We take a booth in the back of the diner, and Cam slides into one side after me while Sawyer and Jackson sit across from us. After the waitress has taken our order, we get down to business.
“I still can’t crack your dad’s password,” Sawyer says, keeping his voice low. “You’ve got to give me more to work with.”
“I’ve sent you hundreds of suggestions. I don’t see what else I can do.” Xavier has a massive file of passwords we’ve already tried, and I’m sending some each day to Sawyer to keep them off my back.
No one speaks as the waitress sets our drinks down, doing little to disguise her blatant ogling of the guys.
And I get it.
They’re hot as fuck and hard not to drool over.
Even I’m struggling to keep my emotions in check, but at least try to be subtle about it, girl!
“It might help if I knew what you were looking for,” I say, taking a sip of my sparkling water.
“We want to search his computer, and we need access to his home office,” Sawyer says, being vague on purpose.
I shake my head. “I can’t help you with that. He has cameras all over his study, and he locks everything away in his safe.” I know because I’ve already searched the place from top to bottom, and he leaves nothing incriminating lying around.
“You know how to alter the camera feeds so you can cover our tracks,” Sawyer says, and my spidey senses are on full alert.
How does he know that, or is he just assuming?
“Even if I got you in there, you won’t find anything. He isn’t stupid enough to leave important stuff lying around.”
Cam sighs heavily, his leg tapping anxiously off the ground. “We need something to go on because this is taking too long.”
“Again, if you told me what you’re looking for, I might offer more helpful suggestions,” I snap.
Cam slams his clenched fist down on the table. “This is getting tiresome, and none of us are buying the helpless little girl act.”
“I’m not acting.” I stare deep into his eyes. “You seem to have vastly misjudged my father. You have no idea what you are up against. None.” I let my gaze drift between them. “Whatever you’re after, whatever you’re planning, you need to up your game because your current strategy won’t cut it.”
“Those cabinets store all the microfilm by year, categorized by local and national news,” the helpful librarian explains, showing me row upon row of filing cabinets that occupy the back portion of the red-bricked building, which houses our town’s only library. “Select which film you want, and bring it to one of those machines. The instruction sheet taped to the side explains how to load the film and navigate through the images.”
“Okay, thanks. I think I can figure it out.”
“I’m Mary. Come find me if you run into difficulty, Abigail.”
“I will. Thank you again for your time.”
She leaves me alone in this empty section of the library, and I walk through the rows until I come to the nineteen eighties, deciding to start there. I skim my fingers over the boxes of files until I come to a box marked nineteen eighty-seven, and I take it with me, sitting down at a machine and loading the film per the instructions.
It takes an hour to locate the article from the Gazette that accompanied the photo Xavier found online—the one that showed my parents with Trent’s and Charlie’s fathers, Atticus Anderson, and Emma and Wesley Marshall.
The article talks about Rydeville High’s annual sports day and family barbecue, including mention of the founding fathers and their successors, but it contains nothing useful, and my hope deflates. I spend another hour randomly scanning through various microfilm until I switch the machine off and sit back to think.
I didn’t realize there would be so much information to wade through. I could easily spend years of my life in front of this machine with nothing to show for it. I chew on the corner of my pen as I cogitate ideas.
I need a more structured research plan.
One that is likely to yield results in the shortest timeframe. Removing my notepad and pen from my bag, I start a list.
Old Elite – Parents:
Michael Hearst
Olivia Hearst -Manning (deceased)
Christian Montgomery
Sylvia Montgomery (nee Fleming)
Charles Barron II
Elizabeth Barron (nee Dasher)
Atticus Anderson
Emma Anderson (nee Marshall – deceased)
New Elite - parents:
Wesley Marshall
Ruth Marshall (nee Winston)
Ethan Hunt
Ava Hunt (nee Synnott)
Travis Lauder
Laurena Lauder (nee Vergara)
The new elite have some beef with my father—that much is clear—and considering how interconnected they all are, it makes sense to delve into our parents’ backgrounds.
My gut is telling me the answers I seek lie there, and I’ve learned to listen to that intelligent inner voice, so I focus on the four founding families and the Marshalls because they are all tied to Rydeville. I’m not sure what part the Hunts and Lauders play, but I’ll leave them till last for the moment.
But where exactly to start?
I ruminate for a little longer, and then I focus on births, marriages, and deaths as a logical starting point and work from there.
I know my father was born in nineteen seventy-two and my mother the year after, so it makes sense to focus on those two years as they were all in school together, so they must have been born within that timeframe.
Mary comes to my aid again, pulling out two huge dusty old leather books and hauling them to her office for me to go through. She seems to have bought my lie this is research for a history assignment and doesn’t bat an eye when I open up my iPad to type notes.
It takes hours to scroll through the ledgers, but by closing time, I’ve a list of birth dates, parents and grandparents’ names, and while it could be a complete dead end, at least it feels like a start.
Unfortunately, the library isn’t open on Sundays, so I’ll have to wait until next weekend to come back and scroll through the marriage and death records. They were all scanned from nineteen ninety, so it should be easier and quicker to search by microfilm.
I drop my bag in the back seat of my car, opening my two cells for the first time in hours. I’d muted both to avoid distractions, so I’m only seeing the multitude of missed calls and texts from Xavier now. I sit in my car in the empty parking lot outside the library and return his call.
“About damn time, woman! I’ve been calling you nonstop.”
“Where’s the fire?”
“I’ve intercepted a message from Hunt to Marshall. Something’s going down tonight, and I think we should check it out.”
“We?” I ask in an incredulous voice because Xavier has made it clear, time and time again, that he’s most comfortable behind a screen not doing field work, as he likes to call it.
“Yes. We. They’re going to the Grid, and I’m not letting you go there alone.”
“What’s the Grid?”
“It’s an underground fight club in Marbay, notorious for illegal fighting. Rich assholes with deep pockets bet heavy, and as it’s unsanctioned, it gets vicious. The crowd is crazy, and it’s not unheard of for fighting to break out among the audience. Hell will freeze before I’d let you get within a mile of that place alone.”
“Okay, you’ve made your point. What time am I picking you up at?”
“These things start late, so drop by about ten thirty.”
“It’s a date.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“I’m not getting on that thing,” Xavier grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at my beloved motorcycle. “They are fucking deathtraps.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d ever ridden on one,” I reply, handing him a helmet. “Because the feel of the wind swirling around you, and the exhilaration as your body moves as one with the bike, is unlike
anything you’ve ever experienced. Honestly, it’s the biggest thrill.”
He still doesn’t look convinced, and I chuckle. “What’s so funny?”
“You.” I wave my hands in front of his persona. “You look like this wild, reckless punk with your blue hair, ink, and piercings, but really, you’re a big, squishy softie.”
He flips me the bird. “Less of the squishy, please.” He pokes a finger in his lean stomach. “These abs are solid, babe.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” I grin. “Now, are you going to continue to act like a baby or grow a pair?”
“I’ll get on your fucking deathtrap. No need to insult me.” He mock pouts.
“Just get on the bike, and quit your bitching and moaning.” I roll my eyes as I tuck my hair into a ponytail and pull my helmet on.
Xavier has his arms wrapped so tight around my waist it’s a miracle I’m still breathing, but at least he isn’t screaming or demanding to get off.
When we arrive at the main street in Marbay, he directs me toward the shoreline, and then we take a succession of narrow back roads, venturing farther away from the residential parts of town. We pass vast, empty fields, devoid of all signs of life, until we come to a crossroads, and he points at me to take a winding, bumpy road on the left, surrounded on both sides by leafy woodland.
Our bodies are repeatedly jostled as I carefully maneuver the bike over rough terrain before coming to a stop when Xavier tugs on my elbow. “Park it behind that tree,” he instructs, sliding off and handing me his helmet.
I meet up with him after I’ve stashed the bike and helmets away from prying eyes, shoving my hands in the pockets of my ripped, skintight black jeans after yanking the hood of my zipped black hoodie up over my head. “What?” I ask, feeling his eyes examining me.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking grungy.” He grins. “You look hot.”
I snort. “That wasn’t the intention. I want to blend in. The last thing I need is for the guys to find me here.”
“You’ll fit in, and we’ll hang back and observe from the shadows. Whatever happens, don’t leave my side. If you need to piss, go in the woods now.”
I pin him with a sharp look. “If you think I’d ever pee in public, you don’t know me at all. I’m good, but if I wasn’t, I’d just hold it.”
He chuckles. “Such a badass.”
Now it’s my turn to flip him the bird.
We walk swiftly but quietly, and my apprehension grows when we emerge from the forested path into a wide-open space cluttered with expensive cars, SUVs, and a few monster trucks.
Music blares from the large warehouse in the near distance, the corrugated-iron roof shaking slightly as the beats literally rock the place. I quirk a brow at Xavier wondering if we’re attending a fight or a rave. “Keep your head down, and let me do the talking,” he says as we approach the door.
I do as he says, ignoring the beady eyes of the two bulky guys manning the entrance. Both have muscles stacked upon muscles, shaved heads, armfuls of ink, and handguns visibly strapped to their hips. “Hood down,” one orders in a guttural voice, and I remove my hood, tilting my chin up with more confidence than I feel as I eyeball him.
“That face is far too pretty to hide,” he leers, his eyes raking up and down my body. “And it’s rare we see women at these events.” Ignoring the urge to retaliate with my words, I school my lips into a neutral line, letting him take his fill.
Xavier hands two tickets to the other guy, and he scans them on a handheld device before snapping red bands around both our wrists and stepping aside to let us enter. I release the breath I was holding, yanking my hood back up again.
“Let your hair down,” Xavier whispers “and keep the hood back further on your head so you don’t draw attention for all the wrong reasons.” I remove my hair tie, letting my wavy tresses fall around my face before loosely covering my head with the hood. Xavier nods his approval, taking my hand and drawing me into the room.
The large open space is packed to the rafters, and intense heat slaps me in the face. Two overhead balconies house lines of rich pricks in expensive suits, standing pompously with drinks in hand, surveying the crowd below. Down here, everyone is standing, heads bobbing to the rock anthems bouncing off the walls, while sipping beers, huddled around a large elevated ring in the center of the room.
The light dims on the crowd, and spotlights illuminate the ring, as Xavier tightens his grip on my hand, maneuvering us to the far side of the room and into an empty space just under the stairs. We can see this side of the crowd and the ring from here, but it’s not exactly a prime spot, so we’re not surrounded, which hopefully means we can stay relatively hidden.
A loud roar ripples through the room as a man in gray pants and a white button-down shirt, rolled at the elbows, appears in the ring. He shouts into the mic, his loud voice booming around the cavernous space as he rallies the crowd for the first fight.
I scan the masses, looking for any sign of the guys, but I can’t find them in the darkly lit overcrowded space. “We’ll never find them in here,” I holler into Xavier’s ear.
He slips something into my hand. “I’ll scout the room. You stay here. Keep your head down. Don’t budge from this spot. If anyone gives you trouble, press the button, and I’ll come straight back.”
I nod, and he slinks away as the first two fighters land in the ring.
I watch the sick display with a kind of warped curiosity the entire time Xavier is gone. No one even notices me. They’re all too engrossed in the fight.
The barbaric crowd shouts encouragement, hurls insults, and pumps their fists in the air as the bloody fight continues round after round. The two guys are beating the crap out of one another. Fists are flying. Blood is spraying everywhere. And even when they both take tumbles, at different times, they are back on their feet straightaway, eager for more.
Xavier returns as the fight ends with one contender lying unconscious on the ground. The noise from the crowd is deafening when they announce the victor. “Well?” I ask, handing him the device.
He shakes his head. “I didn’t spot any of them, but I think I’ve figured out why,” he says, slipping the device into his jeans pocket as the next two fighters advance on the ring.
Time seems to slow down as I watch the men enter the ring, and my pulse kicks up, my eyes drinking in the sight of Cam’s naked chest as he stands rigidly still at one side of the ropes, weighing up his opponent with eyes that are equally controlled and reckless.
His contender is no slouch. He’s not as tall as Cam, but his shoulders are broader and he’s stockier. His shaved head, cold eyes, and hard face scream brutality and adrenaline courses through my veins as unprecedented fear washes over me. “Holy fuck. That guy looks savage. He’ll annihilate Cam.”
“You sound worried.” Xavier cocks a brow, expecting an answer, but I don’t give him one.
My feelings for Camden Marshall are a clusterfuck of epic proportions. One I haven’t worked out myself yet.
“I overheard a couple of guys talking. Seems Cam is a bit of a legend in the underground New York fighting scene, and there’s fierce excitement he’s here tonight. Over three hundred K has already been bet on this fight, and I’m guessing there’ll be a last-minute rush.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“As a heart attack,” he quips. “I’ve heard of fights where over a million has been laid down. It’s only pocket change for the rich assholes upstairs.”
I hold my breath as I watch Cam standing in the center of the ring not moving a muscle. The other guy is bouncing from foot to foot, cricking his neck from side to side and bumping his gloved hands together every few seconds as he snarls in Cam’s direction.
Cam is like a statue. Rock solid. Unflinching. Face like stone. Only his dark, disturbed eyes give away the fact he’s fully alert and taking it all in.
When the bell chimes, and the fight starts, his opponent charges at Cam, and I watch him dance
around the ring, avoiding impact, while making no move to hit the guy.
There’s an elegance to the way Cam moves his powerful, ripped body. A fierce determination etched across his face as his lips tug up in amusement. His contender emits a loud roar as the crowd boos, demanding action.
Things ramp up fast. My breath stutters as Cam slams his fist into the guy’s face, and he stumbles back, falling against the ropes with blood spurting from his nose. Cam advances on him with ninja speed, landing blow after blow to his face and body, his features contorted into a mass of anger and aggression.
Each strike is calculated.
His body ripples with danger and power, and God help me, but I’m so turned on right now I feel like charging into the ring and climbing his body like a spider monkey.
“Damn,” Xavier murmurs in my ear. “Please tell me you’re as turned on as I am.”
“Guilty as charged,” I rasp, never taking my eyes off Cam. He’s magnetic, and the same energy pulls me to him even with the distance separating us.
The stocky guy recovers, swinging blindly with his fists, glancing the side of Cam’s jaw, forcing him back. Then it’s on, and they go at one another with everything they’ve got.
The crowd is going wild. Beats continue to thump from loudspeakers, and the energy in the air is electrifying. I don’t agree with this shit at all, but I’m starting to understand the attraction, the addictive draw.
The guys continue beating one another, and it’s a wonder Cam’s opponent can see with the blood leaking into his eyes from a nasty gash on his forehead.
Cam’s lip is cut, trickling blood, and his left eye is swollen, but he still looks like he could go another hundred rounds. His next punch flattens his opponent to the ground, and then Cam is on top of him, straddling him as he pummels his face and his chest with punches. He doesn’t stop, hitting him over and over, even when it’s obvious the guy isn’t getting up again and the victory is his.
It’s a terrifying display of naked aggression that has all the tiny hairs lifting on the back of my neck.
Cruel Intentions Page 18
