Page 28 of All The Darkest Truths (Second Sons Duet #2)

ALEX

I'm still staring at the blank screen like somehow, it'll change if I glare hard enough. Sixteen million dollars and all I have to show for it is a black void. Fucking amateur hour.

The others left my room hours ago, but the sting of failure hasn't dulled. I slam my fist against the desk, sending an empty energy drink clattering to the floor. The sound echoes in the silence of my room.

“Fucking idiot,” I mutter.

The worst part isn't the money. It's the look on Vesper's face when those screens went black. The hope draining from her face, replaced by that hollow resignation I've come to recognize too well. She trusted me to find a digital path to her brother, and I failed her.

I pull up the transaction record again, the only evidence we have that the auction even happened.

Sixteen million dollars transferred to a ghost account that's probably already been emptied and erased from existence.

The pickup instructions are our only remaining lead, and even that feels tenuous now.

What if they don't send them? What if this was all an elaborate trap?

My door creaks open, and I don't have to look up to know who it is. Only one person in this apartment moves that silently.

“If you're here to tell me I fucked up, save it,” I growl, still staring at my screens. “I'm well aware.”

“Not why I'm here,” Talon replies, shutting the door behind him. He crosses to my desk and sets down a steaming mug of coffee. Black, no sugar.

I grunt in acknowledgment, curling my fingers around the mug. “She okay?”

“Define okay.” Talon leans against the wall, arms crossed. “Z took her to the gym. Let her beat the shit out of a punching bag until her knuckles bled. Oscar's patching her up now.”

“Fuck.” I take a scalding sip, welcoming the burn. “She shouldn't have to deal with this.”

“None of us should.” He studies me. “If we had been born into normal families, it would be different. But we weren’t, so here we are.” He pushes off from the wall and drags my spare chair over, straddling it backward. “So what's our next move?”

I set the mug down, the coffee turning bitter in my stomach. “I'm tracking the payment. Following every digital breadcrumb, setting up alerts for any system that might process those pickup instructions. When they send them, I'll know instantly.”

“And if they don't send them?”

The question hangs between us, the possibility I've been avoiding since the screens went black.

“Then we're fucked.” There’s no sugarcoating that. We’re out of the money, and Luca. The latter is a more devastating blow than the former. We can always make more money. We can’t do the same for Luca.

Talon doesn't flinch at my bluntness. “We'd find another way. We always do.”

“This was our best shot,” I admit, the words tasting like ash. “The most direct line to The Collector's operation. If they ghost us after taking the money...”

“They won't.”

“You don't know that.”

“I do,” Talon insists. “Think about it. The Collector's entire business model depends on reputation. If word gets out that he takes the money and doesn't deliver, his whole operation collapses.”

It's logical, but logic feels tenuous right now. “Unless this was never about business. What if it's personal? What if they know who we are—where she is?”

“Then they'd have made their move already,” Talon says, his voice steady with a confidence I wish I felt. “They wouldn't play games with sixteen million dollars just to mess with us.”

He's right. I turn back to my screens. Talon watches me work in silence for a few minutes, his expression unreadable in the blue glow from my monitors. “You should get some sleep.”

“Not an option.”

“Alex—”

“I said no.” My voice comes out harsher than intended. I exhale slowly. “I can't, okay? Not until I know we haven't completely fucked this up.”

Talon studies me. “This isn't just about the auction, is it?”

I keep typing, ignoring his question.

“You're punishing yourself. For what happened with Vesper,” Talon finishes. “For watching her through the cameras.”

My fingers freeze over the keyboard.

“You weren't going to bring that up. Not until all of this is done. Have you changed your mind?”

“That was before you decided to spiral into self-destruction.” He leans closer. “You think drowning in guilt is going to help her? Help us find Luca?”

I slam my laptop closed, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “What do you want from me, Talon? A fucking apology? Fine. I'm sorry I watched. I'm sorry I'm a goddamn creep who couldn't look away. Happy now?”

“This isn't about me being happy.” His voice remains infuriatingly calm. “It's about you being functional. We need you at your best, not wallowing in self-loathing because you made a mistake.”

“A mistake?” I laugh, the sound hollow and bitter. “Is that what we're calling it? I violated her privacy in the worst possible way, then lied to her face about it.”

“And you took down the cameras like you promised.”

“Only after getting caught,” I snap. “Let's not pretend I'm some noble bastard who did the right thing. I was jerking off to her getting fucked. There's no coming back from that.”

“Do you honestly think I would have outed you? Get a fucking grip, Alex. I would have lorded it over you in private, but I would have never say anything to her, Z, or Oz. I don’t have a death wish for you.

” Talon says, leaning back. “We need you here. Fighting for her. Trying to find her brother. This fucking rescue mission doesn’t happen without you. ”

I shake my head, unable to accept the absolution he's offering. “It doesn't erase what I did.”

“No, it doesn't.” Talon's frankness catches me off guard. “But beating yourself up isn't going to help her.”

The truth in his words stings worse than any accusation. I reopen my laptop, illuminating the screen.

“You really care about her, don't you? It's not just guilt.”

The question hangs between us, demanding honesty I'm not sure I'm capable of.

I've spent years building walls, keeping everyone at a safe distance.

Even these men—the closest thing I have to a family.

Other than my sister, who is an ocean away from me at the fancy boarding school until our father can marry her off.

I stare at the keyboard, suddenly fascinated by the worn letters, anything to avoid the smirk I know is on his face.

“What difference does it make?”

“All the difference in the world,” he responds. “Because if it's just guilt, you'll keep punishing yourself until you're useless to everyone. But if it's more...”

“Then what?” I snap. “What magical solution does that provide? She's already got three men falling over themselves for her. You think she needs another fucked-up asshole in the mix?”

Talon's expression doesn't change. “Dude, you’re so fucking blind. She needs all of us. Every single one of us. Even you.”

“You didn't see her face when those screens went black,” I say, deflecting. “The way she looked at me like I personally failed her.”

“I saw her face just fine,” Talon counters. “What I didn’t see was blame. That’s all in your head.”

I let out a bitter sound that barely qualifies as a laugh, rough and raw in my throat. “Add it to the fucking list.”

I turn back to my work, hoping he'll take the hint and leave. But Talon remains stubbornly in place.

“The twins are crowding her,” he says after a moment of silence. “Z, especially. She needs space to breathe sometimes.”

“And I'm supposed to be that space?” I scoff. “The creep who watches her from security feeds? Yeah, I'm sure that's just what she needs.”

“You're not giving her enough credit,” Talon says. “Or yourself.”

I snort, fingers returning to the keyboard. The code flows almost automatically, my brain operating on muscle memory while my thoughts scatter in a dozen different directions. "You've got a real talent for bullshit, you know that?"

“It's called perspective,” Talon counters. “Something you could use right now.”

A notification pings on my second monitor—one of my dark web crawlers has picked up something. I switch screens immediately, scanning the alert.

“What is it?" Talon asks, leaning forward.

“Chatter about the auction," I mutter, already diving into the encrypted message board. “Someone's complaining about losing the bid on Lot 27."

“Our lot," Talon confirms, moving to stand behind me.

I nod, translating the coded language on the fly. “They're pissed they lost to a newcomer—that would be us. They are asking around about 'Charles Blackwood.'”

"Is that a problem?”

“Not necessarily,” I say, quickly setting up a monitoring protocol for the username. “. As long as they're just bitching and not actively investigating…”

Another ping, this one from a different alert system. My heart rate accelerates as I click through to the source. A different forum, a different user, but the same topic, the mysterious Charles Blackwood, who outbid everyone on Lot 27.

“Shit,” I mutter, opening three more windows to track the spread of interest. “It's picking up traction."

“Can they trace it back to us?” Talon's voice remains steady, but I can hear the undercurrent of tension.

“Not through my security measures,” I say, fingers flying across the keyboard. “But if enough people start digging into Charles Blackwood's background, they might realize the identity doesn't hold up to scrutiny.”

I deploy another layer of digital misinformation, seeding false details about Charles Blackwood across several hidden web forums and his wealthy, reclusive family based in Geneva. Enough to seem credible but impossible to verify.

“Do you think that will work?”

“It has to,” I mutter, launching one final algorithm to obscure our digital footprint. “If they link Charles Blackwood to us, we’re exposed.”

“You’ve covered our tracks. We’re secure.”

“For now,” I admit, scanning the alerts with growing unease. “But if The Collector decides to investigate personally...”