Page 44

Nic

I pull the van into the gravel lot outside the park, shifting into park but keeping my hands on the wheel for a second longer than necessary. The low hum of the engine fades into the quiet sounds of late autumn—distant laughter from the playground, the rustling of crisp, golden leaves in the wind.

In the rearview mirror, I spot a nondescript black sedan parked a few hundred yards back, engine still running.

I sigh, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. I knew he wouldn’t let me do this unsupervised—not that I can complain or blame the guy. There’s a killer on the loose, and I’m his next target.

Theo is already waiting at our old spot by the duck pond. He turns at the sound of my van, watching as I approach.

We used to come here as kids. After physical therapy, his mother would bring me back to Valencia, and sometimes we’d stop here before they returned to L.A. Him with his broken arm, me learning to walk again. Two broken children finding comfort in each other.

Now, as I walk toward him, he seems smaller somehow—less the golden boy and more that scared six-year-old I first met. The broad shoulders and tailored designer clothes don’t exude confidence. Not now that I know what real strength looks like.

“Thanks for meeting me.” I lean on the railing beside him.

“Of course.” His eyes search my face like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. Then, they rake over my simple jeans, chunky sweater, and low ponytail.

“You look amazing, Nic. You’re . . . glowing,” he says after a moment.

I huff a quiet laugh. Yeah, I bet I am after a whole day of being soaked in Kai.

“You ghosted me.” There’s no anger in his voice, just a sort of tired acceptance that makes my chest ache. “After that day at your house, I really thought we’d squashed this. That you just needed time to process.”

“Can I ask you a question, Theo?”

His brow lifts. “Of course.”

“Growing up, you were the most popular. Kids begged and fought each other to be your friend. Yet you always picked me. Why?”

He stares at the pond for a long time, watching late autumn leaves skitter across the surface. A muscle works in his jaw—a tell I recognize. He’s struggling to find an answer.

“You want the truth?”

“Please.”

He sighs. “Because you were the only one who could take it,” he finally says. “Dad’s . . . moods. The moment you came into our lives, he had somewhere else to direct it. You had such thick skin. Words never touched you. And you were always so pretty and so happy despite everything. You just made everything and everyone feel better.”

His words settle in my stomach like lead.

“In other words, you kept me around as a human shield? A convenient punching bag for your father’s vitriol?”

Theo exhales sharply. “No. Yes. I don’t know.” He runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up in a way that makes him look adorable. “You used to dream of having a family who wanted you. You dreamt of helping wounded kids. Then your dad got sick, and you needed help looking after him and your sister. My family—I—gave you all of that. I thought you were satisfied.”

I scoff, watching a duck paddle across the pond, remembering all those silent dinners, the casual cruelty dressed up as concern.

“Theo, you listened to me touch myself after you got off,” I murmur. “every single time we had sex.”

His whole body tenses, his face flushing red.

“And you clearly weren’t happy either, because you still needed those other women,” I say softly. “What we had wasn’t enough. You knew it, yet you wouldn’t let me go without threatening to take everything I cared about.”

His fingers curl into fists. “I know. I was selfish, and I used you knowing you couldn’t walk away. I took advantage of your trust and our friendship and I’m so sorry, Nic.”

He turns to look at me finally, eyes burning.

“But, baby, can you blame me for wanting to be the only man who got to have you?” His voice drops to a whisper as he steps closer. “You’re amazing, smart, and so fucking beautiful, Nic.” He reaches for my hand, but instinctively, I pull back, ignoring the stung look on his face.

“I love you and I want to change for you.”

I shake my head. “I appreciate that, but . . . it’s no use. I met someone else.”

Theo’s mouth twists. “You met someone?”

“That’s what I said,” I snap.

“Fucking Professor Mitchell doesn’t count as ‘meeting someone’, Nic.”

His words catch me off guard. And suddenly I don’t need to ask why he dragged his parents to my house weeks ago. He’d been confident I would come back to him until he saw me with another man and tried yanking on my chain.

“Agreed. It was a fling. It’s over, actually,” I lie smoothly. “but it was enough to open my eyes to the fact that you and I should never have happened.”

He flinches, his throat working as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, and I almost feel sorry for him. It’s too bad he can only find the cruel edge of his tongue after a few shots of vodka. Otherwise, I’d be bleeding right now.

Instead, Theo only stares like he’s seeing me for the first time—like he’s seeing someone he’s already lost.

“Still, I care about you, which is why I should warn you, Nic. There’s something chilling about Professor Mitchell,” he mutters. “And I don’t like the way he watches you.”

“How does he watch me, Theo?

“Like a starving animal. Like you’re something to eat.”

I bite back a snicker. How is this guy this clueless?

“Well, like I said,” I say lightly, “it’s over.”

He takes my hand in his, and I let him this time.

“And I meant it. I’m sorry, Nic. For everything. Give me a chance to make it up to you.”

The touch that once gave me warmth now feels . . . bland. Compared to Kai, it’s almost laughable.

How the hell am I just realizing how a man’s touch should feel at twenty-four? In so many ways, I was untouched, untried and unloved. And Kai saw it immediately.

I extract my hand gently. “If you really want to make it up to me . . ."

“What do you want?.”

“Tell me more about Joystick.”

He rears back, his entire body stiffening. “What?”

“Joystick,” I repeat, leveling my gaze at him. “Tell me about it.”

A small, nervous smile plays at his lips as he lowers his voice. “You know what Joystick is, Nic.”

“Yes, I know it’s a party drug mined from Aldridge Orchards, but I want to know who supplies it.”

His expression tightens. “Why the sudden curiosity?”

Fair question. Beyond the occasional mocking remark, I’ve never cared about the darker side of the Aldridge business.

Yes, they have a ten-acre orchard for growing citrus, but farming is seasonal. And with wildfires and droughts across California, plenty of ranchers and farmers have learned to supplement their income with side hustles.

For the Aldridges, it’s their betting.

Or rather, the parties where they influence how others bet.

I take a breath and recite the lie I’ve rehearsed.

“I’m worried that a friend might be under the influence of something. He’s acting completely out of character. I think his boyfriend—some wealthy jackass in Haas Business School—may be controlling him.”

Theo’s brows furrow. “Are you talking about Barry?”

Shit.

I nod, careful to keep my expression neutral even as my pulse quickens.

“I didn’t know he was involved with . . . anyone from Berkeley,” Theo says, frowning. “What’s the guy’s name?”

I shift my weight and fidget with my sleeve—a nervous tic. God, I haven’t done that in weeks. “I’m not even supposed to be telling you this, Theo, and you want a name?”

Theo’s eyes narrow, and I know he caught my fidgeting. He hesitates for a few beats. Before he can catch me out on the lie, I push forward.

“Anyway, is Joystick just an in-house family thing, or do you distribute it widely?”

A muscle works in his jaw as he hesitates again.

“Just tell me, Theo.”

“I only do quality control. You know that. I test the new batches on college kids to see if they’re safe to combine with booze and other common drugs.”

I swallow back a surge of disgust. Using his friends as guinea pigs is just as bad as his parents doping up and fleecing people.

But I stay on purpose. “Yes, Theo, your parents use it for their betting business and all you do is test. I know that. Just tell me, do you push it onto the streets or not?.”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck—his classic tell when he wants to evade.

“Yes, it’s out on the streets,” he admits. “But it’s . . . complicated.”

I arch a brow. “Uncomplicate it, then.”

Theo glances around the park before motioning for me to follow him toward a more secluded spot beneath an old oak. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“Well . . . the first thing you need to know is that Joystick is basically . . . it’s Compound X3.”

My stomach drops and I gasp. “CX3? Joystick is CX3, the fruit ripening agent?

He nods.

“The same compound that was in the news for being like cyanide? The same one the Blackwell Orchard was shut down for? For fuck’s sake, John Blackwell was sent to prison for dealing with CX3. He’s still in prison as we speak!”

“Keep your voice down, Nic.”

My pulse pounds in my ears.

I still remember the headline: John Blackwell Arrested Using a Fatally Toxic Compound to Artificially Ripen Citrus on his orchard.

And I remember the way the Aldridges rejoiced over the downfall of their business rival.

“You’re telling me Joystick is the same chemical likened to cyanide?”

Theo hesitates. “Yes . . . but that’s the official story,” he says, his voice even lower.

A chill races down my spine. “What do you mean? What’s the real story?

Theo’s gaze flickers to mine, then away. “The government can’t exactly tell the public there’s an undetectable mind-control drug out on the street.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “It’d be more sought after than gold. Better if they label it deadly.”

I can’t breathe.

“So they lied about what CX3 is?”

Theo shrugs. “Politicians lie all the time, Nic. Anyway, we had this massive stockpile of CX3 crystals that was no longer marketable. So we decided to change the composition and sell it as something else.”

My blood runs cold. “Joystick.”

“Yeah. Joystick isn’t as potent or stable as CX3,” he continues, oblivious to the growing horror on my face. “Other chemicals in the bloodstream can interfere with it.”

“Like what?” I ask, barely keeping my voice steady.

Theo scratches his jaw. “Certain medication. Mostly motion sickness meds and antipsychotics. It doesn't kill or anything, it just makes the users act erratic. That’s why I can only test on guys I know well enough.”

Oh my God. Cass.

Cass was on Seroquel.

She set fire to the house before ending up in the pool.

I swallow hard. My hands are ice cold, but I push forward. “Who handles distribution?”

“The foreman, Maxim—you know him, don’t you? Tall, skinny, bald guy? Gap tooth.”

I vaguely recall the man, nor do I give a shit what he looks like, but I act like I do to move things forward.

Theo continues. “Maxim used to push it through the usual city coke lines, but somehow, he struck a deal with the Bratva. Now we just supply wholesale and get paid triple, no questions asked.”

Hope sputters and dies inside me. If a Russian crime syndicate has cornered the Joystick street lines then this is a dead end.

Double shit.

“But,” Theo says, “we still have pockets of demand here and there.”

“Really?”

He shrugs. “Every three months, we get a special order.”

My pulse quickens. “Special in what way?”

“They want Joystick custom made for parties,” he says, almost offhand. “We work it into wines, orange juice, ice cubes—you name it. Ready to go for party punch, cocktails, and champagne.”

My stomach clenches. “Just like your parents’ betting parties.”

“Exactly. And it’s not in competition with the powder the Bratva prefers. Which is great for keeping our heads on our shoulders.” He chuckles as if it’s an inside joke, “I just processed the last order, actually.”

I frown. “I thought you said Maxim handled distribution—”

“He was off sick, and I was curious.” Theo shrugs, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I thought I might dip a toe in.”

I ignore the sick feeling in my gut. “Who was it from?”

“Don’t get too excited,” he teases. “It was anonymous.” Theo grins. “Although it was delivered to a warehouse in Valencia.”

Air leaves my lungs in a rush. Valencia. That’s . . . oddly specific.

What are the chances that the owner of that warehouse grew up here? That they knew Kai as a child before his name and place of birth changed? That they have an axe to grind with him?

A jilted lover? A forgotten enemy?

But . . . Kai was only ten years old when he left for Minnesota—hardly old enough to do anything worth holding a thirty-year grudge over.

Am I reaching for straws here? Or are the coincidences stacking up in a horrific way?

I wet my lips. “Where in Valencia is this warehouse?”

Theo shrugs. “I’ll have to check the books. But Nic,” he continues, “these guys use aliases, dummy corporations. Finding the owner would just be the start of a wild goose chase.”

He touches my arm. “Why don’t you just get Barry to leave this guy instead of trying to find who’s feeding him a colorless, odorless, undetectable drug?”

My stomach clenches.

I nod. “Yeah. Makes sense. I’ll talk to him.”

Theo relaxes. “Good.”

I keep my voice steady. “I’d still like that warehouse address, though.”

He sends me an unreadable look.

“What? I’m just curious. I’m not going to break into their warehouse, am I?”

Theo shrugs again. “Fine. I’ll send it over once I find it. Are we even now?” He steps closer and starts to bury his nose in the crook of my neck in a way that suddenly makes me want to gag.

I take several steps back, then don’t bother stopping. I just turn and head back to my van.

“Not even close, but I’ll consider it a start.”