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Fabric rips and tears. The cold kiss of scissors glides over my skin, slicing away my uniform. That’s the last clear thing I feel. “A phone call,” I mutter as my vision blurs.
“I’m right here, darling. Speak up,” Anders chides with a smirk. He pulls out his ax and begins to cut off my vest and shirt. Then he grabs my arm and tourniquets me and then himself. One of the medics hands him a needle.
“Let me call Rylan.”
Anders ignores me; he punctures his vein, then mine, setting up a direct link to his blood so he can save me, only to use me.
“Cousin, please,” I beg.
“So I’m your cousin when you need me.”
“Let me call Rylan.”
Anders watches as his blood flows down the tube into me. “I will grant you a phone call… if you survive this. If she will even listen to you, that is. Steffen? Steffen!” His hand swings out, slapping, but everything is so blurry I can’t register the sting.
Where am I? Oh, I’m in bed with Rylan. My soul exhales. My heart has finally come home.
CHAPTER 25
Rylan
The server hums, weaving a melody that feels like home. Screens glow around me, and the warm breath of cooling fans drifts over my skin. I savor the heat. When Henderson hacks, he chills the room until my fingers ache, turning my sanctuary into an icebox.
My headphones cradle my ears in softness as I slip them on. I unlock my phone and let music spill into the room. Since this isn’t work, there’s no set playlist—just songs I pick to sharpen my focus for a night of coding.
Tonight, it’s just me, plunging into the vast labyrinth of BANKS Corp, a world so sprawling I fear it could swallow years of my life. And then there are The Rites of Passage servers. If BANKS Corp is only a fragment of The Rites group, how deep does this secretive organization go?
Henderson is off with his fiancée. I’ve learned that these people—the ultra-wealthy, bound by secret societies—love their arranged marriages.
The more outrageous, the better.
I just hope they don’t start pairing siblings like the Targaryens.
When I learned Henderson’s marriage had been arranged, I laughed. Then I cringed because he was serious.
I’m too afraid to voice the question that haunts me. The thought alone makes my finger slip on the keyboard. I sigh, delete the mistake, and patch the code back together.
A shadow flickers at the edge of my screen. I yank off my headphones, spin in my chair, and spot my visitor. Alister grins, sliding into the seat Henderson usually claims.
My father is the definition of polished. He lives in a three-piece suit—I sometimes wonder if he sleeps in it. I’ve never seen him without one. Inside these walls, he lets himself smirk, but once he steps outside, his expression turns unreadable.
“Why do you always wear a suit?” I ask impulsively. I pull my legs up and sit with them crossed in my chair. Completely comfortable in my oversized sweatpants and hoodie.
Alister glances downward, as if he were unaware he was wearing a three-piece suit. “It’s comfortable. Familiar.”
“Safe?”
He nods.
“A mask?”
“One that never leaves my face. Always keep a piece of you guarded, Rylan.”
“That sounds like a miserable life.”
“Misery is bearable. Betrayal is not—it’s a dead end.”
“What about your wife? Does she know all your hidden parts?”
