He shakes his head. “No, I’ll do it. I’ll get Colt to help me.”
I stiffen in place and say, “Maybe that’s not such a good idea.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, one brow cocked up high in confusion.
What can I tell the poor bastard?
Looking into his shit-ass brother means he’ll have to ask Kennedy some pretty intimate questions. And having Colt as his wingman, it is a disaster waiting to happen. How the hell am I supposed to say any of this and not pique Lincoln’s curiosity?
Colt might be another egotistical prick with little to no remorse, like Teddy was, but he still has a heart—one that is torn with love for both his cousin and the girl who is supposed to be like a sister to him. From what I saw tonight, Colt needs to stay clear of Kennedy as much as possible to prevent another death from taking place. Because if Lincoln ever finds out the truth, he’ll kill him.
“I think Colt’s charms would be better used getting to the bottom of what we discovered in Charlotte,” I remind him. “Not only to get his hands on that book, but also to uncover what Professor Harper was doing with it in the first place.”
“You’re right. I guess Colt will be too busy to help me anyway. And so will you,” he advises with a slump of his shoulders.
“What do you mean?”
“The Society didn’t just leave their calling card up on my wall, East. They left this for you, too,” he explains before tossing a black envelope on top of the mattress—one that puts Scarlett’s imminent future in my hands.
Chapter 19
Easton
And so it begins.
I finally got my marching orders from The Society.
It took great restraint on my part to wait until this morning to open the letter and finally find out what these fuckers have in store for Scarlett and me. But with the house filled with rowdy, drunken college students last night, and Scarlett nervously waiting for my return downstairs, Lincoln and I thought it would be best to do this shit with some amount of privacy and without distractions.
I try to look unimpressed with the menacing, black envelope sitting on Lincoln’s desk, but it’s all a sham. Anytime The Society reaches out, I feel a vicious grip tightening my chest, wondering what fresh hell they are going to unleash on us next. They like toying with us. After they got away with what they’ve done to Finn, I think playing with our lives has become their favorite pastime. They don’t care who gets hurt in the process as long as they get their way. And right now, they have their sights set on Scarlett and me.
What could Scarlett have possibly done to piss them off?
Gradually, I’m becoming more convinced that Stone’s theory might have some merit to it, and that our marks should be considered our first clues into The Society’s identity. Sure, Stone and Scarlett are complete opposites—one being loud and in your face, while the other does everything in her power to be invisible. But somehow, there must be a connection between the two girls and the puppet masters who are intent on pulling our strings to do their bidding.
With Stone’s brash attitude, I wouldn’t be surprised if she won the scorn of some fucker from The Society. Perhaps with something she said or did in the past without even realizing it. However, the same can’t be said about Scarlett. The only thing that brings her any form of undesired attention is singing at The Brass Guild. Although my gut tells me that club must be the link between her and The Society, it still feels like a stretch. No one could possibly speculate that the sensual woman on stage—with a velvet tongue and a sinful body—is, in reality, the pastor’s niece. Scarlett has been very efficient in keeping her anonymity, just as she required.
So what am I missing?
“Are you going to open that fucking thing or not? The suspense is killer on my nerves,” Colt belts, impatiently throwing his arms in the air.
“Do you see Finn or Stone here? No, so just hold your damn horses,” Lincoln answers for me, looking oddly calm and more put together than he was last night.
Just like Colt, I’m a ball of nerves, anxious to slice through the envelope and see what sinister plan The Society has concocted for me.
Fuck this.
I walk over to the desk and pick up the wretched thing.
“What are you doing? What about Finn and Stone?”
“For all I know, those two are fucking like bunnies in their room while I’m here losing my mind. We’ll just fill them in later.”
“It is his show, cuz. Let him get it over and done with already,” Colt says on my behalf.
I don’t wait for Linc to give his consent and rip the envelope open, only to be confused by its contents. As expected, the familiar, black stationery with The Society’s crest and trademark gold lettering is there, but so is a small, black flashdrive.
“The fuck?” Colt barks out, crossing the room to inspect the drive in my hand.
My thoughts exactly.
“Well, this is new.” Lincoln pauses, running his hand over his chin in thought.
Colt rushes over to Lincoln’s computer on the desk and begins to insert the drive.
“Wait!” I yell as I dash after him, snatching it out of his hands before he does something stupid. “We can’t use Lincoln’s computer. You saw what they did to the phone they gave Stone. These fuckers are tech-savvy, or at least have someone on their payroll who is. We have no idea what could be on this thing. Maybe some virus or some kind of software that’s meant to spy on everything Lincoln has on his laptop. Use your head, Colt,” I explain heatedly before flicking his forehead.
“I’m getting really tired of these motherfuckers and their games. How the hell are we going to see what’s on that thing then?”
All eyes go to Lincoln, who is fiddling with his phone. “Done. I ordered a brand-new laptop just in case. All we’ve got to do is wait two hours.”
Thank God for Amazon Prime and the Richfield fortune.
“Okay. Now that’s sorted, read the fucking letter at least.”
I give Colt a clipped nod before my fingers unfold the black stationery paper.
My brows furrow, confused at the cryptic instruction.
“What the fuck does that even mean?” Colt belts incredulously.
He’s been extra tense this morning. I just hope it has nothing to do with Kennedy. The thing about being the perceptive fucker that I am, I see inner desires before they even become secrets. Colt has been hiding his for as long as I can remember. I thought he had moved past his shit, but after what I stumbled upon last night, it seems unlikely. If he does something stupid, he’ll end up losing them both. They love each other, even if they won’t admit it. But insert Colt into the mix, and I predict a whole world of hurt waiting to happen.
“I’m not sure. But I’m guessing that we’ll have our answers once we see what’s on this drive,” Lincoln explains, bringing me back to the real threat in the room.
“I’m so tired of these fucking riddles. I swear, when I find out who is behind this, I’ll kill them.”