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“But it’s a good bet whoever it was is the one who killed him,” Ryland adds. He’s still holding my hand, but I don’t comment on it. I don’t want him to stop, and I have a feeling if I draw attention to it, he will.
“So someone teamed up with him and Dominic to go after you guys, then turned on Carson and shot him in the head?”
“Yeah.” Theo glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Alliances in the game are about as stable as quicksand. They don’t last long, and they often end violently.”
“Why do you think Dominic showed back up at the warehouse district?” Ryland shakes his head. “We led him miles away before we managed to shake him. And I don’t think he showed back up there looking for us.”
“He was looking for Carson? To kill him?”
He shrugs. “Time was running out. He was probably hoping to get at least one kill in before the buzzer.”
My temples throb. I’ve only known about this insanity for about forty-eight hours, and it’s still hard for me to wrap my head around it all sometimes. The casual brutality, the way violence can flip on and off like a light switch. The lies and plots and manipulations.
It’s all too fucking much.
But I guess it’s to be expected when the prize for the game is the key to an entire fucking city.
“That means Dominic lied,” I say slowly. “When he said he didn’t know who killed Carson. I mean, maybe he doesn’t know, but if they were teamed up with someone else, then he must have a pretty good idea who it could’ve been. Who else would’ve known we were there.”
“Unless Dom didn’t know Carson had another ally.” Ryland finally sets my hand down on the seat, releasing it gently from his grasp. “Carson might’ve been double-dealing. I wouldn’t put it past the slimy fucker.”
I close my eyes for a moment, blocking out the scenery that rolls by outside the window. The bubble of hope that rose in my chest at the idea that we might have a lead is slowly deflating. It doesn’t feel like we’re any closer to answers; all we have are more questions.
Doctor Adelman greets us at the back door to his office just like he did last time, and his eyebrows twitch up in surprise when he takes in my most recent injury. But just like yesterday, he doesn’t comment, keeping his expression carefully neutral as he leads us down the halls and into a private room.
The broken chunks of Ryland’s phone have been cleaned up, and a large piece of white paper has been taped over the hole in the wall. I glance at Ryland’s hand, wondering if it still aches from his brutal assault on the wall yesterday. I know from experience how fucking painful letting your rage out through your fists can be.
Once again, I settle onto the exam table. Ryland and Theo stand on either side of me as Doctor Adelma
n cleans my wounds and examines my hand. He takes an x-ray to make sure there are no hairline fractures and then tells me I might want to wear a brace for a few days.
“I know it’ll be a bit of a hassle,” he says, his gaze flicking to the stump of my right arm. “But it’ll help you heal faster in the long run.”
“Okay.” I nod, testing my grip again as I make another fist. It’s easier this time than it was when we were leaving campus.
Doctor Adelman retrieves my x-rays and declares me free of fractures. He prescribes another painkiller but tells me that the one I’m taking for my head might be enough to ease the pain in my hand too.
As he leads us back through the office and out the door, I half expect him to comment on the fact that I’ve been to see him twice in the past two days. But he doesn’t say anything, just nods at Ryland and Theo before closing the door.
I wonder what he thinks of all of this. What story he’s made up in his mind to explain my injuries, both today and yesterday. Because even though he remains so carefully neutral and uninterested on the outside, he has to wonder, doesn’t he?
Well, Doctor Adelman, whatever you think it is, I promise you the truth is a hundred times stranger than whatever you’ve imagined.
We fill the prescription and pick up a brace, and as we drive back toward Theo’s house, an uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu steals over me. This feels like a repeat of yesterday—only yesterday, I had some hope that tomorrow would be better, that we’d be closer to finding Marcus.
But it doesn’t feel that way now.
It feels like we spent the day running in circles, and if Marcus is out there somewhere, if he’s still alive, time matters. We can’t afford to waste it. I can’t afford to spend years searching for him, the way I have for the little boy in the faded picture I keep in my wallet.
The brother whose name I don’t even know.
“Marcus was going to help me find him,” I murmur, more to myself than either of the men in the car. But Ryland looks over from where he sits next to me in the back seat.
“Find who?”
My chest tightens. I’ve told almost no one about my search for my missing brother, or even that I suspect I have a brother. I only told Marcus because he went through my wallet without asking me and found the picture before I could stop him.
I hated admitting it out loud to him, hated how stupid and desperate it sounded when I put it into plain English.
