Devil's Riches: A Dark Captive Romance (Cruel Kingdom Book 2)

by Stella Hart

  “I… I can’t. I don’t want you to find them. They’ll kill you.”

  I pulled on Nate’s shirtsleeve and took him aside. “I think we have to give them something, because they’ll literally die if we don’t,” I whispered. “But they’re still refusing to talk. So what should we do?”

  His lips twisted as he considered it. “Let’s just give them a few bites now—enough to stop them from dying on us—and then we’ll leave them for another couple of days. See if that’s enough to break them.”

  “Okay.”

  I went back over to Annalise and Greg and opened the container again. Nate pulled a fork out of his pocket and used it to slop a few morsels of the deliciously-scented casserole onto the concrete floor.

  “Enjoy,” he said with a cold smile. “We’ll be back when you’re ready to talk.”

  We returned to the mansion and trudged upstairs to Nate’s bedroom. “Let’s sleep for now,” he said. “We’ll figure out what to do tomorrow.”

  I nodded with assent. It was after two in the morning, and I was thoroughly exhausted after everything we’d done over the last ten hours. Some sleep would help to remove the fuzz from my brain. It might even allow me to figure out what the hell Greg meant when he said that we’d missed something huge.

  I climbed into bed and fell into a fitful, tormented sleep, filled with nightmares. When the morning came, I opened my eyes to see Nate walking into the room with two coffees and a plate of my favorite croissants. I was naked, because I was too tired to get into pajamas the previous night, but Nate didn’t look at my body.

  A line seemed to have been drawn in the sand when I told him I couldn’t forgive him. Because of that, I doubted he would try to have sex with me again. That would make it a lot easier for me to tamp down my feelings for him, so in the end, I knew it was a good thing. However, at the same time, I couldn’t shake the nagging sensation that I’d lost something.

  After breakfast, I got dressed and went to the library with Nate, intent on figuring out the big thing we’d supposedly missed. Nate thought Greg might be messing with our minds to throw us off, but I disagreed. I thought Greg looked genuinely smug when he spoke to us last night, which meant we really had missed something major.

  We looked through our notes and talked things through over and over, but after a whole day of that, we had nothing to add to what we already knew. We took a break at seven to have a quiet, melancholy dinner, and then we decided to go to my old apartment in Avalon City to look through the original copies of my father’s research notes. I figured there could be something in them that I’d simply forgotten to write onto the copies I’d created. There could also be something in the water-damaged pages that Nate could glean, even though I’d been over them a thousand times.

  Sascha wasn’t home when we arrived at the apartment. I texted her to let her know that I was there in the hope that she’d come back to see me, but she didn’t reply.

  “She’s probably out with her friends,” Nate said, correctly interpreting the look of disappointment on my face as I slid my phone into my pocket. He lifted a hand and let it linger near my lower back like he wanted to rub it, but then he pulled it away. “You can come and see her another time.”

  We went into my bedroom to pack up my books and notes into shoeboxes. Then we headed back to the Lockwood estate.

  Once we were settled in the library again, we searched through the boxes, going over Dad’s old notes and checking for anything I might’ve missed in the past—tiny comments in the margins, scrawled pictures, visible words on the water-damaged pages where the ink hadn’t run too much, or anything that could be a coded message like the ‘stars’ comment in the prison letter.

  We kept this up over the next two days, and with every hour that passed, I grew increasingly despondent. There was nothing new in the notes. I’d copied everything I remembered correctly, and Nate hadn’t discovered anything in the water-damaged pages that I didn’t already know about.

  On the third day, the answer finally hit me. Literally. I was looking at my father’s notes again, and I cussed and threw them in the air out of frustration. The dotted circle picture with the ‘Bodies???’ notation above it fell down and hit the tip of my nose before falling back onto the table. My blood started prickling at the sight of it, and the back of my neck tightened. Suddenly I felt as if a pair of blinkers had been removed, restoring my full vision.

  “Holy shit,” I muttered, abruptly standing up.

  Nate glanced up from his side of the table. “What?”

  My mind whirled as I stared down at the page. I could feel the logic of it clicking into place, like a key piece of a jigsaw puzzle I’d been staring at for hours without solving.

  “Alexis?” Nate said, brows rising.

  I finally spoke up. “Greg wasn’t lying. We really did miss something huge,” I said, voice shaking with excitement. I shook my head and scrubbed a palm over the lower third of my face. “I actually feel really stupid right now.”

  “Mind telling me so I can feel stupid too?”

  I held the page out to Nate. “You remember this picture, right? The one I used to think was a clock?”

  “Yeah, of course. We’ve looked at it a hundred times.”

  I sat down again. “Even though we figured out that the dots were meant to represent star signs, meaning it’s not a clock, I still kept thinking of it as one for some reason. And I always thought that this dot here…” I paused and pointed to the dot in the middle of the circle. “I thought it was just meant to be something that marked the point where the hands would turn from.”

  “And?”

  “Well, it’s not a clock, remember? So it has to mean something else,” I said. “Also, this part here—the ‘Bodies???’ comment. That’s what made it hit me. It’s been staring us right in the face the whole time. Think about it. Think about Blackthorne.”

  Nate frowned and shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

  I leaned forward. “My dad originally thought there were twelve families in the Golden Circle, but I think the body count at Blackthorne threw him off.”

  Comprehension finally dawned on Nate’s face. “Fuck, you’re right,” he said, brows shooting up. “Greg killed thirteen people that night. But if there were twelve families taking one victim each in every cycle, there should’ve only been twelve people for him to kill.”

  “Exactly. I think that confused my dad. He obviously thought there were twelve families when he started his research, but those murders made him wonder if there could actually be thirteen families.” I pointed to the central dot again. “I think that’s what this means.”

  “Wait.” Nate lifted a palm. “What about the whole star sign thing? We know that’s what the Golden Circle decided to use as their symbology, but there are only twelve signs. So how can there be thirteen families?”

  For a split-second, I visualized my theory crashing down like a house of cards. Then a burst of adrenaline shot through my veins, and I sat up straight.

  “Hold on. I remember reading something when I was looking into the whole Babylonian zodiac thing the other day,” I said, fingers flying over the laptop keyboard. “Here it is.”

  I read aloud from the webpage. “The Babylonian zodiac calendar was based on the main constellations that the sun moves through each year. They wanted the number of constellations to match the months of the year, which they calculated based on phases of the moon, but that left them with a problem, because there were twelve months and thirteen constellations. They ended up leaving the thirteenth constellation out of the zodiac to make things easier and neater. However, some people who believe in astrology count the thirteenth constellation as an extra star sign. Ophiuchus.”

  “Never heard of it,” Nate said, rubbing his jaw.

  “I’m guessing most people haven’t. But we know the Golden Circle are really into Babylonian history, judging by their decision to use star signs in their symbology in the first place, so they’d definitely know abou
t it,” I said.

  Nate went quiet for a moment. “Why do you think your dad put the dot in the center?” he finally asked, motioning to the circle picture again. “Why not draw a new circle with thirteen dots around the edge?”

  My brows dipped low. “I’m not sure. Maybe he thought the thirteenth family was in charge of the whole scheme?”

  “That could be it. But I guess there’s only one way to find out,” he said. “Let’s go back to the bunker.”

  We headed outside and walked toward the woods.

  It was a blustery gray day. The leaves had turned from vibrant reds and oranges to faded brown and had mostly left the trees. The ugly weather and creepy, skeletal-looking trees didn’t put a dampener on my mood, though. The cold air seemed to be humming with excitement and anticipation, and my footsteps on the dead leaves felt lighter and bouncier than they had in years. I knew our thirteenth family theory was right. I could feel it in my bones.

  When we stepped down into the bunker, I noticed that Annalise looked worse than ever. Her skin looked gray, and her cheeks were hollow.

  “There’s a thirteenth family, isn’t there?” Nate said, staring down at her.

  She didn’t reply. The shocked look on Greg’s face told me we were right, though.

  “Who are they?” I asked, focusing my gaze on him.

  He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Can’t tell you.”

  I leaned down and slapped him across the face as hard as I possibly could. His head snapped back from the force of the blow, and blood beaded on his bottom lip.

  “I’ll hit her next if you don’t answer,” I said, gesturing to Annalise. “Is that what you want?”

  Annalise raised her head. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. “You don’t understand. We can’t tell you who they are.”

  I rolled my eyes, sick of hearing the same old story. “Let me guess. You don’t want Nate to get into trouble.”

  “No. We literally can’t tell you!” she said, chest heaving with sobs.

  “What do you mean?”

  She sniffed. “I don’t know who they are. None of us do.”

  “Stop talking,” Greg cut in, gripping her right arm.

  “It’s too late,” Annalise replied, turning her tearstained face to him. “They already know about them.”

  I stared at her, thunderstruck. “What the hell do you mean? You really don’t know who the thirteenth family is?”

  She nodded. “Greg didn’t tell you the whole story about the Golden Circle last week. He barely told you anything.”

  I crouched down and pulled a granola bar out of my pocket. “Keep talking, and you can have this.”

  She nodded and kept going. “The thirteenth family were the original founders of the Golden Circle. They didn’t want any of the other families to know who they were.”

  “Why?” I broke off a piece of the bar and handed it to her.

  She chewed it and swallowed it before speaking up again. “They knew from the start that they wanted the organization to be involved in…” She trailed off and waved her hand. “Not-so-legal money-making ventures. Because of that, they wanted to hide their identities from everyone—even the rest of the organization once it was formed. That way we could never turn them in if things went bust.”

  “Why would the other twelve families agree to that?”

  “Because they figured it was worth it in the end. The founding family assumed most of the risk.”

  “How so?”

  “They put in the initial startup money. They also organized everything.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean by everything?” I asked.

  “The buyers for the organs, and everything related to that,” she said. “The whole financial side of the operation, really.”

  “So they were in charge of the scheme.”

  She nodded. “Yes. The rest of us only had one real job—to find a donor in each three-month cycle,” she said. “Because the founding family did the rest of the work, they didn’t do that part.”

  “But there were still thirteen victims each time, weren’t there?”

  “Yes. In each cycle, one family from the other twelve would find an extra donor to make it thirteen each time. Then they’d all be harvested and sold, and the money from their organs would be split thirteen ways.”

  As Annalise’s words sank in, a snort of amusement bubbled up my throat and burst free.

  “What the fuck is so funny about that?” Greg said, cutting his eyes at me. “What happened to all that righteous indignation from last week?”

  “I’m not laughing about the victims. I’m laughing about how fucking stupid you are,” I said, shaking my head. “Don’t you see? You got played.”

  “How?”

  “I think there were only ever twelve families in the Golden Circle. One of them just pretended to be the secret thirteenth one that started everything.”

  Nate finally caught on to my train of thought. “They double-dipped in the pot,” he said, nodding slowly. “In every cycle, you and the other families each got one-thirteenth of the money. But those guys took two thirteenths for themselves.”

  Greg stared at us coldly. “I can see how you’d think that, but you’re wrong. There are definitely thirteen families in the organization.”

  “How can you possibly know that?” I asked, arching a brow. “You have no idea who they are.”

  “True. But I’ve met their leader before, and I know he wasn’t from any of the other families,” he replied, sitting up straighter. He nodded toward the granola bar. “Give me some of that.”

  I threw him a tiny piece. “How did you meet him if you weren’t allowed to know anything about his identity?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

  “He always attended the board meetings. Mask and full security with him so the rest of us couldn’t overpower him and figure out who he was,” he replied. He popped the granola in his mouth and chewed for a second. “His voice didn’t sound like anyone we knew from the twelve families, so it was definitely someone else. Sounded old. Went by the initials J.R.”

  I frowned and mulled over those initials. Nothing sprang to mind immediately. Nate and I would need to go back to our list of Avalon’s richest families and circle all the last names that started with the letter R. Somewhere in that narrowed-down list, we’d find our thirteenth family.

  “How did you communicate with this J.R. guy outside of the meetings?” Nate asked.

  “I don’t know how things were back in the early days,” Annalise said. “But when we took over from our father and got onto the board as the Lockwood representatives, J.R. used a phone. No one could trace it, though.”

  “Do you still have the number?”

  “Yes.”

  “Call him. Ask to meet.”

  Annalise was silent for a long moment. Then she slowly shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s too dangerous. He’ll know something is up.”

  Nate leaned down to mutter in my ear. “Fuck it. Let’s go back to our list. It shouldn’t be too hard to find someone with those initials.”

  I nodded and tossed the rest of the granola bar to the floor for Annalise and Greg to share. “Thanks for your help,” I said, giving them a cold smile.

  We headed back to the mansion and went straight to our spot in the library. Nate pulled up our copy of Avalon’s Rich List.

  “Can you Google the Radcliffe family?” he asked. “See if you can find any guys with names that start with J. I’ll do the Remingtons.”

  I managed to locate an online family tree for the Radcliffe family a few minutes later. “There’s a James Radcliffe,” I said, excitement making the hairs on my arms prick up. “Born in 1931. That sounds promising.”

  “Does he still live on Avalon?”

  I clicked on the hyperlink on his name. “Not exactly,” I said, shoulders slumping. “Apparently he died in a plane crash in the eighties. So he’s buried on Avalon, but that’s it.”

  “Shit,” Nate muttered. �
��Wait, there’s a John Remington.”

  “Could he be our J.R?”

  Nate tapped on his phone screen a few more times. Then his shoulders slumped. “Nope. Dead as well.”

  “Dammit.”

  We kept working at our list, searching for anyone with the correct initials. Unfortunately, no one fit. They were either long-dead or far too young to be the Golden Circle leader back in 2009.

  “Fuck,” Nate said, slamming his phone down on the table after an hour of research. “There’s literally no one.”

  “The J.R. name must be a fake,” I replied, sagging in my seat. “Makes sense, I guess. I mean, if he was trying to hide his identity, why would he use his real initials?”

  Nate grunted. “No shit. We should’ve thought of that earlier.”

  I twisted my lips and rubbed the back of my neck. “Greg said the guy sounded old in 2009, and the organization was created in the early 1950s, right?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I’m just wondering if this J.R. guy was actually the original leader, or if the first one had retired by that point and passed it down.”

  “Passed it down, I think. Even if he was in his twenties when he founded the Golden Circle with the rest of his family, he would’ve been in his late seventies or early eighties by 2009,” Nate replied. “Probably older, though, because I’d say it’s more likely he was in his thirties or forties when he started everything up. Maybe even older than that. So he’s probably been dead for a long time, and the leader Mom and Greg saw in the board meetings was a different one. The original one’s son, most likely.”

  My heart seemed to freeze for a second as his words echoed in my head. Then it began to pound. The smallest seed of an idea was burrowing its way through my brain, but it wasn’t ready to bloom just yet. I knew it had been triggered by something that Nate said a few seconds ago… but which part?

  First leader probably dead for a long time… different leader in 2009… original one’s son…

  I sat up straight, heart pounding even faster. “Oh, fuck.”

  Nate’s forehead creased. “What?”

  I licked my dry lips and leaned forward, hands trembling on the table. “I think I know who J.R. is.”