Page 7 of Chasing Kit

He has also personally killed a lot of people. He would deny it, of course, but he’s brutal and one of the most dangerous criminals in this city. I saw you in class today, and let me tell you something, your father isn’t a mafia boss, but he’s as bad as one. Maybe worse, because at least they have their own brand of honor.

I closed my eyes and focused on my breath, forcing myself to read the next one.

Unknown Number

That friend of yours, Leland, is a spy for your father.

I glanced at Leland. He was still playing the game on his phone. When he realized I was staring, he looked up and grinned.

“What?” he asked, winking.

I forced a smile. “Nothing.” When his attention returned to his game, I subtly rocked, putting a small amount of distance between us. How much of these messages were true? When did I meet Leland? I thought back to the first time we’d talked. It was our junior year of college, and he’d told me he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. When I chose a criminal justice major, so did he. At the start of every semester, he’d ask what classes I’d chosen, and out of four, he would always choose at least three that were the same. Was that suspicious? I didn’t know. I thought that was what friends did.

Unknown Number

So, I’m going to do you a solid. Leave. Take what you can and leave New Gothenburg for good. Hide from your father. I can help. Go right now to the airport, and I’ll have a ticket waiting for you. When you get to your destination, I’ll have friends waiting with a new identity. Trust me, your father isn’t a good man. One day, he may turn on you. Leave while you can. Go to Pleasant Beach. It’s safe there. Here’s some photos as proof. Yours Sincerely, a friend.

Too many questions ran through my head. I could confront Dad. I could confront Leland right now. Or I could listen to this stranger. Was I really considering this? I didn’t know who this person was, and Dad was . . . Dad. The whole idea of believing an unknown entity and following through with his plan was ridiculous. Fucking stupid. I couldn’t do that. Right?

My phone buzzed again. The first photo showed Dad with a briefcase of cash, War standing behind him like a guardian.

The second one—a man on his knees, Dad holding a gun to his forehead with a cruel smirk I’d never seen.

Third—the man on the ground, body twisted, blood splattered across Dad’s face.

Holy shit! Dad was a murderer. War was his accomplice. Could these be Generative AI? My heart wanted to say yes, but my head knew the truth. They weren’t.

The final photo was of Leland and Dad in his office, Dad handing over an envelope. A spy.

I focused on Leland. He was smiling at me, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Everything all right? Who was that text from?”

My choices narrowed to one. I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t trust the man standing next to me.

I had to leave.

It felt insane, but I had to get as far away as possible before calling Dad for answers. If this was real—and it looked very real—then Dad was dangerous, and Leland was involved. But I didn’t know this stranger, either. Could I trust him?

“I, uh, I have to go. I just remembered I have a team project and need to meet my partner. Can we talk later?” I didn’t wait for his reply. I moved before he could speak, shoving past him and racing around the Bouchard Building. He called my name, but I ignored him, running as fast as my legs would carry me.

As soon as I reached the Bentley, I drove home. The house was empty. I grabbed a backpack, stuffing it with clothes, my passport, my birth certificate—anything that proved I existed. Why was I trusting an anonymous stranger? It was insane. I should go to Sky in St. Loren. But if this texter knew so much, they might know about him, too. I couldn’t risk leading danger to his doorstep.

I shifted into autopilot, moving with an instinct to survive I hadn’t known I’d possessed. I’d lived under Dad’s roof my whole life, funded by his money. Blood money. The thought made me sick. The only thing that was truly mine was the credit card in my wallet. It would have to be enough.

I bolted from the house and threw my bag into the Bentley, then drove directly to the airport. Once I was checked in and sitting at my gate, I opened the message thread and texted the stranger.

Kit

Who are you?

Not long after I sent it, I received an answer, but not the kind I wanted.

This number is unavailable. Try again later.

I buried my face between my knees. The carpet smelled like dust and old coffee, and I sat there breathing it in, unable to move.

What the fuck am I going to do?

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