Mischief (Circuit Book 2)

by Lacey Dailey

  “Did he sign it?”

  “Nope. And he sent it to my work email.”

  She took a relieved breath. “He doesn’t know about Mischief then.”

  Cruz’s eyes narrowed. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Kade likes control,” she said easily. “He needs to hold the power. He gets off on it. If he knew about Mischief, he would’ve said so. Held it above Ace’s head. Actually, if he knew about Circuit at all, he would probably send you all messages. It isn’t like him not to use that information in an attempt to mind fuck you. He’s too cocky. This has to be about something else.”

  “Sage.” I grabbed her gaze and held it. “I’m sorry. If he’s trying—"

  “To get to me?” She nodded. “It’s most likely he’s trying to fuck with me and not you.”

  “Why does he even know about me?” If this wasn’t about Circuit, it made no sense. Take away Mischief and I was just a masseuse with a video game addiction, a hankering for sweets, and a crush on his best friend.

  What made that worthy of Kade’s attention?

  “Let’s be real here.” Sage’s face drained of color. It was too much for her. Reliving Kade and all he did to her.

  “Sage, it’s okay. You don’t—"

  “She’s good, Ace.” Wren stepped up beside her and took her hand, whispering something in her ear.

  She smiled softly and cleared her throat. “Kade’s a sociopath who spent the better part of my captivity thinking I belonged to him. Somewhere in his mind, he still believes that. It would make complete sense he has tabs on me. He’s already threatened Wren and my relationship with him. It makes sense he’d know you too. You're basically my second brother.”

  “He’s in prison.”

  “He’s a drug lord,” she shot back. “He has resources and he’ll use them.”

  “Phantom girl, half his team is dead and the other half is in prison.”

  “That half of his team didn’t go to prison until months after he did. Plenty of time to gain intel on the people in my life.”

  Cruz scratched the back of his neck and tugged on one of his gauged earlobes. “You think Kade is fucking with Ace to fuck with you?”

  She shrugged. “I think it’s the most logical explanation. But what doesn’t make sense is why the message didn’t go to Wren. He might have chosen Ace for a reason. And that’s the answer you need to look for. Why Ace?”

  Why me?

  The question was enough to make me want to stop asking them all together. But that was what quitters did. And I was not a quitter. Especially in the face of people like Kade Wilson.

  “How did he get my email address? And why didn’t he sign it? If he doesn’t know about Mischief, then how the hell would he know I was able to use geolocation and discover who sent it?”

  “My guess? He wants to make you sweat. Hold the upper hand. He probably doesn’t want you to know who he is yet. He wants to be in control of all your thoughts. Freak you out so bad, you’re incapable of thinking about anything else. He’s playing a game, Ace,” she whispered. “And you’re the pawn.”

  “So, what do we do?” Cruz placed his hands on his hips, his tatted fingers flexing against the bone. “What do you suggest?”

  “Play the game,” she said. “And win. If we don't, he will."

  6

  Brett

  There were five of them. The creepy little fuckers were staring directly at me, wiggling aimlessly and freely. I cleared my throat and tried to pretend I was somewhere else rather than in a squat position in front of a tiny human with its tiny foot thrust in my face. I watched in horror as the tiny human lifted the foot to an open mouth and shoved three of those fuckers right in there. My stomach rolled, and I considered quitting right then and there.

  “Nicholas Keaton!” A middle-aged woman gasped and grabbed the little ankle, yanking it free. “That is disgusting!”

  The little human started to cry.

  No.

  Sob. He started to sob as if not being able to eat his owns toes was a complete abomination. The end of the world as we all knew it. He threw his head back, face bright red, complete with a purple vein bulging from his forehead while he screamed like someone was sawing his arm off.

  His mother sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just do it.” She told me, gesturing towards the little foot. “He’ll be fine in a second.”

  I stared down at the tiny foot coated in saliva and almost told her no. I didn’t want to do it, but the badge pinned to my shirt deemed me a sizing specialist. I wrapped my hand around the small person’s ankle and guided it towards the opening of the shoe. I really hoped this pair fit. For two reasons.

  1. I didn’t want to touch this kid’s foot more times than I had to.

  2. Nobody else should have to buy a shoe that was coated in saliva.

  But I supposed the second one would be my fault. It was my job, after all, to keep stock of the stupid little nylon sock things and ensure we never ran out. But apparently, I’d underestimated the number of nylon socks we’d go through. It was beyond me why we even needed them in the first place. It was fall. Didn’t people wear socks anymore?

  Nicholas Keaton apparently did not. Or he ate the damn thing. That seemed more likely.

  “Fits well,” I muttered, lifting my head to the mother.

  “Great.” She clapped her hands together with a relieved smile. “We’ll take them.”

  I slid off the tiny tennis shoe fit with velcro across the top and light up bottoms. I set both of them back in the box, wrapping them appropriately in the tissue paper. The second his foot was free, he shoved it right back into his mouth. I didn’t know a lot about kids, but something about his ability to walk and talk told me Nicholas Keaton was too old to be gnawing on his toes like a tiny little cannibal.

  I left the shoes next to the bench Nicholas was perched on and made my great escape while his mother fought with him to stop drooling on his limbs. I slipped into the next aisle and breathed easily; finding it empty. My forehead clunked against the wooden rack that held all of our football cleats. I closed my eyes and took a long breath.

  I’d touched thirteen pairs of feet this afternoon. Not all of them were coated in saliva but they were all attached to legs that weren’t mine. Thirteen pairs of feet I’d come in close proximity with. And that was just half a shift. Who knew how many pairs of feet I’d come in close contact with over the past three years working here? I’m willing to bet hard cash on an answer that placed that number in the thousands.

  I’d thought working at a sporting goods store would be fun. Simple. Nothing that would stress me out too much. I’d figured I’d spend the rest of my days restocking baseball equipment and swiping credit cards.

  I did not picture a life filled with feet. I didn’t even want a life of feet. Feet were gross! Especially feet coated in saliva or covered with a sock drenched in sweat.

  But the thing was, I didn’t care about my life after Sage went missing. I only got a job so I could leave the house every once in a while. The money didn’t matter. I wasn’t looking for a promotion or friends to go grab drinks with.

  The job was a space filler.

  The feet passed the time.

  The time I didn’t want without my sister. But then she came back and I was thrown off my axis. I hit the ground so hard, dirt filled my mouth and scrapes covered my body. I was thrust backward three years, and now what the fuck was I supposed to do?

  I had no college degree, no will to go back, and a job that got me immunity to foot stank.

  “Maddison!”

  I schooled my expression before tilting my head. My eyes landed on my supervisor. “Yeah?”

  “Drake called in. Need you to work a double.”

  “I can’t. Sorry.”

  He held up his hands. “Sorry, Brett. There’s nobody else. Shift’s yours, man. I’ll make sure you get extra time off next week.” He walked past me and clapped me on the back. “Not like you have anything better to do, ri
ght?”

  I wanted to spin him around and tell him and his smug face just how wrong he was. But reality said otherwise. I spent more time in this fake referee uniform than I did in my own clothes.

  Pathetic. I knew that; but wasn’t sure where to go next.

  I was stuck. Stagnant. The direction of my life was dictated by a broken GPS. I was being yanked in two directions. Down two different roads. One led me to what I thought I was supposed to do and one led me to what I wanted to do. One path was smooth and one path was rocky, but I couldn’t see clearly enough to uncover which was which.

  “Excuse me, Sir?”

  I plastered my customary retail smile on my face and spun around. “How can I help you?”

  A middle-aged man smiled at me. He had his hand resting on the shoulder of who I assumed to be his son. The kid looked to be ten or eleven. I figured I was safe in the soggy toe department.

  “Last year we purchased a pair of soccer cleats from you guys. My son loved them but he’s grown. We were hoping to get that exact pair but can’t seem to find them. Can you help us out?”

  “Sure thing.” I smiled politely and dipped over into the next aisle, taking stance in front of the soccer cleats. “Do you know what brand they were?”

  “Here!” The kid thrust his phone at me. “I have a picture.”

  I studied the picture, snapping my fingers and turning down the aisle. “Oh! We have those. What size?”

  “Three!” The kid shouted, bouncing on his toes like I was about to hand him a million dollars.

  I grabbed a box off the shelf and held it out. “Here ya go, bud. Want to try those on?”

  He grabbed the box and plopped on his ass in the center of the aisle, bypassing the bench. His shoulders sagged when he lifted the lid. “These aren’t right.”

  “Sure they are.” I squatted down and showed him the logo on the side. “See?”

  “They don’t look right.”

  “It’s just a new model. Sweet new upgrade for a new season. Cool, right?”

  “No. I want the old ones.”

  “I’m sorry, kiddo. Those old ones were discontinued.”

  I watched his cheeks puff up. His nose crinkled and he shot me daggers behind a mop of dark hair. “You suck!” he spat.

  “I’m sorry?”

  He scrambled to his feet. Before I could even comprehend a tantrum was about to ensue, he kicked the box and the shoes went sailing across the aisle. “You suck!”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and rose to my full height. I took a low breath so I didn’t lash out at the kid who was way too old to be causing a scene.

  “You could look online,” I suggested. “eBay might have them.”

  The father clicked his tongue. “You could call your supervisor.”

  “I mean, I could, yeah. But he’ll just tell you the same thing. They are discontinued. We don’t carry them nor can we order them. I’m sorry.”

  “You suck,” the kid said again.

  “You gonna control your kid or what?”

  I regretted the words as soon as I said them. They did not fall under proper retail protocol.

  “Excuse you?” The dad took one step forward, eyes darkening. “Who the hell are you to tell me how to raise my kid? You sell shoes for a living.”

  He was absolutely right. I’d never look down on anyone for getting a job and making ends meet. Feet and shoes were just a way to keep me afloat. But they weren’t giving me what I needed any more. I was drowning.

  I needed a way out.

  “I quit.” I yanked the name badge off my shirt and dropped it on the floor. “Give that to my supervisor, would ya?”

  He opened his mouth but no sounds flowed out. I think he was in shock. The kid was looking at me like I just escaped the nuthouse.

  I certainly felt that way.

  I pivoted my feet and strode out the door. The cool air told me I’d forgotten to grab my coat, but I didn’t turn back to get it. I walked straight to my car, got inside, and gripped the steering wheel with sweaty palms. I waited for it to hit me.

  The regret.

  The remorse.

  The voice that told me how stupid I was.

  I searched for the tightness in my chest I’d become so accustomed to.

  It never came.

  I was a grown ass man with no college degree, no job, no coat, and no sense of direction.

  I turned my key in the ignition and backed out of the parking space. It was now or never.

  Rocky road or smooth road.

  I had to choose.

  I flipped on my blinker and turned in the Spa's direction, not really knowing what path I was choosing. But I figured with Ace at the end of it, it didn’t matter.

  “Have you ever heard of a courtesy text?!” The front door slammed behind me and rattled the whole apartment. If Ace had any photos hanging on the walls of this place, they’d all be on the floor.

  “Huh?” He barely looked up at me from his favorite spot in the kitchen, directly in front of the microwave. His eyes followed whatever was in there as it went around and around. “What are you talking about?”

  “I just went to the Spa to talk to you and you weren’t there! Why the fuck weren’t you there?” I told myself I was fine. I was not fine. I thought I was, but then I got to the Spa and Ace wasn’t there to drag me away from the wreckage piled on top of my life. “I went to the desk to tell that lady with the purple glasses I wanted to see you and she said you weren’t there. I must’ve got this look on my face like I was gonna hurl because she asked me if I was okay, and I had to do that thing where I said I’m fine. I’m not, Ace. I’m not fine!”

  “Brett—" He started towards me.

  The microwave went off the same moment I did. “I quit my job!” Holy shit. “Ace! I just quit my job! Walked right out of there without looking back. I just couldn’t do it anymore, man. Those fucking feet and the kids and stupid discontinued shoes. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I just left and now what am I supposed to do?” My lungs constricted.

  “Brett.” He gripped my arms and gave me a shake. Probably trying to restart the brain in my head that was beginning to malfunction.

  “I’m a college dropout with no job, unpaid debt, and no source of money.” I swayed on my feet. My mind jumped on a merry go round and took off. “I’m gonna get us evicted.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  The microwave beeped again.

  “Your food is ready.” I sniffed. “Is it a hot pocket? Smells like a hot pocket."

  Why was I talking about hot pockets?

  “Brett, look at me.” I felt his hands on my face. The tips of his fingers dug into the scruff on my cheeks. “You quit your job?”

  “I quit my job.” I took another breath, a longer one that didn’t hurt when I exhaled.

  His eyes captured mine and held them prisoner. “Tell me why.”

  I placed my hands over his, securing his skin on mine. I needed him. I needed him more than I ever needed anybody. I just wasn’t sure what I needed him for. “Because I… I don’t want to sell shoes for a living, A. I think…” I cleared my throat. “I want to do more.”

  His forehead came to rest against mine. I took another breath, inhaling him. He smelt like lavender and that tree oil stuff he used at the Spa. Pieces of his hair fell against my face, and I caught myself leaning into it, rubbing the softness against my skin. “What do you want to do, Brett?”

  I wanted to kiss him.

  But I didn’t say that. I barely let myself think it. I ignored his breath moving across my lips and gripped his hands harder. My life was one disappointment piled on top of another. Mess after mess. Ace was the only person who knew how to clean it up. I wouldn’t do something stupid and potentially send him running for the hills.

  I needed him.

  “Brett, come on.” He backed away and gripped my wrist, leading me to the couch covered in navy blue microfiber. He sat down and patted the spot next to him.

  The m
icrowave beeped again. “Your food.”

  “Don’t care. Sit.”

  I kicked off my shoes and sat next to him, looking around the room. I’d been living here for almost two months and never paid much attention to how Ace decorated the place. Aside from the couch, he had a basic wooden coffee table, littered with game controllers and every episode of Teen Titans ever made on DVD. There was a loveseat that matched the couch to the left of the coffee table, pushed up against the wall the front door was on. His television was perched on a stand that matched the coffee table and he had some kind of fancy rug on the floor I assumed his mother picked out.

  “Brett? What are you looking at?”

  “I like your place, A.” I liked it a lot. Despite spending a lot of time in my bedroom, staring at the ceiling and only coming out to eat or go for runs with him, I liked the way it made me feel. It wasn’t big. It didn’t make me feel like I could get lost during a simple walk to the bathroom. It was tight enough that I always knew where I was at all times. It felt homey enough I never really felt like a stranger even though I’d just moved in. As if I could drop my guardrails. Like I could explode without the worry of ruining something precious. The most precious thing inside this place was Ace, and he was strong enough to withstand everything that hit him.

  Even me.

  “Our place, Brett. It’s our place.”

  “Right.” I turned my head to face him, my cheek resting against the back of the couch.

  He mimicked my position. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know.” I let out a quick breath and bit my bottom lip. “I don’t know, Ace. I guess I’m just feeling a little lost.”

  He placed his hand over the top of mine on the couch cushion. My fingers instantly stretched open, making room for his to fit in between mine.

  “Can we talk about Sage for a minute?” I asked.

  His eyes flashed in surprise. I never wanted to talk about Sage. Maybe that’s why I suddenly felt I was holding a bolder of information threatening to flatten me if I didn’t just let it out. I suspected I'd been feeling that way for a long time, but only now I was understanding I had someone who could take the weight.