Author's Preface
This was apparently the routine. Meika ate by himself, and everyone else ate separately—a completely different meal.
“You guys never eat together?” Sevan murmured, casting another glance at the sliding balcony door.
Meika was out there on the enclosed balcony with his plants. He had shut the door behind himself like he didn’t want to be bothered. Sevan couldn’t see him from where he sat at the island counter sharing supper with Farren and Nina. It was dark outside, and there was very little light reaching the balcony from the city below.
“He’s on a specific diet designed by a nutritionist,” Nina explained softly.
So? People can still eat together. Sevan glanced at Meika’s plate sitting on the counter near the stove, picked perfectly clean.
“How are you liking LA?” Farren asked.
“Do you know why I’m here?” Sevan met Farren’s eyes for a split second before realizing he had cut him off. “LA’s fine,” he murmured. “I just don’t know why I’m here in his apartment.” He glanced at the balcony door.
“He did just have a health scare,” Farren responded.
Sevan’s eyes flashed up at him. “A self-inflicted health scare.” I should not have said that. Sevan glanced quickly down at his plate. “He seems fine now.”
There was a small silence.
“Maybe he just wants a friend,” Nina spoke up softly. She passed a salad bowl toward Sevan and gave him a small smile.
And then evening came. Sevan caught a discreet glance at Meika through the sliding glass door to the balcony. He was out there, sitting on a patio chair, face tipped toward the night sky, eyes shut.
Sevan ducked into the guest bedroom and sent his first report to the private number.
Sevan: Meikhyel overdosed on oxy last night, and his people refused to take him to the hospital. Lara Dovan (from corporate) is aware he’s using drugs and told his bodyguard to go through his phone. (His bodyguard is with him 24/7. This man lives in Meikhyel’s apartment.) Something involving a flash mob happened while he was in San Diego this morning, and apparently it was bad. I found photos of a little girl in a drawer in Meikhyel’s bathroom. Don’t know who she is.
That seemed like a reasonably thorough recap. Sevan retrieved some fresh clothes from the bag of essentials he had been given, then locked himself in the bathroom for a shower.
What is going on in this place? Sevan wondered again, glancing across the fancy hygiene products on a shelf in the shower wall. He’s twenty-five. He clearly has money and power. Why does he do things that suggest he’s seriously unhappy—and still choose to live like this?
Meika was gone from the balcony when Sevan got out of the bathroom. His door at the end of the hallway was shut. Most of the lights in the condo had been switched off. Nina was gone. Farren was watching TV on the sofa in the dark living room.
Sevan quietly shut himself in the guest bedroom. Still rubbing a towel through his hair, he stepped over to the full-length mirror on the wall. He checked his phone. There was a new text message.
Private Number: Be more thorough next time.
Okay, fuck you. Sevan put his phone away. He flexed his jaw in the mirror, adjusted the leather string choker at his throat, and lifted his chin to check for beard hairs. And his eyes caught on the scar across his face. Absently, his left hand lifted, and he traced the mark roughly with a fingertip, all the way down to the midpoint of his neck where it ended.
“Scar-Face,” he had been called all throughout middle school. Or derivatives thereof. Most of the residents at The Adaline had asked about it at least once. He had gotten used to whipping out answers.
A duel with a ninja. A fight with a one-clawed tiger. An encounter with a serial killer. A very bad shaving accident.
“Haengbokhae?” she had asked the day after she gave him that scar. Her dull, empty eyes. Soft smile, cigarette smoke on her lips.
“Yes,” he whispered to his reflection. And the answer made him straighten a little. “Yes, I’m happy. I’m happy. I am.” I’m as happy as someone in my skin can be.
It came very quietly—perhaps the softest knock Sevan had ever heard. He glanced at the door, not completely convinced he had even heard it. Frowning, he walked to the door and opened it.
Meika stood on the other side, a hand behind his back. He stepped into the room, then silently took the doorknob from Sevan and shut the door.
For a moment, they stood there wordlessly, listening to the sounds from the TV in the living room.
“Uh…yes…?” Sevan could feel his own grimace. And abruptly, a chill ran all the way down his back.
Meika’s eyes found his. Depthless, dark, anxious. Distractingly pretty. His lips parted, even more distracting. “You’re looking for Lacey Kang?”
It was a whisper, barely breathed.
Sevan’s throat contracted, froze. The anxiety grew on Meika’s face like a flame lit on pure gasoline. His pretty features turned stricken, tense like he was approaching a breaking point. “Yes,” Sevan answered. His brow flinched.
“You have somewhere to look?” Meika whispered. His dark brows knit, released, knit again. His eyes searched Sevan’s face in sped motion.
“Do you know where she is?” Sevan asked, his voice equally hushed, though he didn’t know why they were being so discreet.
“I don’t,” Meika whispered. His lips fumbled, froze. He shut his mouth and swallowed. “You have somewhere to look for her?”
“Maybe—” Sevan began uncertainly. “How do you—”
Meika’s hand thrust out, and he pressed a keyring into Sevan’s fingers. “Wait until Farren’s asleep.” He shrank back toward the door. “Basement lot, space 32, right off the elevator. I’ll cover you if you get caught, but don’t tell anyone what you were doing.” And he left the room.
Sevan watched his bedroom door shut. The noise of the TV came back through in the silence. Was this what Meika was keeping him here for? How the hell did he know her?
Sevan’s eyes dropped to the keyring in his hand. A keycard, the same kind used on the building elevator and at the front door. And a BMW car key fob.