Page 9

CHAPTER 8

JACE

I was almost inside my house when Jagger texted me.

Jagger: I need a favor.

Sigh. It was hard being the cooler, more capable brother.

Me: It’s going to cost you.

Jagger: Obviously. You can have 10% more of the investments you do for me.

Me: 10%. What the fuck do you need? Because you must be desperate.

Jagger : If Mom and Dad ask, tell them the blow-up doll in my house was yours.

Me: …

Me: You know what, I was going to ask for context, but I feel like it’s better if I don’t.

Jagger: It is. Just do it.

Me: No.

Jagger: Jace.

Me: Jagger.

Jagger: Do you want them thinking their firstborn son is a pervert?

Me: Firstborn son. You do realize that if I claim the doll is mine, then they will think I’m the pervert.

Me: Seriously. I feel bad for you that you weren’t born with the big brain.

Jagger: I need the blow-up doll to distract them.

Me: Distract them from what?!

Jagger: Unimportant.

Me: NOT TO ME.

Me: Wait.

Me: Wait.

Me: DID THEY FIND A BODY?!

Jagger: This is why I didn’t want to tell you. You’ll get all dramatic. Like a drama llama.

Me: It’s No Drama Llamas, actually. But don’t distract me.

Me: THEY FOUND A BODY.

Jagger: Stop yelling.

Me: IN YOUR HOUSE?!

Jagger: Look, it was technically in the garage.

Me: Jagger. I can’t tell if you’re kidding.

Jagger: It wasn’t my fault!

Me: THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT SOMEONE WHOSE FAULT IT WAS WOULD SAY.

Jagger: Anyway, I need you to go along with the doll thing.

Me: I am not taking the fall for your blow-up girlfriend/dead body.

Jagger: Then they’ll keep asking questions about the dead guy.

Me: I’M ASKING QUESTIONS ABOUT THE DEAD GUY.

Jagger: Again. Unimportant.

Me: I need more information before I can agree to this.

Jagger: No, you don’t.

Me: Yes, I do.

Me: Did you kill him?

Jagger: No.

Me: Did you want to kill him?

Jagger: …

Jagger: Not the point.

Me: Uh-huh. So, what did this guy do?

Jagger: Again. Not the point.

Me: Jagger, did you take out a hitman and forget to cancel the appointment?

Jagger: No.

Me: Did the guy insult Mom’s cooking?

Jagger: You think I’d unalive someone for doing that? Did we grow up in the same house? We both know Mom’s a terrible cook.

Me: So you did unalive someone.

Jagger: NO!

Me: Was he a tax fraud investigator?

Jagger: Why would that be a guess?

Me: I don’t know your life, Jagger. Maybe you’ve been evading the IRS.

Jagger: For the last time, I did not kill him.

Me: Ok, so he just happened to be dead in your garage?

Jagger: Technically, he died somewhere else.

Me: WHY DOES THAT MAKE IT WORSE?

Me: Is this an organ trafficking thing?

Jagger: Jace.

Me: What about a former Russian spy?

Jagger: Stop.

Me: A parking ticket enforcer?

Jagger: …

Me: OMG. IT WAS.

Jagger: IT WAS NOT.

Me: JUST ADMIT IT. You finally snapped after too many unpaid parking tickets.

Jagger: Jace.

Me: THEY BOOTED YOUR CAR ONE TOO MANY TIMES, DIDN’T THEY?

Jagger: …

Me: HOLY SHIT.

Jagger: I did not kill a parking ticket enforcer.

Me: …

Me: Jagger, I need to know if I should be looking into extradition laws.

Jagger: No.

Me: Was he a rival blow-up doll distributor, and you had to take him out?

Jagger: STOP.

Me: I’m just trying to understand what kind of dead person scenario we’re dealing with here.

Jagger : If I tell you, will you just go along with the doll excuse?

Me: …

Me: Maybe.

Jagger: Forget it.

Me: So it was a parking ticket guy.

Jagger: I’M DONE.

Me: Did they believe that the doll was yours? Because Mom has that weird lie detector thing.

Jagger: I told them you were lonely.

Me: I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND.

Jagger: No, you don’t. I asked Matty last time you made that claim. And it was a lie.

Me: It’s not a lie.

Jagger: Focus. Is that a yes?

Me: …

Me: Fine.

Me: But I’m telling them it was just a joke. And, if another corpse shows up, I’m telling Mom.

Jagger: Deal.

Jagger: You’re the best, Jace-face.

Me: …

It was a little concerning that I could never tell if Jagger was kidding when we had these conversations. I was always pretty sure he was kidding…but there was still a part of me that wasn’t quite sure.

I was still pondering the mystery that was Jagger as I walked into my bedroom and saw a crisp red envelope sealed with a very familiar-looking red wax seal sitting on my bed. I stared at it for a second before picking it up and tearing it open. Inside, nestled between the folds of paper, was a small black card emblazoned with a Sphinx symbol. Beneath it sat several neatly stacked bundles of cash, crisp and untouched, like they had just come straight from a vault. No name. No return address. Just a single, bold 10:30 p.m. and an address on the inside.

Very spooky like and completely meeting my expectations for how this secret society thing was supposed to work. I grinned.

Looked like my Sphinx trials were finally going to begin. A welcome distraction for the fact that Riley had once again decided that I was the worst person on earth.

I needed to prepare.

I walked out to the main room where Matty was watching the Colorado/Baylor game on the big screen we had in our living room.

“Hand me your phone,” I ordered.

He took his time flicking his attention from the TV to my face. “Pardon?”

“I need your phone to install an app.”

Matty eyed me suspiciously. “The last time you installed an app it was to track a sea turtle’s migration that I had absolutely no interest in.”

I scoffed indignantly. “Oh, I’m sorry that I care about endangered species, Matty. That must be so terrible having such a good Samaritan in your life.”

“It was a monthly five-hundred-dollar charge that you ‘forgot’ to tell me about. And you know what it said on the bill for what it was for?”

“Sea turtles,” I answered, thinking that was a dumb question.

“Wrong. It was for Earth ,” Matty said snarkily as he shoved some beef jerky in his mouth. “What does that even mean?”

“A worthy endeavor is what it means,” I told him, reaching out to grab his phone. He yanked it away.

“When I tried to cancel it, the price went up to a thousand dollars!”

“Well, this isn’t for Earth ,” I said as patiently as I could—which actually wasn’t patient at all. “This is for me. So, you can track me properly.”

Matty’s eyebrows got so high they disappeared under his hair. “I don’t want to track you properly,” he said slowly.

I scoffed and waved him off as I finally secured his phone, quickly downloading Find My Friends and connecting it to my phone. “Of course, you want to track me properly,” I mused, putting in his password.

“Hey! How do you know my password?” he snarled, making a grabby motion at the phone.

There was a lot of scoffing happening in this conversation on my end. Because it was frankly insulting that he assumed I wouldn’t have his passwords. All of them. If he were a better bestie, he’d have all of mine as well.

“Why are we doing this? I’m okay with not knowing where you are at all times,” he said pointedly, finally giving up his fruitless endeavor to get his phone back.

“This is in case I disappear,” I told him vaguely, ignoring the part where he pretended he didn’t care about my whereabouts because it was rude to call your besties liars.

That explanation finally got his attention. “Why are you going to disappear, exactly?”

I grinned at him. “The Sphinx has called.”

Matty straightened up, a piece of beef jerky falling into his lap. “Oh cool, I get to track your lifeless body. Love that for me,” he tried to joke, but his eyes were doing that wild, shifty thing that they did when he was nervous.

“Wish me luck,” I said, tossing him his phone and heading toward the door.

“Don’t die,” he called out behind me, and I gave him a thumbs up. “Wait, how do I use this app?” he added, a little panic in his voice as I walked out of the house.

“I have faith in you, Matthew,” I told him, hoping that the use of his full name would inspire him to reach new heights.

Of the three of us, Matty was the worst at technology, so if I really had to depend on him not to die…it could get tricky. Parker was probably balls deep in Casey, though—or he had her in that basement again. So, I really needed Matty to come through.

I hopped into my Jeep Gladiator, plugged in the address, and blasted Olivia Rodrigo as I drove. Because if that didn’t get you amped up to conquer your first trial, I didn't know what would.

As Parker would say—or as I first said to Parker, and now he copies it, and everyone thinks it’s his saying, even though I got it from a certain NFL G.O.A.T.—LFG.

The warehouse sat at the edge of the city, surrounded by crumbling brick buildings and chain link fences topped with razor wire. The streetlights flickered, casting long shadows over the cracked pavement. Someone was going to steal my tires. Or my Jeep.

I glanced at the few cars parked haphazardly along the broken curb. Judging by the thick layer of dirt on them, their owners had not been in them for a long time.

Kind of made you wonder if the owners were still alive.

The street was silent except for the occasional rustle of wind through broken glass. My steps echoed as I walked, like an ominous drumbeat. Matty better be tracking me right fucking now. This was definitely the kind of place where people died. And he and Parker definitely couldn’t live without me.

The building itself looked like it had once been something legitimate—maybe a shipping hub or an old factory—but now rust crawled up its sides, and the windows were covered in thick grime. A dented metal door stood beneath a single buzzing light, where a man that was a cross between a linebacker and a brick shithouse leaned against the wall, his tattooed arms crossed over his chest. Oh, was that a tattoo of a man eating someone’s heart?

Lovely.

The guy had the kind of face that looked like it had been broken and put together a few too many times. And the barely concealed holster under his jacket told me he wasn’t here to hand out welcome drinks.

Although, that would be delicious right now. If the Sphinx had a survey after this, I would definitely be recommending something like that. It would really help offset the “you’re going to die” ambience this place had going on if they served me one of those drinks with the pink umbrellas.

Ugh , don’t think about pink umbrellas , Jace. That will make you think about Riley.

As I stepped up, his eyes dragged over me with the warmth of a dead fish. We both stood there until I realized he seemed to be waiting for something. The Sphinx really needed to come with some sort of instruction manual. I pulled the black card from my pocket and held it up between two fingers, hoping that was what he was waiting for. His gaze flicked to it, then back to me, and with a grunt, he took it from my hand. “Weapons?” he demanded.

Hmm, should I joke about my fists? Decisions, decisions.

Better not.

“Spread ’em,” he growled impatiently when I didn’t answer right away, his voice like gravel underfoot. I complied, and he began frisking me with the gentleness of a gorilla looking for lice.

“Hey, hey,” I told him, when he got a little close to the family jewels. I was a shower, not a grower, so lil’ Jace, aka The Anaconda, aka Sir-Humps-A-Lot, hung down low.

The guy snorted like I’d said something funny, obviously not realizing he’d been an inch away from being traumatized for the rest of his life with insecurity about the size of his dick compared to mine. I’m just saying…it was a close call.

“Clean,” he muttered, stepping aside to reveal a steel door that looked like it belonged to a fucking vault.

I wiped imaginary dust off my shirt and pushed the door open, the smell of oil and metal assaulting my nostrils. Lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete floor, and my pulse kicked up, because this was exactly the kind of place where people died.

I was pretty sure that was a bloodstain on the floor over there.

The hallway ahead of me was narrow and dimly lit, the concrete walls lined with pipes that dripped condensation. My footsteps echoed as I moved forward, the floor uneven beneath my shoes.

Another door waited at the end, this one manned by a second guy—leaner than the first but just as unfriendly. His suit was pristine, his posture relaxed, but there was no mistaking the weight of the gun on his hip. He didn’t speak. Just looked me and the black card over with a sneer like my gloriousness offended him, and then he pulled open the door and stepped aside.

The moment I entered, the atmosphere changed. The air was thick, hazy with cigar smoke, the scent of whiskey sharp against the stale air. Low murmurs filled the room, the quiet shuffle of cards against felt, the occasional clink of chips being stacked.

It took me a second to see who else was in the room. Dozens of people were seated at round tables, heads bowed over hands of cards, faces unreadable beneath the dim, hanging lights. A single chandelier flickered overhead, casting a dull glow over the scene, making the shadows dance along the cracked walls.

A poker game.

My lips curled into a relieved smirk. I could play poker.

A woman in a sultry red cocktail dress appeared from the shadows, her perfume cutting through the haze. “Follow me,” she said, her voice smooth, practiced.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she led me through the room, weaving between tables stacked with cash, liquor bottles, and more than a few knives. When we reached the main table, she gestured for me to sit before slipping away, disappearing into the crowd like a ghost.

I took my seat, eyeing the men around me.

Slicked-back hair and a scar across his jaw—Scar Jaw, I decided. He probably collected debts with a crowbar.

To his right, there was a guy with yellowed teeth and fingers stained with nicotine. He grinned, revealing more gums than I needed to see. If we became friends, I was definitely going to give him my dentist’s number. Although, he looked like the kind of guy who knew how to make people disappear. So maybe not.

Next to him was a guy who was all muscle—I was going to call him Neck Tattoo on account of the skeleton hand that was gripped around his throat. He cracked his knuckles every few seconds like he was debating whether breaking bones or winning money was a better use of his time.

And finally, next to him, Dead Eyes. His face was unreadable, his suit too perfect. He watched me like I was already a corpse waiting to drop. I liked him the least, I decided. If anyone was going to kill me, it was going to be him.

Man, these secret society people took their membership trials seriously.

Scar Jaw gave me a lazy grin as I took my seat. “Hope you’re better at cards than you look.”

Offensive. I’d been told by many a person—mostly women—that I looked very capable. They might have been talking about my skills in the bedroom, but I was going to not think about that at the moment because this man had just insulted me. He was going in my burn book. Probably wasn’t going to ever enact my revenge because he looked like he could eat me, but he was going to go in the book, anyway.

Yellow Teeth shuffled his chips and sneered. “You got a name, or should we just call you fresh meat?”

I met his gaze, letting a slow smirk of my own creep onto my face. “Call me whatever you want,” I said, picking up my cards.

The dealer flicked cards out in smooth, precise motions. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t know who he’s playing against.”

In the center of the table sat a pile that would make a lesser man sweat. Bundles of cash, some still bound with foreign bank seals, stacks of gold coins, and an assortment of glittering jewels—rings, necklaces, even a diamond-encrusted watch that probably belonged to someone who wasn’t alive to miss it. A single silver briefcase sat on top, latched shut, the kind of thing that in any movie would be filled with either more money or something significantly worse.

I took it all in. All right, I was going to assume that the Sphinx wanted me to win all of that. Or if they didn’t, I would hope some kind of sign would appear because I wasn’t a fucking mind reader.

The first few hands were a disaster. I played cautiously, testing the waters. But it didn’t matter—bad cards, bad luck, and a table full of men who had no problem taking my money made sure of that. The cockiness around me widened as my stack dwindled, and Scar Jaw chuckled under his breath.

“Tough luck, fresh meat,” Yellow Teeth taunted, stacking his winnings. “Maybe you should stick to the kiddie tables.”

I shrugged, pretending to brush it off. “Just warming up,” I told them with a small grin, ignoring the bead of sweat sliding down my spine as he picked his teeth with what may have been a human bone.

A few more rounds, and I realized something was off. The guy to my left was dealing himself better hands than probability should allow, and the man across from me had a habit of adjusting his sleeve right before a good hand came his way. They were cheating.

Of course they were.

I pretended not to notice, letting them think I was just another sucker out of his depth. Meanwhile, I memorized their tells, their tricks. The way Scar Jaw flicked his index finger when he bluffed. The way Yellow Teeth smirked a half-second too soon when he had a sure thing. On my next hand, I won. A full house—aces over kings. Wasn’t sure how I’d gotten that hand with the Cheater-McCheaters at the table. But I’d take it.

The shift around the table was immediate. A few eyes flickered toward me with new interest. Scar Jaw raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Beginner’s luck,” he mused, taking a slow sip of whiskey. I mean, I wasn’t sure that losing five hands in a row and then winning one was beginner’s luck , but I wasn’t going to argue with the man.

There was a full tumbler of whiskey in front of me, but I wasn’t taking slow sips…or any sips at all. There was a ninety-nine percent chance it was drugged, so I wasn’t going to take that risk.

Yellow Teeth scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, let’s see if it holds.”

Let’s see if those teeth last the game , I was thinking, but at least my inside thoughts were staying that way. That wasn’t always a sure thing with me.

Smelling money, a few women began drifting over to the table, draping themselves over the men like expensive fur coats. One slid into Scar Jaw’s lap, her red nails trailing down his chest as she whispered something in his ear. Another wrapped her arms around Neck Tattoo, giggling as she toyed with his collar.

Across from me, one of the players leaned back as a brunette in a skin-tight dress perched herself on the edge of the table, giving him an eyeful of boobs. Without missing a beat, he pulled a tiny glass vial from his jacket, tapped out a line of fine white powder onto the soft curve of her very fake breast, and snorted it in one quick motion.

She giggled, raking her fingers through his oiled-up hair…and then slowly sank to her knees so only the top of her head was visible.

Oh boy, I was pretty sure I was about to witness something that not even bleach was going to be able to erase from my mind.

The dealer didn’t even blink. He just kept shuffling, kept dealing.

I’m just saying, I was quite sure that Parker’s trials were infinitely better than mine. I’d take a corpse over this scene, thank you very much .

I exhaled slowly, trying to keep my features blank as her head started to bob up and down in his lap. At the same time, I had to work on not choking on how thick the smoke was in the room. These people obviously hadn’t had D.A.R.E. as a kid, and it showed. This wasn’t just a poker game. It was a fucking circus.

Play continued, and every time I won, the strain in the room grew. The Sphinx better not have my death as the outcome they were aiming for because one , it was going to take a miracle to get me out of this alive I was pretty sure, and two , I would make sure to haunt their asses for the rest of time if this was the end.

This place was far too smelly for my magnificence to end.

The man beside me had also won his fair share—only because I’d let him, obviously—and he was getting cockier with each round, tossing back whiskey like it was water and raking in chips with a greedy smirk. But he was playing too fast, too loose, and that was a mistake in a room like this.

I saw it happen a second before it did. He reached for a stack that wasn’t his, sliding an extra pile of chips into his own with a sleight of hand that might’ve worked at a lesser table. But not here. Scar Jaw caught it immediately.

“That was a mistake,” he murmured, setting his cards down slowly. The room stilled, the air thick with the kind of tension that felt like it could snap a neck.

The guy beside me swallowed, his bravado cracking. “Just a mistake,” he said nervously.

A loud crack split the air, and the man beside me jerked, his breath leaving in a wheeze. Blood bloomed across his shirt. He slumped forward, face hitting the felt, chips scattering.

No one moved.

No one reacted as Scar Jaw tucked the gun back beneath his jacket.

The dealer calmly reached across the table and pushed the dead man’s cards aside. “Next hand.”

Scar Jaw leaned forward, steepling his fingers like I was in some low-budget mafia film where literally only the worst actors had been available. “See, the thing about this game is…some people don’t leave with all their parts intact. Hope you’re smart enough to know when to walk away.”

I glanced down at my cards, then back at him. He was watching me closely, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

I returned the smirk, rolling my shoulders. “You know, Scar Jaw, if I needed a lesson in subtlety, you wouldn’t be the guy I’d call.”

His face darkened instantly.

Oops. I’d said that name out loud. So much for my inside thoughts…

His hand came up, tracing the jagged scar along his jawline, his fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to reach for something more dangerous. The veins in his neck pulsed, his nostrils flaring as he gave me a slow, measured look.

“Careful, rookie,” he murmured, his voice like gravel. “Mouths that run too much tend to get sewn shut around here.”

Well, that was a delightful piece of imagery. I hoped the world never had to experience the darkness that would exist without my mouth running too much.

I’d save that thought for a more…welcoming crowd. Something told me they wouldn’t be quite as appreciative as I would like.

I leaned forward, sliding my next bet onto the pile, meeting Scar Jaw’s furious glare with a grin that hopefully rode that fine line between confidence and get a bullet through your head . I’d never had to have that thought before, but here we were.

Someone came and dragged the dead body away, and then the next round was dealt, the tension so thick it felt like the air itself had weight. The pot had grown beyond ridiculous. Stacks of cash, watches that looked like they belonged on the wrists of Fortune 500 CEOs, diamond-studded cufflinks, and a set of car keys that might’ve belonged to a sports car or a getaway vehicle. Even a deed to a property had been thrown in, written in precise, looping handwriting. Someone was either desperate or very, very stupid.

The guy next to me—my new neighbor since my last one had…vacated—was sweating bullets. His collar was damp, his fingers trembling as he drummed against the table. I could practically hear his thoughts screaming. He had too much in the pot, and he knew it. He kept licking his lips, stealing glances at Scar Jaw, who had been watching him like a predator sizing up its next meal.

I resisted the urge to lean over and tell him, Buddy , if you’re sweating this much, you should’ve folded three hands ago .

The dealer flicked out the cards, his expression unreadable. My hand—a decent pair, but nothing game-changing. The others tossed in their bets, the clink of chips echoing in the heavy silence.

Yellow Teeth leaned back, grinning. “Let’s up the stakes. Make this more…interesting.”

Any more interesting, and I’d have a heart attack. But, what the hell. Let’s do it.

A man across the table produced a thick gold ring from his pocket and set it on the pile. Someone else threw in one of those ornate gold keys that usually belonged to real-live treasure chests. The small mountain of cash, jewels, and possessions in the center of the table grew, the air thick with greed and challenge.

“Hope you got more than just beginner’s luck,” Neck Tattoo muttered, rolling a chip between his fingers.

Scar Jaw, still glaring, laid his cards down first—three kings. Strong. He smirked, already reaching toward the pot like he was about to collect. Yellow Teeth leaned back in his chair, rubbing his fingers together.

I wasn’t done yet, though. The room hummed with anticipation. The others revealed their hands, each one a calculated risk. I was last.

I took my time, letting the moment stretch before laying my cards down—four jacks.

The sweat-drenched guy next to me made a choked sound, somewhere between a whimper and a swear. His eyes darted between me and Scar Jaw like he was waiting for an explosion.

Silence.

Until Dead Eyes let out a slow, measured chuckle that kind of sounded like he was laughing at my impending death.

Scar Jaw’s expression darkened further, his fingers twitching toward his whiskey glass. The guy next to me tensed like he was expecting the table to flip, and honestly, so was I.

I kept my eye on him as I dragged my winnings toward me, and Scar Jaw’s glare deepened. For a split second, I thought he was about to lunge across the table. Instead, a chair scraped against the concrete as someone stood up too fast. A hand went to a jacket—metal glinted. A gun was drawn.

The room tensed, the weight of it pressing against my shoulders like a loaded trigger.

“Bad move, kid,” Yellow Teeth muttered, shaking his head. “Should’ve known when to cash out.”

Before anything could escalate, a single sharp clap echoed through the room.

Everyone froze.

A masked man stood in the doorway, dressed in black, his face obscured except for his piercing, calculating eyes. He clapped again, slow and deliberate.

As if a silent command had been issued, the entire room shifted. The gun disappeared. The tension dissolved into something eerily normal. One by one, the spectators drifted away, returning to their tables, their games, their drinks—like nothing had happened at all.

Scar Jaw exhaled heavily, his jaw tight as he glanced between me and the masked man. “Looks like you’ve got friends in high places, rookie.”

I didn’t reply. Didn’t dare take my eyes off the masked figure as he gave a final nod, then vanished into the hallway like a ghost.

I let out a slow breath before gripping the stacks of cash and shoving them into my jacket. “Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. “He could’ve at least let me enjoy the win.”

No one stopped me as I stood up and strode toward the exit, my pulse still thrumming, my mind turning over what the hell had just happened.

I hustled out of the room while trying not to look like I was hustling and pushed open the exit door, stepping out into the cold night air, my pulse still hammering in my ears. The metallic scent of blood and stale cigar smoke clung to my clothes, and my fingers tightened around the wads of cash stuffed into my jacket pocket.

A man in another mask stood stationed just outside the door, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed like he’d been waiting for me. His face was completely obscured, but when he spoke, his voice was low and smooth. “The Sphinx sends its regards.”

Then he was gone, slipping into the darkness as if he had never been there at all.

I stood there for a moment, inhaling deep, trying to ground myself. My brain was still spinning from everything that had just gone down. I had played a rigged game, outplayed criminals who had no problem murdering in broad daylight, and somehow walked away in one piece.

Parker had definitely gotten off easy. At this rate, my next one was going to be proving my bravery by swimming across a crocodile-infested river or something equally traumatizing. I’d probably get my McSnuffles bitten off and be forced to spend my days dickless and sad all because I was an incredible man above men who had caught the eye of a random secret society.

I’d better be getting a whole lot of something from this organization after I was officially inducted because this fucking sucked.

I was halfway back to my Jeep when the screech of tires ripped through the night.

A familiar black car came skidding to a halt in front of me. The driver’s door flew open, and Matty practically launched himself out.

“What the actual fuck, dude,” he shouted, his eyes wide and crazy, arms flailing like he was trying to swat bees.

“Oh hey, what are you doing here?” I asked, trying to play it cool like I hadn’t just almost died over the last however many hours.

“What am I doing here?” He gaped at me even more, his eyes bugging out. I kind of wanted to reach out and push them back in just in case they were in danger of popping out.

“Your last words to me were basically, ‘Hope I don’t die,’ and then you disappeared. I texted you fifteen times, Jace Thatcher. Do you know what happens when you tell someone, ‘I hope I don’t die,’ and then you go radio silent for hours? I had two options, call the cops and ruin this whole Sphinx thing or find your dumbass myself. Guess which one I picked?”

I blinked at him. The fifteen times was serious. I was known for responding back within seconds—because it was rude to keep people waiting. My blinking slowly turned into a grin.

“You tracked me,” I declared triumphantly. Because tracking was caring. Everyone knew that.

His face turned a weird gray color, and his eyes were still bugging out. “Yep, I tracked you,” he answered quickly.

Huh, that was a little…suspicious.

“Whatcha hiding there, Matty-boy?” I asked, crossing my arms in front of me and feeling much better about the fact that I’d almost died trying to join a bunch of people who wore Halloween masks for fun.

“I’m not hiding anything,” he said.

“You look suspicious,” I countered.

“How does someone look suspicious?” he huffed…still looking suspicious.

“Did you have any trouble figuring out the tracking app?” I asked innocently.

His face paled even further, and he literally gulped.

“Matty…you know I’ll find out eventually, so you should just fess up now—so I don’t have to waste my precious new lease on life on finding out what you’re hiding from me.”

“So, you did almost die!” He looked around like Yellow Teeth was about to pop out from behind a bush—or a piece of trash, since there weren’t a whole lot of bushes around here.

“Answer the question,” I pressed, opening up his passenger door so I could find some snacks. Almost dying made me hungry.

“That’s been there for like three months,” he commented when I found some crackers and ripped open the package, biting into the cheesy goodness like a shark.

“Pretty sure these preservatives were built to last.” I groaned as the artificial flavoring hit my tongue. Sure, one could say they were a little stale. But there’d been a few moments there where I thought I’d never have food again.

“Okay, proceed,” I said with a full mouth. Matty looked a little grossed out by the crumbs spraying out of my mouth, but then he must have remembered what he was hiding from me, and his face resumed that blank, grayish pallor he had going.

“So, obviously, the app was intended for people with doctorates in technology,” he began.

“Or someone that possesses basic phone capabilities,” I inserted helpfully.

He scowled at me. “When the fifteen texts went unanswered, I may have freaked out. And then I may have had to get help.”

“You didn’t!“ I gasped in horror as I realized where he was going with this.

“I had to do it. You could have been dead,” he snapped, waving his hands around all crazy like again.

“I went to Darla’s house and…”

This was too good. I was glad I hadn’t died. Just for this moment.

Darla was our next door neighbor, and the kind of person you tried to avoid making direct eye contact with because you just knew she had a collection of teeth that didn’t belong to her.

Supposedly, she’d lived in that house for as long as anyone could remember—which was weird because this was college student housing, and I had no idea if she was even a student. She was somewhere between twenty and forty, had a wardrobe that consisted entirely of aggressively clashing patterns, and smelled like patchouli, burnt toast, and what I could only describe as bad vibes .

“Wow, you really like me,” I interrupted. “You totally let her give you a blowjob in exchange for figuring out the app, didn’t you?” I doubled over, choking on my laughter. “You literally let Darla Pinswallow…” More gasps for breath. “Swallow your?—”

“Why would that be the first thing you think of?” Matty gasped, sounding horrified. “Of course, I didn’t let her give me a blowjob!”

I wheezed out a breath. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“You disappeared into an abyss. The therapy I’m going to need for the next hundred years is on you—and Parker! But I did not let her give me a blowjob.”

“So what did you do then?” I asked, not actually believing him.

“Well, not that.”

“Matty…”

“I was in a rush, okay? She put me on the spot. She might have asked me to wear a cowboy hat.”

I was laughing so hard, this could actually be the thing that kills me. Lack of oxygen. “You stripped down, didn’t you! Butt naked.”

“I wasn’t nude! I had my briefs on!”

I continued to die of laughter.

“She took pictures, Jace. This is your fault.”

“That could be considered art in some places,” I noted. “ A lot of places probably!”

Matty made some sort of gassy elephant sound. “I suffered trying to save you! I made a sacrifice that will haunt me until my dying day.” He pointed at me. “You and Davis owe me for the rest of your existence. I probably need an exorcism now.”

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling decidedly more chipper after my snack and my bestie’s act of sacrifice that I would be able to relive in my darkest moments. “Well, I’m fine if that makes you feel any better.”

“Oh yeah?” Matty gestured wildly at my clothes. “Then explain why you look like you just crawled out of a mob movie and smell like a liquor store on fire.”

I smirked. “Would you believe me if I said I just had a really intense game of Go Fish?”

Matty groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Get in the car before I kill you myself.”

“That app really is easy,” I told him as he threw himself into the driver’s seat, and he started driving me to my Jeep…which was still there surprisingly because apparently Lady Luck loved me today.

“I’d wash your dick,” I told him seriously as I got out of the car, and he growled at me like a wild animal, even though I’d just given him very useful information.

He looked a little angry at that comment, so I gave him some love. “Thank you for endangering your chance of having future children to track me. ILY. Also, I’ll teach you how to use your phone like a normal person so you’re never in this situation again.”

I narrowly avoided a soda can to the head because he was apparently feral, and then I closed the door, laughing as he sped away.

Trial number one: check.

Time to get back to convincing Riley that I was the love of her life.