Page 80 of You Owe Me

“It means the Maverick I’ve dealt with doesn’t ask nicely. He doesn’t negotiate. He doesn’t give second chances.” Jin’s eyes are deadly serious now. “You’re playing a dangerous game if he finds out you’re running around collecting his debts without permission.”

“Then I guess you better make sure he doesn’t find out,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

Jin stares at me for another long moment, then suddenly starts laughing. Not happy laughter—the kind of hysterical, borderline manic laughter that suggests someone’s sanity is hanging by a very thin thread.

“Oh, my goodness,” he gasps between fits of laughter. “You’re serious. You’re actually serious. You have no fucking clue what you’ve walked into, do you?”

“Enlighten me,” I say, though I’m starting to think I might not want to know.

Jin wipes tears from his eyes, still chuckling like he’s just heard the funniest joke in the world. “Maverick doesn’t collect favors, Ainsley. He collects people. And once you’re in his system—once you owe him something—you don’t just pay it back and walk away. You become part of the network. Forever.”

My mouth goes dry. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that every person who owes Maverick a favor becomes a resource. A tool. You think this is the first time I’ve hacked student records for him? You think the other people in his network just do one little favor and get released back into the wild?”

The pieces are starting to click together in a way that makes me feel sick. “How long have you owed him?”

“Two years, and I’ve done maybe twenty jobs in that time. Everything from grade changes to security system bypasses to… other things. Things I’m not proud of.”

“But you keep doing them.”

“Because the alternative is worse.” Jin’s voice drops to barely above a whisper. “You don’t say no to Maverick Lexington. Not twice.”

I feel like the floor just tilted beneath my feet. This isn’t the Maverick I know. The Maverick I love. The man who makes me heart-healthy smoothies and lets me steal his hoodies and looks at me like I’m the only thing in his world that makes sense.

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe I don’t know him as well as I thought.

The thought hits me like ice water. How many times has Maverick disappeared for hours without explanation? Howmany phone calls has he taken in another room, voice dropping to that low, controlled register that makes my spine tingle—not with desire, but with something I’m only now recognizing as unease? How many times have I seen that look in his eyes—the one that’s not quite cold, but not quite warm either. Calculating. Strategic. Like he’s three moves ahead in a game I didn’t even know we were playing.

Shit. What if Jin is right? What if the Maverick who kisses my forehead when I fall asleep with textbooks on my chest is just one facet of someone much more complex—and dangerous—than I ever imagined?

No. That’s ridiculous. I live with him. I see him at his most vulnerable—when his heart monitor goes off and he thinks I’m not looking, when he takes those beta blockers like communion wafers, when he wakes up in the middle of the night with his hand pressed to his chest like he’s making sure it’s still beating. That’s not the behavior of some criminal mastermind. That’s just… Maverick. My Maverick.

Isn’t it?

But then I remember the poker games. The way grown men defer to him like he’s royalty. The careful way people speak his name, like saying it too loudly might summon something they’re not prepared to handle. The IOUs I’ve seen scattered around our apartment—hundreds of them, maybe thousands, each one representing someone who owes him something. Someone who’s become part of his “network,” as Jin so ominously put it.

Damn. How did I not see this before? How did I convince myself that all those favors were just harmless college hijinks? Academic trades, tutoring exchanges, maybe the occasional test answer or grade bump. Innocent stuff. College stuff.

Not this. Not some sprawling empire of debt and obligation that apparently never ends.

I think about Carter’s words at the gala, about Maverick’s “operations” and his “self-sustaining economy.” I’d dismissed it as jealousy, as Carter trying to make Maverick sound more sinister than he actually was. But what if Carter wasn’t exaggerating? What if he was just stating facts I was too blind—or too in love—to see?

The worst part is, I’m starting to understand why people stay trapped in Maverick’s system. It’s not just fear, though Jin’s obvious terror suggests that’s definitely part of it. It’s the way Maverick makes you feel special. Chosen. Like you’re part of something bigger than yourself. Like your problems matter to him, and he’ll move heaven and earth to solve them.

Until suddenly, you’re the one solving problems for him. And then for his friends. And then for people you’ve never met, doing things you never thought you’d do, all because you owe him. All because saying no isn’t really an option anymore.

And the truly terrifying part? I don’t think Maverick even sees it as manipulation. I think he genuinely believes he’s helping people. Creating opportunities. Building a community. He probably tells himself that everyone benefits, that it’s just smart resource management, that he’s providing a service.

But intent doesn’t matter if the result is the same.

I watch Jin’s fingers fly across the keyboard—calm, practiced, surgical.

Twenty jobs in two years. Damn.

The numbers blur for a second. My hands tremble, and I shove them into my jacket pockets before Jin can notice. I can’t let him see how deep this cuts. How much it’s unraveling me.

Because if Jin’s right—if everything I believed about Maverick has cracks I never saw…

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