Broken Hands

103. Strick

"I'll do it, thanks," Grayson muttered as Mrs. Denise logged off. Therapy had done its part. He could talk about his past now—barely—but it was better than before when every word felt like swallowing glass. Mrs. Denise knew everything: his childhood, what Charlie and his friends did to him. He could finally speak about it, though only to her. Hera had heard a brief version once. Hera was leaving and Rosa would soon be back. Her contract was over, and Grayson couldn't help but feel like she had more important things to do. They hadn't spoken much since she bluntly asked about the code and files. But he seemed to appreciate her effort to protect him, and something at the back of his mind screamed that this was not their last time meeting.

Grayson sighed, glancing at the pile of clothes on his bed. Boot camp. Damien hadn't officially told him to pack, but the way his uncle had looked at him the last time he mentioned it? Yeah, it was happening.

He opened the file from Charlie's old device again. The contents still sent chills down his spine: the coordinates, the mafia hideouts, the trafficking routes. The photos caught his attention this time—Charlie, but different. Younger. Skinnier. His hair darker and his body free of tattoos. Grayson studied the images, his stomach twisting. Something felt off. It didn't look like the man he had known—the man you could smell evil on from a mile away. Maybe it was a photoshopped lie, another one of Charlie's manipulative tricks to fool the cops.

"Gray! Come see something!" Julian's voice called out from downstairs.

Grayson rolled his eyes. He didn't want to leave his spot, not now when his thoughts were racing. His mouse hovered over a file X.

"Grayson!!!" Julian's voice grew louder, more insistent.

Grayson groaned under his breath, shutting his laptop with a snap. He dragged himself out of the room and down the stairs.

"Over here!" Julian's voice came from the back door. Grayson turned the corner, sliding the door open, and stepped on the deck.

Russell was already in the pool, grinning mischievously. "Hey, there you are!"

Before Grayson could respond, a hand shoved him hard from behind. He fell forward, hitting the water with a massive splash. For a moment, everything blurred. The cold water surrounded him, muffling the world outside, and just for a second—just for a second—he could hear Charlie's voice above the water, muffled.

He thrashed to the surface, gasping for air. Water streamed down his face as he wiped his eyes and locks away.

Russell and Julian were doubled over, laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

"I hate you guys," Grayson said, though his tone held more exasperation than anger.

Julian sat at the pool's edge, dipping his feet in cautiously. He wasn't fully recovered from his surgery yet, and Grayson doubted he could swim. Russell, on the other hand, was already diving underwater, preparing for round two.

Grayson tried to climb out of the pool, but Russell grabbed his ankle and yanked him back in. Grayson growled, his frustration mixing with laughter as Julian continued cracking up.

When Russell finally let go, Grayson surfaced again, coughing and sputtering. He hauled himself out of the water, determined to make a run for it—but Russell was faster. He tackled Grayson to the ground, pinning him on the deck as Grayson struggled against his soaked sweater clinging to his skin.

"Get off, fathead!" Grayson snapped, trying to wriggle free.

"Make me," Russell shot back, grinning.

Julian was beside himself with laughter, practically rolling on the deck.