Page 70 of Damián

Not likely.

And that’s where my fantasies stop. Of course, he’s not constantly reliving our time together.

Unlike mine, his reputation is actually real. He’s not a dumb virgin spending his day remembering how it felt to hold hands, to kiss and touch.

Fuck, he is so hot…

I wonder how—no, no…

Well… I mean, he is so big and thick, that how would that feel insi—… What?! Oliver, no!

Don’t go there…

“Come on, get out of your head, you have work to do,” I mutter. I stand up, softly slap my cheeks with both hands, and shake these thoughts away.

Let’s freaking do this.

I prepare a mimosa… because, why not?… and begin to sweep the room for any hidden cameras or bugs.

It takes me thirty-seven minutes, but with the help of a handheld RF detector, I am able to find a mic that was hidden between the blinds. I place a cup on top of it so it muffles the sound I make.

Once I know my room and bathroom are one hundred percent bug-free, I put on a movie, turn the volume louder than necessary, and lock myself in the bathroom.

There, I sit cross-legged on the cold tile floor and spread the two lists out in front of me.

For this, I brought three different colored highlighters, a black pen, a burner laptop, and a heavily encrypted micro-USB drive disguised as a tube of expensive lip balm.

Zara is a master at getting weird gadgets like that. Well, more like she’s a master at flirting with all those men who can get weird gadgets like a fake lip balm.

I smooth the papers with my hands and stare at the list of names Damián’s team provided. I can’t help but laugh. Alexios is good, but both lists are way too short.

I uncap the red highlighter and drag it across the first name.

Mario Rodriguez.

“Human trafficking,” I whisper to the empty room.

I know Mario. I spent an entire hour pretending to be blacked-out drunk on his yacht last summer, draped over a sofa while he bragged to a cartel boss about how he sneaks people across the border using his shipping company.

I pick up the blue highlighter.

Senator Morris.

“Narcotics and bribery.” I highlight his name, remembering the disgust I felt when the man cornered me at a charity gala, his hands moving far too low on my waist while he drunkenly slurred about how much my father was paying him to keep the Port Authority looking the other way.

He even hinted that I should do him a favor… and well, let’s just say that beating him up was the only case where the rumors about how I got charged with violence were actually real.

To make it easier for the Harknetts… not that they need it… But I color-code the entire list. I use yellow for weapons, blue for drugs, and red for human lives.

My hand cramps as I type everything into the burner laptop. I add dates, port numbers, ship names, and every disgusting, terrifying detail I’ve hoarded in my brain over the years.

It’s pretty shocking how openly they talk about what they do when they think no one around them cares. They’ve always thought I was too busy looking for my next high or for my next hookup to understand what they were saying.

Idiots.

So with that, I spend the next three days working my way down the list, cross-referencing as much as possible and adding some names they missed.

During this time, there is always a movie playing in the background, but I never watch them; instead, I use them as timers.