Page 128 of The Secrets That Kill

“You’re definitely a Pollyanna.” I hit the button for the elevator. “We’re going out tonight. And we’re hardcore playing. I’ve got an itch and your job is to scratch it. Not a display, no audience, I’m getting a private room.”

Ivy nods. “At Broken Angel?”

I think about telling her that there will be cameras in the private room, cameras that shouldn’t be there. But I don’t. It’s not just her who’ll be in that footage, it’s me, and I’ll be getting it all back soon enough.

“Yes. Things, I think, are gonna start heating the fuck up. I’ll be back by six.”

I sip my espresso in the quiet, exclusive bar reserved only for the Knights. I’ve still got time to get home. Malone left about half an hour ago, and no one’s come near me before or after. My mood darkens with every tap of my fingers against the table.

Malone has nothing on the client or any of the other things I’ve asked him for.

I’m not entirely surprised, just an uptick in my slight unease.

These things are usually easy enough to find out. After all, we’re Obsidian Knights. We do the things no one else can. And finding out the real identity of a client tends to be doable. This kind of information gathering isn’t my forte, it’s Malone’s and Orion’s.

I hope Orion has come up with something I can use.

And through all this, my mind keeps tripping back to my plan for tonight.

I’m putting Pollyanna up on the St. Andrew’s Cross. And I’m going to tear her apart, take her past her edge of reason and into the depths of me. Break her down. Truly make her mine.

When I finally bore of her, she’ll be useless for another man. I’ll be imprinted down to her DNA.

Beyond.

My final act of revenge against her.

I toy with my cup, sloshing the remaining liquid around.

Because Pollyanna has no place in my future.

I’m in the car on my way home about half an hour later when Orion calls.

“Got anything?” he asks me.

“That’s my question to you,” I say.

He sighs. “I’ve been looking into it all for you. And there’snot much. No record on the client. I got into the database. There’s just an X.”

“Such as marks the fucking spot?”

“How the fuck should I know? I didn’t stick around in there and send out an email asking if anyone wanted fucking cake and coffee. I’m good, but I’ve got someone who’s better at hacking.”

I grit my teeth. I always swore Alek Severinov would be my go-to guy if Orion came up empty. I’m not doling out work to people outside my inner circle, no matter how fucking good Orion claims his hacker is.

“Mercer,” Orion says, pausing for a second. “You think the client could be one of the Knights?”

“Founder type,” I say, after a moment’s deliberation. “I need to look into some other stuff or just keep waving the red flag.”

“I’ve heard.” His voice lowers to a growl.

I ignore that. “Someone is bound to surface, one way or the other. Got nothing on Cara for you, either. Been asking around. Poll—Ivy hasn’t heard from her.”

He swears for a multitude of reasons.

“Cara’s roommate swears she went to visit her family.”

“She fucking hates them. Rich pricks,” he says.

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