I nod to both of them. “Yes. If Rip was in that crowd, we have a fucking problem. A big one.”
Shawn nods, already pulling his phone out. “I’m gonna send some people to search the crowd. If he’s there, we’ll know, and we can deal with it.”
Could Rip really be the mole?
What other reason would he have to be in the arena? Unless he’s just a marketer who dabbles in the less legal side of life. That could be it. Or maybe I was seeing things, and he is back in his room with Tommy, planning our next video.
Fuck. I hope that wasn’t him. I don’t want it to be him.
I don’t want to deal with what happens if it were him.
12
Rip
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Staring at this bright screen in the dark, I’ve hit another dead end. I’m not surprised—I haven’t been for a long time, but it’s still disappointing. Still, it won’t make me stop searching.
Because one of these days, something promising about my parents’ whereabouts is going to come up.
I do a few more Google searches of different variations, searching from articles to pictures to bloody anything that could give me a hint. But somehow, while clicking around, I find myself browsing stuff about the Beaumonts. Specifically Kingsley.
I can’t help it. After watching him gnaw the skin off a man’s neck a few hours ago, he won’t leave my mind. That’s not an easily forgettable sight.
He was getting his arse beaten—pathetically, at that. Instead of giving up like anyone else would have, his eyes flashed with an animalistic glare, and he found a way to come out on top. That dark, yet isolated look in his eyes was like seeing a completely different person.
Kingsley is a lot more interesting than I thought. I want to know what it’s like inside that pretty little head of his.
I browse through photos of Kingsley and his family from various years. There are loads of photos from business events, going way back to when Kingsley and his sisters were little kids. Even then, they had perfected that “my parents are important, so I am too” smile.
I discover a photograph depicting Kingsley with a trophy in his hands, his face split by a wide grin. Considering his acne, lack of facial hair, and the eagle mascot on his muscle shirt, this has to be him at his private high school.
He’s got a pretty standard build for a teenage guy who’s as active as I’m sure he was when the photo was taken. Seeing him hours ago does not attest to that.
Clearly the difference hasn’t impacted his fighting abilities. If he can’t use his strength, he’ll use his bloody teeth. But comparing him now to this picture only raises more questions in my head.
It’s like with every day that passes, I unlock more lore about the prince.
I’m about to log off for the night, but my eyes get caught on a picture. Blue eyes, robust cheekbones, and a characteristic buck-toothed grin. The only thing missing is the tattoos, but those can be covered up. Those features could belong to anyone, yet the woman feels so familiar.
There is no way. Last time I saw my mother, I was eight. Fifteen years later, it’s stupid to think I would recognize her so easily.
But what boy could forget his mother’s face? Especially the one of a mother who abandoned him.
My heart races as I save the photo, then inspect every pixel. I have been looking for years; the Requiem has searched high andlow, and none of us came across a picture of her shaking hands with Xavier Beaumont.
When I click on the picture, it takes me to an article. “Xavier Beaumont donates $50,000 to New Horizon and Recovery charity.”Beside the blonde woman, many charity volunteers and people who’ve recovered from drug addiction are also seen shaking hands.
Is Mum a volunteer? Did she get clean?
Is that even my mother?
The picture was taken four months ago in a small town about two hours from here. That means she could still be here. Does the Requiem know about this? Is this why they sent us on this mission?
I have another task for Jordan: find out everything he can about New Horizon and Recovery. It’s better to be sure it’s really her before jumping into the rabbit hole of finding her.
“Rip!” my brother shouts, pulling me out of my thoughts.
