Page 25 of The Sinners Gambit

“What the heck is Shameless Securities?” Quinnly asks me.

I narrow my eyes, thinking.

“That sounds interesting,” I say as I lean closer to her computer screen. We’re both researching more on Killian. There’s a website pulled up for some kind of not-for-profit called Shameless Securities.

“It looks like it’s security services for those who can’t afford it and live in impoverished neighborhoods,” she says, scrolling through the website.

“Stop,” I request. Reading the mission statement on the screen, it says: “Affordable security services for those shamed due to their uncontrollable circumstances. Poverty should not equate to a lack of safety.”

“Wow, I never expected him to do such a saintly thing,” Quinnly remarks.

I smile quizzically. “Not at all. If anything, I thought he’d maybe do something like this as a publicity stunt. This is under a shell company of his right?”

“Yup,” she says, popping the P. “Looks like it.”

“It’s interesting he doesn’t want any credit.” I gnaw at my inner cheek. This conflicts with the image I have in my head of him being a completely violent, rich asshole. “They even have free services for those who really need it, but can’t afford even the lowest payments.”

“Are we sure he’s your guy?” she asks.

“I-I think so.” I shake my head. “No, I know so,” I say, determined. But the more I learn, the more conflicted I feel. This version of Killian Morel could be someone I’d actually like. Cold hard evidence doesn’t lie though,right?

What I didn’t expect was to enjoy his company. To like talking to Axel. To enjoy the comforting darkness that surrounds all of us—it being a solace instead of gloom. I always scoff it off, but Killian wasn’t wrong, there’s this cosmic thread pulling us together that I can’t seem to control.

Now that he’s shown me that stupid fucking dungeon of his, I’m even more confused. He doesn't kill without reason. But what was his reason for my mom? There wasn’t any evidence of her in his trophy room. So what the hell is going on? Did the Mortes Ostium steer me wrong? The DNA and financial paper trail made sense. All the payments that were made from shell companies to the dirty cops. No matter how many different connections they made to hide the link, I saw it. It all links back to the Morels.

Mom, help me. Show me a sign of what to do.I plead in my head. Catching my reflection in the mirror from across the room, I gasp. I look disheveled and distraught—all the things I want to hide from the world. It’s what I imagine my mom felt when she was being chased.

“Fuck,” I say as I realize.

Am I the ultimate trophy?

Chapter 13

Killian

“Help!Someonehelpme!”

I jolt awake from the sudden shrieking. “Naomi!”

Quickly, I look to the screen to see her tossing and turning in bed from a night terror. Without a second thought, I bolt toward her bedroom.

Watching her breakdown in the room was painful, but so much worse knowing I wouldn’t be able to be the one to help her through it. She eventually stopped crying and stoically got herself into bed. I must’ve fallen asleep at my desk watching her.

“Please . . . please, stop!” I hear her still screaming as I get closer to her room, slowing my pace—not wanting to startle her more.

Now what?

I can’t really wake her up right now because that may make it worse. Night terrors are such infuriating things. Tiptoeing to her bed, I try to think of how best I can help her. Even though I’m probably the last person she wants to see right now, I don’t want her to wake up alone. Especially if she wakes in a panic.

It’s pretty dark in here with the lights off. Using my hands to maneuver, I look for the TV remote. Thankfully, it’s on the nightstand on the opposite side from where Naomi’s sleeping. Choosing to risk it, I sit on the bed over the covers as I turn the TV on and click the mute button. Going to a streaming service, I put on the best comfort show with the subtitles on. And do all I can do . . . wait.

“STOP!” She jolts up five minutes into the episode, thrashing her arms and legs. It takes everything in me not to grab her to comfort her, but she needs space to let it out and realize where she is. Naomi is hyperventilating. She looks up at the TV, confused, then to the side of the bed I’m on. “Killian?”

“Hi, Naomi. I’m sorry—”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she demands, pulling the covers over herself for protection. “Did you . . . did you hear me?”

I purse my lips in a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

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