“Yeah. Which is why she’s in a facility,” Trent says. “The question is, how the hell is she still able to fuck with our lives while she’s supposedly in a place that limits access to phones and internet?”
“She’s gotta have someone helping her.” I shrug. “Just like Detective Walton said. My money is on either someone at the rehab place, or someone on campus. Not that those two options narrow it down a ton. That still leaves hundreds of people it could be.”
“I’ll call Walton later today.” Trent looks around the table as Reese brings over the eggs, meeting all of our eyes. “He said he wanted our help bringing Leslie down? Well, I’m all in.” He glances my way. “She texted you. She called me. She fucked with our bank accounts and hacked your email. Odds are good she’ll pull more shit like this. And if we can’t stop her yet, at least we can use what she’s doing to our advantage.”
My stomach twists. “What do you mean?”
West and Trent share a look, and I have a feeling that single glance just communicated an entire paragraph worth of words. They’ve always thought alike, and despite the bruises each of them are sporting today, they’re completely in sync with each other.
“She’s probably been hacking for a long time, especially to get this good at it,” West says, picking up the thread of Trent’s thought. “But she’s never gotten caught. That detective has suspicions that other hacking jobs might be related to her, but he has no proof. She’s smart. She’s strategic.”
“Or at least she was,” Trent adds. “Until it became personal. Before, her hacks were about getting money or furthering her own interests somehow. Now? Now she just wants to make the four of us pay. This is about emotions, about revenge. Those things make people stupid and unreasonable.” He presses his lips together, shaking his head slightly. “Believe me, I know.”
I reach across the table and rest my hand over his, squeezing gently, and he meets my gaze with haunted eyes.
It’s strange. I spent so long waiting for him to apologize, to feel guilty for what he did to me—but now that he does, it’s painful to witness. I wonder if he’ll ever forgive himself, although considering how long he held a grudge against me, I doubt he’ll be any easier on himself.
West takes in the two of us, but instead of the rage and jealousy I might’ve expected to see on his face even a day ago, there’s something warm in his expression. Letting Trent and I have our moment, he picks up where his friend left off again.
“That’s what gives us an advantage here. Leslie’s better at hacking than all of us put together; she just is. But if we can draw her out, if we can stick together and withstand the bullshit she throws at us, she’ll make a mistake. And that’s when we’ll fucking end this.”
“Yeah.” Reese grins. “And there’s the added benefit that the four of us sticking together and presenting a united front will only piss her off more. That’s gotta be why she called you, Trent. Even after everything, when we’ve all made it perfectly clear we’re on Emma’s side, it seems like Leslie’s still hoping one or all of us will go running back to her.”
Trent bares his teeth in something that looks halfway between a grin and a snarl. His hand flips over beneath mine, our palms pressing together as his fingers wrap around mine.
“She can do her worst. That’ll never fucking happen.”
Unfortunately, Leslie’s “worst” is pretty fucking bad.
The next couple of weeks are a strange blend of bliss and torture.
This thing between the Icons and me is real, and I feel it more and more every day. Reese is no longer sleeping on the couch. He’s back in his bedroom, or occasionally in one of the other guys’ rooms if we all end up passing out in the same bed.
The dynamics are fluid as we all find our way through this new relationship that’s forming between the four of us. But one thing that’s noticeably absent is the aura of heavy tension that seemed to choke the house before.
It’s just… gone.
The men still get growly and possessive from time to time, particularly West and Trent, but it’s never got the same level of rage behind it that it used to. Besides, I’ve found a pretty effective way of dealing with their possessiveness—one that usually ends with all of us naked, sweaty, and exhausted.
It’s amazing.
Incredible.
Better than I ever dreamed it could be.
But on the flip side of that is Leslie. As if she somehow knows how happy my life has become—hell, she probably does know, considering I wouldn’t put it past her to keep tabs on us somehow—she’s ramped up her campaign against us big-time.
She gets my phone service cut off, hacks into my Netflix account, and uses my last working credit card to go on a shopping spree that takes me hours to undo.
Then she sets in on our social media accounts. Footage of Trent that I hoped would never see the light of day again pops up on his feeds, and doctored footage of the rest of us shows up as well. My dad and Claire, thank God, aren’t big enough into social media to get wind of most of this, although they know something is still going on.
And it ends up being a stroke of luck that I started my interview at Sterling Minor by having to explain all about getting hacked and having my online presence fucked with. Devon already knows about it, so when insane things show up online, he just asks me how I’m doing instead of firing me on the spot.
It helps that Reese is dealing with the same shit. Our stories corroborate each other, so nobody at work thinks we’re lying or making this up.
Because he has class most days, I don’t see him at work often, which makes me a little sad. There’s been so much going on that I haven’t really had time to miss being in school, but I do. I’ve stopped dwelling on why I’m no longer a student at Clearwater, but now I need to start thinking about my next steps—where else I might apply, how I’ll pay for it, all of that.
In the meantime, the Icons and I keep watching and waiting, taking each attack on our online presence as a chance to look for any breadcrumbs Leslie might’ve left behind.