Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I hadn’t seen him pass paper messages, speak in code to anyone, or even spend much time with other players outside of the game session. At breakfast, he’d talked to me. At lunch, we’d been alone in the suite. Dinner was going to be eaten while they played.
Instead of retreating into my own room to change for dinner, I shoved one of my rings deep in my pocket and quickly moved to the empty game room. The guard outside the room lifted his chin at me. I made a production of taking my phone out to slide into a slot. I held up an empty hand with five bare fingers. “I think I dropped one of my rings this afternoon. Locke said I could come look before the game starts.”
He nodded and let me in. I only had a few minutes to snoop, but what I saw was even more interesting than I’d noticed earlier.
The table itself was filled with symbols. The design was decorative from a distance, but when you looked up close, it was covered in things like celestial symbols, animals, human figures, structures, plants and flowers, arrows, and intricately scrolled roman numerals. Elaborate, symbolic design. The kind found on historic art pieces, ancient carvings, and other museum-quality items.
It took me a minute to wrap my head around what I was seeing, what I was thinking.
It’s a fucking code.
My eyes drank it in as quickly as possible, and just as the guard poked his head in to ask if I’d found what I’d been looking for, I noticed the chair arms also had things carved into them, each one different.
What the fuck.
I remembered how each player had the same nervous tics, tapping their pieces while they considered their moves. They tapped them on the board, on the arm of a chair, on the edge of the table.
Jesus Christ. It was all a front for something.
I held up my ring and smiled at the guard. “Thank you. My sister would kick my ass if I lost this. It was a gift,” I said. Which was true.
When I finally arrived at the dining room to play happy host to the non-player guests, the only people there were Liyana al-Qadiri, Santi, and the young woman I’d talked to by the pool after my run. Rylee Melling was one of the three women who’d accompanied Julien Hartmann, the CEO of Stratos Aerospace. Her face lit up when I walked in.
“Jett! Come join us. I heard you went for a run this afternoon.”
“The weather was beautiful,” I said. “And so are you. That’s a lovely dress. Sheikha al-Qadiri, Mr. Alvarado, good evening. I hope you’re enjoying your stay.”
Santi’s eyebrow arched. “No comment about my beauty?”
“If you had dressed in silk chiffon, things might have gone very differently, Santi,” I said with a smile, trying not to roll my eyes at his constant charm offensive when I hadn’t given him any indication I was interested.
The women chuckled, and we were joined by a few more people. I helped Sheika al-Qadiri to a seat and then took the one next to her. She and her husband seemed closer to Locke than some of the others, so I wondered if I’d be able to learn anything from her about him or his past.
Or the true purpose of the fucking game.
“Mr. Maris mentioned you and your husband have horses,” I began politely.
What followed was a passionate description of the two loves of her life. Kida and Makani were purebred Egyptian Arabians with million-dollar bloodlines and countless awards and medals.
“Do you ride often?” I asked.
She blinked at me, horrified but too well-mannered to show it overtly. “Not my show horses. Riding changes their musculature. But there are other horses in my program I ride.”
When I’d finally learned way more than necessary about Qadiri horse culture, she asked me what I did for fun.
“Collect seashells,” I admitted, knowing this was already part of Jethro Davis’s lore now, the same as it was part of Jett Marian’s real history. “I grew up near a beach and learned early on that hunting for shells was a good excuse to disappear into my head for a while to think big thoughts.”
“Thoughts about what?” she asked with an attentive smile.
I shrugged. “Depends on the year. Some years, it was about who would win in an epic Marvel and DC superhero battle. Some years, it was why my crush didn’t like me back. Other years, it was about what to study in school and whether I was going down the right path.”
“And now?” she asked with knowing eyes. “What would you think about on your seashell hunt today?”
Why the hell am I jeopardizing my career for a straight guy who’s obviously a big fat liar?
“Whether I’m living up to Locke’s expectations,” I said, offering a self-deprecating smile. I needed this conversation to bear fruit if I had any chance of figuring out what was going on in this house.