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“She was walking alone, like a dumb bitch in a serial killer movie.”
“Call her that again, I dare you.”
I’m wound tight, because she left without me, becausemy brotherpicked her up, and because I’m going nowhere fast with the blackmail issue. Until I have answers, this thing between Sarah and me is a potential mess.
What will I do to her if she’s been playing me this whole time? Nothing good. I’m learning things about myself. Mostly, the fact that I definitely wasn’t adopted. I’m a Goltz, same as the control freak and the serial killer.
“Walking around from town to campus—past southies at nightfall—is dumb,” Markus states. Before I can add a word, he switches gears. “Anyway, I’m actually calling to say I heard from Morgan. She’s calling to report what she found in ten. I figured you might want to hear.”
Fuck.
“I’m in town—can you make it fifteen?”
“No can do. She’s calling when her husband has a virtual appointment with investors in China or whatever. He still doesn’t want her to work, so she’s sneaking around.”
I sigh, my foot hitting the gas.
It’s not like I can’t afford a speeding ticket.
* * *
When I reach the Wyvern House, I’m expected this time. Another chick in cupless lingerie greets me and leads me upstairs, toward the bedroom.
Funny, I’ve never actually seen my brother’s room on campus.
An open space as large as your average two-bedroom apartment, it’s as dark as the one he has as home, but it’s far less tidy. Which isn’t like him. There’s a wooly blanket thrown over the back of his sofa, several pillows all over the place, and an empty mug on the wooden coffee table.
All those little things make his space look a little lived in. I recognize Dez’s touch everywhere—although the pink-haired menace herself isn’t here currently.
Markus sits on a Chesterfield captain’s chair, listening to a melodious, sunny voice. I circle the mahogany desk and Morgan comes into view, gorgeous as usual, her hair swept into a messy bun. She looks the same as she did the last time I saw her, in November, from the neck up, but her tits are much bigger, and she seems to be hiding a watermelon under her loose tank top.
“Mrs. Hunt,” I say, waving.
She breaks into a grin. “Marius. It’s been a while. How are you?”
“I’ll be better if you can tell me you solved our little problem.”
She sighs, eyes dimming. “I wish I could. Whoever it is, they’re definitely used to being hunted. The server jumps all over the place—one moment it looks like it comes from Hong Kong, the next, Dubai, then London, New York…” Her eyes narrow. “I feel like they’re toying with me. When I was working earlier, the server switched to Thorn Falls. It’s like they know I’m looking—and they want me to know.”
While she finds that frustrating, I take it as an important information to file on our blackmailer. “So, they’re arrogant.”
“Yes, very.”
My brother leans forward. “Do you mind repeating what you told me earlier for the latecomer?”
“Oh, sure. I can’tfindthem, but I can see that they’ve uploaded more videos in the past—all from spycams. It’s not their first time trying sextortion.”
That surprises me more than it should. “Yeah?”
She nods. “It’s as you said; they’re arrogant. To be that confident, I figured they probably had experience, so I looked into their accounts. All the other videos are offline, but I managed to find them. Let’s just say, they have a thing for young, pretty girls. There were threats at the end of each clip. Difference is, they didn’t ask for money before—they made those girls do things for them.”
“Sexual?” Markus guesses.
“Some. Other times, they asked them to steal something, spray paint property, other stupid dares. It’s all about the control.”
“Great work, Morgan. That could prove very useful. Can you send those videos?”
She snorts. “You’re such a pervert.”
