Page 14 of Wild Thing

O’Shea’s words come in handy—a death certificate or a body and DNA proof. The Change screwed many people. The worst part is not knowing what really happened, how many went missing and are still alive but for various reasons are in hiding. Off-the-grid is the new black.

We change the topic to Ayana and me. Not a word about Archer, though he’s the only person I’m truly concerned about. And when the talk is over, I can’t help but think about the papers I stumbled upon the other day.

They were in the folder with the documentation of the companies that used to contract the guards before the Center was officially set up and the security contracts were under the Gen-Alpha umbrella. The files were the transfers between the different companies and bills to independent contractors.

One paper caught my attention—a notice of the leftover budget transferred from a private foundation to the one adjoined to Gen-Alpha.

Odd.

I searched for it online, didn’t find anything, then put it in a database search on the Center computer.

One name, just one name came up, and it told a story that no one knew—perhaps still doesn’t.

Kai Droga and the fund created for him by the independent non-profit foundation, attached to Gen-Alpha that back then was just a small company. The foundation covered the cost of reconstructive surgeries that weren’t covered by Kai’s insurance.

Not a chance Kai knows about this and probably shouldn’t. This was a pay off—silent, secret. When the right time comes, I’ll ask Archer. He has too many traumas he tries to cover up.

Whew.

I’m about to leave the Center when I see Margot strolling out of her office and in my direction. I can’t imagine what she can possibly want from me, but her posture is way too arrogant.

We haven’t talked about Cece’s birthday. In fact, the incident with the picture of me naked in Archer’s pool took a backstage after the news about his dad’s death.

So when the Pink Medusa stops at my desk and folds her arms across her chest, I cringe at the smell of her perfume and the sight of her bright-orange jumpsuit.

“Going as a pumpkin today?” I don’t bother meeting her eyes as I clear the files into the desk drawer.

“About that picture that was passed around,” she says with poison in every word.

“About you and I—stop talking to me, okay?” I shut down my computer and rise from my chair.

“I was the one who sent it to everyone.”

My head snaps in her direction.

She’s admitting it? Is she asking to die right now? I had a feeling she was involved, and her confession is way too bold.

“And I apologize,” she adds quickly.

I look around, frowning. Did I just hallucinate? Is there a hidden camera? Another prank?

“What?” I say with a frown like I misheard her.

“That wasn’t cool. I’m sorry.”

No shit.

I’m about to wrap her pink hair around my fist and bring her to her knees—that would be a more appropriate apology, considering how mad it made me and the things I told Archer, ruining whatever we had going on—but she turns around and hurries away.

What the hell wasthat?

Not that I like having Margot occupy too much real estate in my head, but she’s still on my mind as I walk out into the warm humid afternoon and go home to change.

There’s a beach get-together. Outcasts and—surprise-surprise—Marlow and Axavier. The last days were a rollercoaster, and this party is the only thing that might help my mind escape from the never-ending thoughts about Archer.

7

KAT

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