Page 70 of Twisted Little Game

I give my wrist a tug and he drops it, nodding as he finally steps back. “You’re a good trainer.”

“You did well.”

He glances over toward the windows that look out toward the main hall of the building, and he does a double take.

I look over and see Hunter there, waving at him from outside the gym.

“One second,” Roman tells me, and he takes off in a jog toward the glass double doors.

I chug from my water bottle as I watch him swing the door open and have a conversation with Hunter.

The two of them went off to have a private talk yesterday, too, while I was making cake with Rayne.

What the hell could they be discussing?

If it were regular Onyx Society business, wouldn’t they have just talked about it right there in the kitchen?

Both of them pull out their phones. They’re looking down intently at something, and Roman frowns, his expression going stony as he sees what Hunter shows him.

And then, suddenly, Roman’s eyes look up to meet mine.

He lifts two fingers and curls them toward him, gesturing for me to come. I collect my gym bag, my keys, and my water bottle, heading out to the main hallway.

“Tate,” Roman says as I approach.

The hallway is crowded, but the other students are walking back and forth, heading to yoga classes or the rowing room or into the gym. I lean against the wall by the windows and I frown at Roman.

“What’s up?”

“Tate, do you know who this is?” Hunter asks me, and he holds out his phone.

He’s looking at the Instagram page of the guy I gave a blow job on that beach, months and months ago.

“Of course I do. He’s the person I ruined my life for, with one goddamn mistake of a hookup. I follow him on here. Not that I check it very much.”

“Are you aware he has a private account?”

I furrow my brow. “No. I don’t know anything about the guy. He never even told me his name. He added me on Instagram while I was on the same beach as him, then messaged me about a hookup. Half of his posts are of girls with big tits, which I thought was funny, because… well, he certainly liked fucking my mouth, at least.”

Hunter nods. “Well, another account was made from the same origin and the same password as his public account.”

“How do you know what the password is?”

His lashes flick up to me. “I’ll explain that in a minute. I shouldn’t have access to it, but there was a way.”

“Jesus. Okay. So… the guy I blew on the beach has another account?”

“Exactly,” Hunter explains. “And when I logged in…”

He holds out his phone and shows me the recent posts.

My stomach drops.

Most of the photos are nondescript pictures of New York City. Many of them taken near the neighborhood where I grew up.

But one of the most recent pictures, right at the top of the page, is a direct photo of the rock that was left at my door.

The symbols are all on it, carved crudely, exactly as I found them.