Page 39 of Heresy

It would be nice to unload all the bullshit information he doesn’t know. But until the game is done, it’s better he not know the details of this woman’s involvement or the schemes we’re running.

The less Priest knows, the less of a chance he’ll do something stupid to end up in our fathers’ crosshairs.

As for this particular game, and at this point, the woman I’m after is nothing more than a target Tanner has set me on to help find the servers. For that I have no interest, and probably won’t need to bang her.

Plus, according to Taylor’s research on her, she’s about as exciting as a bag of silicone dicks, something I don’t have much use for.

From what Taylor has told me, her name is Brinley Thornton, daughter of Jerry Thornton, also known as the partner of Luca’s father.

Per his accounts, she’s twenty-four and working on her master’s in some bullshit degree program. Art history? Or was it philosophy? I don’t know. Regardless, a useless subject that I couldn’t care less about and that makes her more of a nerd than I’m used to dealing with.

Also, a reason not to bang her.

She’s been sheltered by her father for reasons Taylor couldn’t completely figure out, has no social media, tends to live entirely in the library at her school but spends all the rest of her time out in the big, bad world at Myth of all places.

That part makes absolutely zero sense, the two halves at odds with each other. A college library and Myth have about as much in common as a cooing dove does with a pissed off badger, but we’re running with it despite the oddity.

I just find it fortunate that she can be found in one of my favorite hunting grounds, so at least I won’t be entirely bored.

What’s strange is that I felt a tingly sense of recall when Taylor first showed me Brinley’s picture. Something just out of reach in my head that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

The thought crossed my mind that I’ve seen her before, but for all the reaching I did to think of how that would be possible, I came up empty of any answers.

Maybe she just resembles all the other standard, plug and play female college students I’ve had the misfortune to run across. Each one about as memorable as standing in line at a grocery store.

Regardless, she’s a task. One I need to complete and be done with as soon as possible. The faster I get the information I need out of her, the quicker I can retreat back to Priest’s shop and the cars and bikes I love more than anything.

Priest chokes down another large swig of whiskey, acceptance settling into his expression as the liquor settles in his stomach.

“Fine. I’ll help. Are you the one disabling her car, or will that be me again?”

A vision of Luca’s car, mangled and crushed, comes to mind. When Priest disables a car, he tends to take things to extremes, so I make sure to clarify instructions this time around.

“I’ll need you to do that. I can’t get greasy before going into the club. But I only want the car unable to start. Do not destroy it.”

He eyes me, his facial expression slowly transitioning into a fucked-up smirk.

“You take all the fun out of everything,” he chides, “but whatever. What kind of car does she have?”

I roll my eyes because this is too painful to admit.

“A Toyota RAV4.”

Disgust rolls across his features. “Oh, hell no. We might as well douse that shit in gas and light it on fire for as much that piece of shit is worth. We’d be doing the chick a favor.”

He continues muttering on about his hatred of Brinley’s car, stopping every few seconds to take another sip of whiskey. I can’t help but laugh.

And I agree with him.

She’s driving what amounts to a lawn mower with its 2.5 liter, 4 cylinders too few engine.

Honestly, it’s almost unbelievable that a father who had sheltered her so much through life would actually put her in a car so crappy. But I can’t judge. I don’t know the first thing about her.

She could be a shitty driver for all I know. Or more concerned with gas mileage than performance.

It’s not that her car is horrible for normal people congesting the streets with their concern of speed limits and traffic signs. It’s just not the kind of car you would ever find Priest or me driving.

I’d much rather travel around in one of those blow-up human hamster balls they use on the beaches and shit to run across water than to ever be caught dead in the plastic confines of what Brinley drives.

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