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“How did Theo know?” I question.
“The truth?”
“If you’re not here to speak the truth, then don’t bother trying to get past me.”
His lip twitches with a smile as he casually crosses one leg over the other, his nonchalance a stark contrast to the bomb he’s about to drop. "He's tangled up with this group; they call themselves The Obsidian Order or something."
My heart does a weird flip-flop, pausing as if it's considering quitting on me. Catching the look of utter horror crossing my face, Julian can't help but let a hint of concern flicker across his features. "My uncle had the same look of fear." Julian sighs, a shadow of seriousness darkening his tone, "When the head of the CIA is silent about a group, that’s not a good thing. So, you've heard of them.”
“Heard is an understatement,” I reply. The question is, did I piss them off? If I did, I’m dead.
Of course, I know who The Obsidian Order is, and yes, before you roll your eyes, trust me, I’ve rolled mine enough to cause a migraine. I don’t know what it is with men who form secret societies. Oh, they couldn't possibly settle for just any old name; that would be far too pedestrian. It has to be shrouded in mystery, dripping with significance, and sound like it's straight out of a blockbuster movie marquee. You don’t see women naming their book clubs something ridiculous, do you?
The problem is that the Obsidian Order is the real deal. Every big-league hacker has heard of them. Those who look into them disappear. Literally, Poof, they are gone.
“Theo is part of them?”
Julian shrugs.“He says so.”
“You seem clueless about them.”
"A lot about Theo is a mystery to me now," Julian admits, hooking his thumb into his jeans. Do you think they are the good guys?" he asks, the fear in his voice as noticeable as the rising sun—blinding and unwavering. He's Theo's brother, after all. It's that loyalty that fills him with worry. He's always the protector.Sorry, Julian, but you can't protect Theo from them.
I snort.“You’re asking me?”
Julian shrugs, "I can't ask my uncle. He won't say a thing about them. Theo's opinion of them is like the second coming of Christ. When you're not making sexual jokes, which, by the way, are not even funny, you seem to have a solid opinion. So, what's your view of them?”
"It'll cost you," I say with a wink.
Julian sighs, his shoulders visibly relaxing, "I can’t get Kent to back off."
"I didn't say that was the price."
His eyes widen, and there is a glimmer of hope in them: "Is that you agreeing to be with my brother?" His words are laced with anticipation, like a needle threading through the fabric, hoping to make its final stitch.
"Kent's not a topic for today." I stretch, feeling every tense muscle. Hmm, a massage would be divine. Wait, that gives me an idea. "How about a spa vacation for Poppy and me, courtesy of you, once this whole circus wraps up?"
His eyes widen in disbelief, "That's it?"
"Absolutely. I'll send you the deets. You just make sure it happens. And no skimping—we're talking full pamper mode."
"Deal," he smirks.
"The Obsidian Order," I voice. Just saying their name makes the tiny hairs on my arms stand up. It’s like they hold some divine power.“To be honest, I’m not sure if they’re the good guys or the bad ones. It’s like pondering God’s intentions—is God good because he gave us life and let us evolve more than other monkeys, or is God bad because he allows us to suffer? The ultimate debate. Is he a psycho because he likes to sit back with a big old bucket of buttery ambrosia-flavored popcorn and watch us tear each other apart, or is he a saint because he continues to hold out hope for us?”
His mouth quirks up at one corner. "That's pretty deep for a girl who likes to make sex jokes," Julian chides.
"I like it deep," I wink, and then we both burst into laughter. I appreciate Julian; he not only knows how to laugh, but more importantly, he knows when not to judge. If I can't make inappropriate jokes to mask my pain, then what's the point of living?
“So you’re comparing this group to God,” Julian comments.
"Yeah, they're everywhere," I circle my hands in the air, illustrating their omnipresence, "All over the web, politics, banking, education. Like a spirit, they seem to be something people fear and praise. Their name alone makes world leaders pause and think. Is that a sign of virtue or vice? They've helped as many people as they've ruined." My expression shifts, eyebrows knitting together.
"Hmm," Julian nods, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Interesting point. Not sure it was worth the spa day, though," he teases.
"No reneging," I retort with a smirk.
"I’d never," he smiles, soft and gentle—the kind that could make women swoon. Kent's smile isn't like that; it's a reflection of my own, and the narcissist in me adores my own reflection. I relish seeing the mask that conceals all the fractures. The problem with Kent is he wants to expose all my cracks and then fill them; he wants to make me whole again. I don’t want that. Life was simpler when I was completely broken; I had less to lose.
