Twisted Circles (Secret Society 2)

“How is that even possible? Wouldn’t most of the subjects die?”

“Yes, and then the research falls on the next generation. They have one on socio-economic backgrounds in which they take a single parent and follow them through the course of the child’s life, then when the child is old enough, they follow them, and so on.”

“So basically they’re studying them in order to see if and when they break the chain people fall into when they’re born into a certain situation,” I said.

“Exactly.”

“But why us?” My voice grew louder as my thoughts poured in quickly. “Why not tell us about each other? That wouldn’t have been against the code of the orphanage. And to add insult to injury, we were all at The Institute at one point or another and they chose to keep us apart.”

My words seemed to silence Adam. For a while, we just looked at each other, possibilities running through each of our minds. Impossible possibilities. Finally, Adam swallowed and reached for my hand as if I was a patient he was going to deliver a deadly prognostic to.

“If they were using you for a study your guardian had to sign off on it.”

“You mean Karen?”

“Who else?”

I shook my head. Karen had been just as outraged as I had. More so, maybe. I couldn’t imagine she’d sign me over to them, not after all the awful things she had to say about Debbie and Neil. Unless she did sign me over to them and lived with the guilt all these years? It would explain a lot—the drinking, the blame she placed on me, the way she acted as if siding with the Maslows was a stab in the back.

“We need those papers,” Adam said. “The contracts with The Institute and the ones from the orphanage.”

“Dr. Thompson would have had to sign off as well. He doesn’t seem like the type who would,” I said.

“You’re right.” I sighed, stretching my arms over my head.

“You tired?”

“Of thinking about this, yes. I just want to go to a bar or a movie or somewhere and hang out in a regular place doing regular-people things.”

“Let’s go then. No one is stopping us.” He stood, offering me his hand. “Besides, I haven’t taken you on a proper date.”

I smiled and took his hand.

The restaurant he took me to was in Billionaire’s Row. It was one that was really popular and always had a line out the door and tonight was no exception.

“We’re never going to get in,” I said as he circled the block for a parking space.

“Good thing my friends own it.” He dialed a number. “Hey, any chance you can get my girlfriend and me a table tonight? Yes. No. We’re parking.” He hung up and grinned at me. “Done.”

“Your girlfriend?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Is that a problem?”

“I guess not.” I smiled, linking my fingers with his. “Who’s your friend anyway? The one who owns this place?”

“Logan and Amelia Fitzgerald.” He eyed me. “You know them?”

“Is that the girl who went missing last year?”

“Yep. Will and I found her in one of the plots.”

My mouth dropped. “Did she fall into one of the holes?”

“She’d been buried alive.”

“But . . . like as part of initiation?”

“She’s an Eight.” Adam shook his head slightly. “She’d been left for dead there.”

“What the actual . . . and you found her? How?”

“By chance.”

“How long had she been there?”

“Days.”

“Damn. I don’t remember reading that in the paper.”

“That part was never reported.”

“The part where they found a missing girl buried alive was never reported?” I said slowly to make sure I wasn’t making this up, even though it sounded far worse than anything I could make up, and I’d made a lot of shit up throughout the years.

“I know how it sounds, but a lot of factors went into it.”

“Like the involvement of two secret societies.” I raised an eyebrow, then it hit me. “Logan Fitzgerald? The hockey player?”

“Yup. They got married recently. Eloped, really. Just the two of them. They didn’t even invite us.” Adam scowled.

“You really like weddings, don’t you?” I couldn’t help but to smile.

Adam shrugged a shoulder. “Free booze.”

“You barely drink.”

“So I guess I just like weddings.”

“I think it’s cute.”

“Thanks. I think.” He parallel parked.

As we were walking into the restaurant, a couple was walking out. My eyes widened when I realized what couple. It was Logan and Amelia Fitzgerald, both dressed like they were fresh off a photo shoot, casual in ripped jeans and black T-shirts, but hot nonetheless.

“Speak of the devil,” Adam said. “Or devils.”

“Look who’s talking.” Logan chuckled. “We’re not the ones digging up graves.”

“Hilarious.” Adam gave the woman a hug and kiss and gave Logan a quick hug. “How long are you in town for?”

“We’re leaving right after tomorrow’s game,” the woman said. She smiled at me. “Hi. I’m Amelia.”