Page 14 of Pretty Lethal
Not wanting to be left out, Wilder does the same, except he yanks Emilia out of her chair, claiming the seat for himself before pulling her down on his lap. I give him a dry look as I wait for him to adjust her until they’re both comfortable, and the asshole simply grins at me before I continue.
I scan through the various photos the search engine has spat out, spotting several from her social media. Going to the site, I begin to scroll through her socials.
“Looks like she’s from some upper-class family in Boston,” Hawk observes when we scroll past the fifth photo of her attending some fancy event. In each picture she’s wearing a different dress, and based on the time stamps, she seems to attend one nearly every month. “Possibly a socialite, or maybe her dad could be a politician or something.”
I nod, having come to a similar conclusion.
After another five minutes of scrolling, Wilder grumbles, “There’s nothing here. It’s all the same shit.”
He’s right, of course. It just grates on me that he’s pointed it out. With a sigh, I skip to the end to see her oldest photos. She looks much younger in them—mid-to-late teens, I’d guess. Most seem to be taken at similar events as her later photos.
“Wait,” Emilia calls out. “Go back.” She leans in closer as I scroll back to the previous photo. “There.” She points at the screen. “Isn’t that Mel?”
I hunch forward, and it takes a second for me to pick out the similarities. “Holy shit, you’re right. Her hair and nose are different, and she’s younger looking, but yeah, that’s Mel.”
“Does it say who she is?” Hawk asks.
“Nothing. She’s not tagged in the photo, except there are no comments.”
“There’s nothing identifiable in the background, either,” Emilia chimes in. “Some fancy-looking ballroom just like all the other photos.” Her shoulders deflate as she sighs. “Another dead end.”
“Not necessarily,” Hawk counters before I get a chance to. “We know Rebecca now, and if the two of them knew each other, then Mel probably originally came from Boston. I’ll show everything we’ve found to West and see if he can dig up any more information.”
I nod in agreement, and ignoring Wilder’s presence, I thread my fingers through Emilia’s, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Don’t give up hope yet. We’ll find out who she is.” She graces me with a small smile filled with trust and makes me feel like I’m the luckiest man in the world.
I take a second just to drink her in as I recall Hawk’s words from earlier. We are all so incredibly fortunate to have this woman in our lives. We were so close to losing her. If I’d been a second later or if my aim hadn’t struck true. I think about it all the time, but I don’t think I’ve fully appreciated until now just how close a call it really was.
While I haven’t known Emilia as long as Hawk and Wilder, she’s become an enormous part of my existence. Somewhere between trying to protect this woman and keep her sane in this house, I handed over a vital part of myself for her to treasure and take care of, and I don’t ever want that piece of me back. It became my mission to make her smile, even when her life was crumbling around her, and instead I ended up finding my own joy in this five-foot-four spitfire.
“Are you okay?” Emilia asks, having been watching me.
I smile easily at her. “I’m perfect. Just lost myself in your beauty for a second there.”
She chuckles at my cheesy line.
“Ugh, someone get me a bag, I’m gonna hurl,” Wilder snipes, fake gagging until I smack him over the head.
Ignoring his complaining, I grab the laptop and get up from the table. “I’m going to call West.” Glancing at Hawk, I tack on, “When I’m done, we can go get rid of that stuff.”
* * *
The acrid stenchof smoke invades my nostrils later that evening as Hawk and I take turns poking the fire, ensuring everything we gathered from Mel’s apartment burns. We’re back out near Hollow’s Park, where we came to dispose of Mel a week ago.
It’s strange how everything yet nothing has changed since then. In many respects, we’ve gotten our lives back—Emilia, especially—but Mel’s ghost still haunts us all, along with Wilder’s confession that night.
“What do you think about this King’s Elite stuff?” I ask Hawk.
With Hawk actively avoiding Wilder and unwilling to discuss anything about the King’s Elite with him, we haven’t had a chance to sit down and openly discuss the impact of Wilder’s confession and what he’s been getting up to all semester.
Hawk shrugs. “I dunno. I’ve been trying not to think about all of it, to be honest.”
“Well, I think you need to. The new semester starts tomorrow, and Emilia and I both agree that there’s something weird about this group. We don’t like the shit they’ve been asking Wilder to do.”
Hawk simply gives another infuriating shrug.
“Emilia wondered if they were trying to isolate him,” I say, telling him Emilia’s theory and watching closely for his response. His forehead creases as he frowns.
“What do you mean?”
