingknown.”

“What the hell?” Remy walks in, aghast at the sight before him. Nick and I are tearing through his things frantically, sending tubes of paint skittering to the floor.

In unison, Nick and I whirl on him, barking, “Where’s the phone?”

“What phone?” He’s confused and I don’t have time for it.

“The one you stole from your dad,” I urge. “The red phone!”

Recognition lights up his eyes, and he pushes Nick aside, walking to the nightstand beside his bed and wrenching open the bottom drawer. We hurry to flank him as Remy pulls out the old red phone, yanking a cord off the end.

“I’ve been keeping it charged ever since we found out who my dad was.” He looks between us and Sy, explaining, “Just in case someone called for him–another King. Intel, right?”

Nick shakes his head at Remy, but I hold out my hand. He presses the smooth metal into my palm and I spend a long moment staring at it, testing the weight of it. How odd to think Leticia held this in her grip for days–weeks, maybe.

When I press the power button, it boots up with a glow, a security screen prompting me for a passcode to access it.

“I need the–”

Nick recites the numbers in a tight rush, having them memorized. “Four, zero, zero, nine.”

I punch in the number and the home screen flicks to life.

Sy and Remy hover quietly nearby, and through the paralysis of shock that we were right–this was my sister’s weapon–I recall what Tristian told us that night.

“...if this is the one I’m remembering, she needed help with a remote detonator… I left a group of contacts on it. All she had to do was call the contact of her choice, and the fuse would blow.”

I thumb open the contacts, and there it is.

Dad’s House.

Below it are contacts forDad’s Office,Stash House, andKappa Frat House.

Nick laces his fingers behind his head. “He knew,” he says, pacing away only to pace right back. “Remy’s dad knew that phone had something important, but he couldn’t get into it.Fuck.” Despite the context of it all, Nick’s eyes are alight with the excitement of this missing piece of the puzzle.

“We’re not here,” I tell them, looking at the four contacts. I don’t why, but there’s a knot inside me that unwinds at the realization. Looking up, I meet Sy’s gaze. “The tower, the brothels, the Prince’s palace, the Baron’s crypt… none of them are in here. It’s just North Side.”

Leticia never planned to use Forsyth as a pawn.

Remy holds up a hand, saying. “Wait. Why would your father plant bombs in his own territory?”

“He wouldn’t,” I answer, holding his green eyes as it dawns on him.

“Your sister planted them,” he says, looking impressed. “She really was hardcore.”

Hungry for more, I begin searching through the rest of the phone, but it’s all blank, practically in factory condition. No apps. No browsing history. No texts.

Except the call history.

The one, lone entry is dated three days before Tate and Leticia’s deaths–a call that lasted seven minutes and was made to a number that I somehow recognize immediately.

My father.

“So what you’re saying,” Sy begins, looking over my shoulder, “is that all you have to do is press a button, and North Side…” He doesn’t speak the words aloud, but we all hear them anyway. WIth this phone, I hold Lionel Lucia in the palm of my hand.

---