Professor Graves gives a long, irritated sigh that simultaneously conveys his hatred of digressions and his disdain that any of us might require clarification.
“Trade-based laundering,” he says, “as the name would imply, exploits the mechanisms of cross-border trade. Over-invoicing or under-invoicing, misrepresentation of quality, and so forth.”
He glares around the room as if daring anybody else to ask a question. When we all keep our mouths shut, he continues:
“Once you’ve introduced the funds into the legal banking system at a vulnerable point, then you move into layering or structuring. This is when you cut the funds into smaller transactions so they can be transferred into more difficult jurisdictions without triggering reporting requirements.”
While Professor Graves explains this process, I feel someone watching me. I turn my head and see Wade Dyer leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed over his broad chest. He’s not bothering to take notes. I don’t think he’s listening at all. He’s just looking at me.
Wade is blond and clean-cut, pleasant-looking, but that doesn’t fool me for a second. I know damn well that he’s from Hamburg just like Rocco Prince. They’re friends. Anybody who enjoys Rocco’s company has something wrong inside, no matter how benign they look on the outside.
Wade smiles at me, showing dimples on both sides of his mouth.
I don’t smile back at him. I face Professor Graves as he talks about Integration, the final stage of money laundering.
“At this point, the funds become eligible for use,” Professor Graves says. “They can be used to purchase assets—goods or property—which won’t attract attention.”
I glance back at Wade.
He’s still watching me. Deliberately, he looks me up and down from head to foot. Not that there’s anything to see—when Daniela’s not picking my outfits, I always cover up. I hate being leered at. Right now I’m wearing a long-sleeved dress shirt buttoned to the neck, a knee-length skirt, and thick black tights. Wade can’t see shit unless he’s got a knuckle fetish.
I turn my head forward, determined not to look at him anymore for the duration of the class.
The minutes seem to slip by slowly under the awkward sensation of scrutiny. I can hear Wade tapping his pen rhythmically on the top of his desk. I think he’s trying to attract my attention.
I’m sure Rocco told him to watch me, and to make it obvious.
He wants me to know that he has friends everywhere on campus, that I’m not safe from him just because we don’t have any classes together.
Well, I don’t give a shit. Wade has nothing to report except that I filled up four pages with notes. I hope Rocco finds that fascinating.
Still, as soon as class is over I snatch up my notebook and stuff it in my bag.
I hurry down the stairs of the Keep, heading to my next class on the south side of campus. I’ve got Artillery with Professor Knox, who teaches in the old forge attached to the workshops where the original inhabitants of the castle used to make metal utensils, horseshoes, armor, swords, and pikes.
I can hear heavy footsteps following behind me. A quick glance over my shoulder shows Wade Dyer striding along behind me, hands tucked in the pockets of his trousers.
What the fuck is he playing at?
He’s not in my Artillery class.
I debate whether I should turn around and confront him, or just ignore him.
As I’m passing the large octagonal tower the male Heirs use as a dorm, I see something even more unpleasant: Rocco and Jasper coming down the stairs.
Before Rocco can spot me, I take a hard right turn, shooting the tree-choked gap between the tower and an elevated platform that might have been used for weapons training once upon a time.
I spent a lot of time in my Freshman year learning the secret passageways and shortcuts across campus so I could hide from Rocco Prince. I’d never claim to know them all, but I did find a hidden door behind these orange trees that leads up to the ramparts. From there, I can walk across the top of the wall and come down on the opposite side of the forge.
I pull open the rusty, squeaking door, then hurry up the narrow staircase enclosed within the wall. It’s always chilly as a tomb inside the stone walls of Kingmakers, even in the warmest parts of the year. When I emerge on the top of ramparts, the sunlight blinds me and the wind buffets me, twice as strong as in the protected cove of the castle.
I head down the long, narrow walkway that runs between the Octagon Tower at my back and the tall, spindly Library Tower straight ahead of me. I like being up here on my own. It’s one of the best views in the castle, with nothing but open ocean to the north. I pause for a moment to look over the edge of the ramparts, down the dizzying drop of the limestone cliffs to the dark water below.
The waves hitting the cliffs are probably eight feet tall, though from this height, they barely look like frothy wrinkles on the water.
When I straighten up again, I see two figures blocking my path: one dark-haired, one red.
Rocco and Jasper.
Fuck.
I turn to run back the way I came, but now Wade Dyer is standing there, smiling his charming, dimpled smile.
They close in on me from both sides, swift and silent as wolves.
Wade wasn’t following me. He was herding me. Right where Rocco wanted.
I could scream, but it would be pointless. No one would hear me up here. If they heard anything at all, it would sound like a seagull screeching over the water.
Jasper grabs my right arm, Wade my left. They pin me against the ramparts, lifted and tilted backward so I know they could tip me right over if they wanted, sending me plummeting down to the jagged rocks below.
Rocco stands in front of me, hands clasped behind his back just like Professor Graves when he’s about to start a lecture. He looks happier than I’ve ever seen him, his eyes gleaming with malice.
“Oh, no,” he says softly. “What a predicament you’ve gotten yourself into, Zoe. You thought you were a tricky little mouse, didn’t you? Always slipping away through stairs and passageways. You forgot that I’ve been at this school longer than you.”
My heart is hammering hard against my chest at such a rapid pace that it’s skipping every third or fourth beat, stumbling and then squeezing harder than ever to make up for it.
This is very, very bad.
Rocco leans close to speak directly into my ear. With my arms pinned, I can’t shove him away. I can’t protect myself. He could take a bite out of my cheek and there’s nothing I could do to stop him.
“You only get away when I let you get away,” he whispers. “You’re a bird with a chain around its ankle. You can fly in circles all you want. But you’re bound to me, Zoe. I can take hold of you whenever I want. Soon, very soon, I’m going to close you in a cage. If you want food, you’ll eat it out of my hand. If you want water, you’ll drink it from my lips. If you want rest, you’ll sleep with your head in my lap. And you’ll never fly again.”
He pulls back just far enough to look me in the eyes.
Looking into those black pupils is like looking down into a well. There’s no reason in them. No mercy. Just an empty black hole.
He means every word.
When I marry him, I’ll be his slave. He’ll never tire of tormenting me. Until I’m broken in my mind, body, and soul.
“Never,” I say quietly.