Page 3 of Caged

“The email address for X.”

“X?” I ask with mocking indignation. “As in, the letter of the alphabet?” I wonder just how many braincells my father forfeited in his poor attempt to take his own worthless life.

“I’m surprised you don’t know, but then again, you’ve always been a disrespectful brat. Your mother and I have been too soft on you.”

“Well, that’s absolute bullshit, Father, but cut to the chase.”

“X is one of the most powerful Sigma alumnus.”

“Okay, and who is he?” I ask.

“No one knows. He could be the president of the United States or our next door neighbor. He protects his anonymity at all costs. Every Sigma worth their salt knows of him.”

I flinch at the intended dig, unable to ignore the weight of the notepad in my hand.

“And why is it that I need to email him?” I push, struggling to douse my temper.

“Because he will take care of our issue.”

“You meanyourissue?” I grind out.

My father glares at me through narrowed eyes, before closing them again.

“Fine. I’ll email him,” I relent in frustration, sick of this game. “But why would he help us?”

“Sigma protects their own,” my father answers cryptically, eyes still closed. My fingers curl into a fist, begging to slam into his unguarded, smug face.

“This isn’t just some simple favor,” I remind him. “No sane person would offer to help cover up a scandal of this magnitude.”

“There are many things you’ve yet to understand, Kieren. Ways in which the world works. Underlying motivations.”

Ah, yes. My father’s favorite way to chastise me, to treat me like a fucking clueless child, but he forgets the type of man I have become.Don’t provoke the bear, Father.I just might bite.

“And what, pray tell, motivates our dear friend X?” I hum. “Does he want control of our company? My first born? A kidney?”

“I’ve already been in contact with him. He knows about you, and your unique position. He’s intrigued, but said he needs to be convinced you have what it takes to give him what he wants.”

“Stop speaking in riddles, Father,” I say through clenched teeth. “What the fuck does he want?”

My father cracks one eye open in my direction, holding my stare.

“Blood.”

1

MONROE

Five Months Prior to Present Day,

April of Junior Year,

Sigma

Five steps separate me from freedom.

Then I hear him.

The sound of a deranged man screaming my name echoes in the night. I wasn’t able to shut the window. I barely got my legs over the rusted metal bars of the fire escape, which for some incomprehensible reason was not built directly under the fucking window.