“Lionel Lucia,” Tristian reads, looking almost as tired as I feel. “He’s another King, fronting the Counts.” Saul Cartwright from the Dukes is below him, and then two others, presumably the Kings of the Barons and Princes. “The Kings make our house disputes look petty in comparison. Imagine a shit head like Perez with all the resources of one of these guys at his disposal. We’re talking CEOs of Fortune 500 companies, state government, brokerage firms that can manipulate any commodity…”
I shiver at the thought. Perez had been behind my kidnapping—he’d planned on raping me. “So these guys are pretty bad, huh?”
Tristian tilts his head, forehead creased in thought. “Bad? Who’s to say? Life will get a lot easier for you when you realize there’s no such thing as good and bad. The world isn’t black and white, Story.”
Steaming hot take there from Tristian Mercer.
“Whatever,” I sigh, leaning in close to get a better look. His arm comes around me, loose but solid, and I swallow hard. “They’re like, enemies, though, right?”
“Kind of,” he answers, thumbing at my hip in a thoughtless motion. “Old beefs carry over, so sometimes there are alliances. Other times, it’s kill or be killed. The Lords have always been at odds with the Counts, though.” He taps the screen. “Lionel Lucia makes Perez look like a harmless infant, but the problem is, he’s never quiet about it. Lucia’s the kind of guy who’d brag. This cloak and dagger shtick isn’t his style.” He raises an eyebrow. “It’s really more Daniel’s.”
“Someone really wants us to think this is Daniel.”
He agrees, “And someone really wants Daniel to think we’re striking back.” He blows out a hard breath, clicking around the cells. “But none of these are jumping out at me. Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong.”
“Wrong, how?” I ask.
“We’re assuming this is someone tied to Daniel, but what if it’s someone tied to you?” He turns to look at me, his blue eyes boring into mine. “Or someone tied to your mom, even. An old boyfriend? A pervy john?”
I grimace, thinking back. “Before Daniel, I don’t really remember my mom dating anyone. She had some repeat clients, but—”
“Okay,” he interrupts, fingers poised over the keys. “What do you remember?”
It’s admittedly not much. My mom always tried to keep me out of that part of her life, even when she was forced to cart me around with her. There were quiet men, loud men, mean men, sometimes even kind men. “Most of her clients were one-offs, but there were a few bread-and-butter types—men that mom could always count on for a dependable cash flow.” It feels weird to talk about so casually, like I’m bringing some dark, dirty secret into an unbearably bright light.
Tristian doesn’t even blink at the words, however. “Anyone in particular? This person would need to be wealthy, have connections.”
I snort. “She didn’t really attract that kind of clientele. Daniel was the flashiest guy she ever landed, I guarantee you.”
This just piques his interest more. “Someone cheap like that…she’d probably have a pimp, right?”
I wince at the word—cheap—but he’s not wrong. “Once, I think, when I was really young. I don’t remember anything about him. I just know it left an impression. She was willing to take the drop in exposure if it meant being…uh, freelance.” He does me the courtesy of not laughing at the term.
“Well, if you remember something, write it down.” I watch as he makes a column for ‘Posey’ and then one for ‘Story’。 “How about your old sugar daddies? The chances of some rich, old perv latching onto you is the most obvious option.”
“Like Cartwright?” I ask, still remembering that brief encounter with him in the athletic department. He’d played dumb, like he didn’t recognize me, but I don’t trust any of these men.
“He’s still a possibility, but he’d need a mole on the inside.” Tristian rubs his fingers over his mouth as he looks over the spreadsheet. “That’s what this column is for.” He nods at the screen, musing, “These are people who could be accomplices.”
Some of the names on the list surprise me. “Martin? Really?”
Tristian cuts me a look. “Would you trust a lawyer?”
Wrapping my arms around my middle, I admit, “I’m not sure I’d trust anyone at this point.”