I grasped Nate’s hand and hauled myself up off the couch, and I swooped in and kissed him firmly.
The masquerade ball was all but forgotten on the second floor, where half a dozen friends had gathered outside one of the interrogation rooms. Reese, Walker, Macklin—with his arms folded over his chest and an “I can’t believe this is happening” look on his face, Penelope, Nora, and little Noa.
It hit me that the Tenleys weren’t participating in the Game either; they were organizers. No masks, just nice suits.
I handed over my suit jacket to Nate and adjusted my vest.
“KC’s inside going over evidence,” Reese said. “River will be here with Shay in a few minutes.”
I inclined my head and ushered Jordan into the room. I pointed to a corner. “You’ll sit there on the floor and don’t say a single word unless it’s yellow or red. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes, Sir,” the boy mumbled.
Reese leaned against the doorway. “Has he misbehaved already?”
I eyed Jordan, who finally had his metaphorical tail between his legs.
“More like my curse of being a fun-loving Daddy,” I reckoned. “You go about your life, and then a brat comes along thinking you don’t got what it takes to put him in his place.”
Reese chuckled. “He’s gonna learn, I guess.” He cocked his head and smirked when Jordan looked at him, all hesitant-like. “Have you ever asked your Daddy what makes him a good Sadist?”
Jordan swallowed and shook his head.
“That would be your first mistake,” Reese murmured. “Enjoy the show.”
He walked out and closed the door.
Jordan wasn’t cocky anymore.
I sat down at the table, where KC had a few printouts lined up. Security footage from outside—with time stamps. The window of opportunity, so to speak. Photos of the spray paintings. A list of details, such as the time it would take for Shay to walk from their house up the road to here. A list of his closest friends.
Penelope wasn’t on the list, but Nora was. Lane, Tate, Macklin…
KC made some notes and then tapped one of the printouts.
I looked closer.
I grinned.
Nate set three bottles of water on the table when River arrived with Shay.
“Have a seat, Shay.” KC gestured to the chair across from us.
I folded up the sleeves of my shirt and observed the guy. Shay was young, in his mid-twenties, tatted up, and one of the fighters in the community. He lived for adrenaline rushes and fear play; not a whole lot scared him in the kink world. But hand in hand with his bad-boy attitude came a cheeky Middle who didn’t mind goofing off with his Daddy.
In the short time I’d known him, I’d noticed a few things. One, he liked to stay in the background and observe a lot. Two, he was an opportunist. He didn’t dive headfirst into the battle of Mclean House versus House Mclean because he didn’t know which side would benefit him more yet. Sometimes, he executed pranks with the brats. Sometimes, he declined and watched the mayhem unfold. Three, he wanted to impress his Owners. He wanted to show them how he evolved and honed his skills.
Pulling a scheme like this one would certainly show them.
If he succeeded.
“You comfortable, kid?” I asked. “Can I get you anything—a better chair, something to eat, a decent defense?”
Confusion quickly morphed into a blank expression and possibly gnashed teeth, but Reese was right—Shay’s default mode was aloof. He slouched a bit in his chair and rested his hands in his lap.
“My defense is solid, Sir,” he replied.
“I don’t think it is, but hey. Prove me wrong.” I smiled. “Before KC begins, let me just thank you for being so committed to having more people come out to help with setup yesterday. I saw your status update online, and I heard you sent out some texts too. That was real helpful.”
