Ryder shut his front door quietly, the polished wood panels and faux-filigree of his home greeting him. His father was home, seeing as the light in his study had been visible from the lawn. Ryder dearly did not want to speak to him, especially with so little sleep. He was completely exhausted.

He stooped and removed his shoes, mind replaying the events of the night over and over.

Jane’s red hair seemed to bleed into his every thought. He could still feel the touch of her lips on his, the brush of her fingertips on his body, her weight on his abdomen. The mere sensation had made him shiver. He’d never felt that way with Beatrice. Never felt that way with anyone.

He brought his fingers to his lips, brushing them lightly. If she hadn’t stopped, he wondered where the night would have gone. He played with the idea for a moment, entertaining himself with fanciful images of what they might have gotten up to together, but then shook his head. He had to report to his father.

The entrance of his home opened up to a grand stairway, leading to the second floor. He climbed it slowly, every footstep slow and deliberate. He was exhausted, and he very much didn’t want to do this. But his father was expecting him, and ignoring him would only delay the inevitable, or even make it worse.

At the top of the stairs, past his bedroom, and the end of a long and ominous hallway, the door to his father’s study was ajar. An open invitation.

Ryder paused at the threshold, knocking.

“Ryder,” his father said, acknowledging his presence.

Ryder looked up. The older Jackson was clad in an excessive yet tasteful robe, red felt parting at the center to reveal a hairy chest.

“Dad,” Ryder replied, still standing in the doorway.

The study, by any metric, was extravagant. Carved wood made up the majority of the furniture, as well as the flooring. The windows were frosted glass, stained in such a way that it resembled a multicolored landscape painting. His father was seated behind his desk, a small sheaf of documents piled at one end. He gestured towards a chair before him. Ryder lowered himself into it, the overstuffed cushion wheezing under his weight.

“I assume you’ve spoken to Beatrice about this month’s tallies?” His father wasn’t even looking at him. He was scribbling something on a sheet of paper, as if his son were not in front of him at all.

“Yeah. We’re a little short, less kids buying this month,” Ryder said.

“My next term election is coming up. We will need the influence in order to secure a majority vote in the house,” his father said. His tone was dismissive, as if he were speaking to a child.

“What does Jane Mackenzie know? Is she aware of our existence?” his father continued, not waiting for a reply.

Ryder’s mind flashed back to the conversation they’d had, in the garden. Jane’s green eyes boring into his own, willing him to tell the truth. Seeing through his lies. He had failed his father’s task completely, and yet, he felt like he had done the absolute right thing.

Maybe for the first time in his life, he was sure that he was taking the correct path. And he didn’t plan to stop.

“Nothing,” Ryder said, meeting his father’s eyes. “She’s just some girl. Like I said.”

One thing he had gleaned from his father’s beatings was that when you felt weak, you must appear strong. Lying had never been Ryder’s strong suit, but he realized that he would have to learn. And quickly.

His father said nothing as he gazed at him. Ryder felt that familiar sense of smallness, of weakness. He didn’t like the way his father was looking at him.

But then the watch on his father’s wrist beeped, a quiet digital tone, and his father nodded. “Very well. There is more to speak about.”

“What?” Ryder asked, eyebrows raised.

“There is a mole amongst the men in our group’s employ. Someone low level. I assume he is an ambitious law enforcement officer, or perhaps a spy sent by one of our competitors.”

Ryder said nothing, surprised. This was the first time he had heard of this.

“Beatrice has already been notified. I’ve ordered her to work with you on this. Find out what you know from within the school, I’m sure this mole has children that are enrolled there.”

“You wanna get at him through his kid?” Ryder asked.

His father was looking at him now, brow furrowed. “Is that a problem?”

Yes, it is very much a problem, Ryder thought. But he bit his tongue. Antagonizing his father would reward him in any way.

“No. No problem at all,” Ryder said, lying through his teeth.

“Good,” his father said, returning his attention to the documents. Ryder took that as his cue to leave. He rose from his seat, the overstuffed cushion wheezing as the burden of his weight was pulled away.

“And, Ryder,” his father called as he reached the doorway, “do not forget where your loyalties lie. There is nowhere I cannot reach you.”

Ryder clenched his jaw, and shut the door behind him.

He stood there, behind the door, for a few moments, willing himself back into self control. He was an adult. He was a grown man. His father didn’t know anything about what he had done, at least, not yet. And, if it came down to it, Ryder could handle things. He always did.

Soft footsteps on the wooden floorboards, Ryder strode to the other end of the hall, just before the landing of the staircase. In contrast to the other doors in the hall, Ryder’s was covered in signs and posters, all the more so it would stand out against the suffocating opulence of the house.

He didn’t dare allow himself to relax until he was safely in his room. He collapsed into an armchair, groaning with relief. It had been one hell of a night.

In a detached way, he reflected on the gravity of what he had just done. Betraying his father was no small thing. Even the most suicidal of thugs under his father’s employ would think twice about committing such an act. It would mean death, at the least, and not in a quick way.

A sigh escaped his chest. There was no taking it back, he realized. Regrets would only slow him down. He’d made his move, and now he had to play it through. Just like football.

Thoughts of Jane filled his mind once more, no longer obstructed by the looming threat of having to speak to his dad. The way she’d kissed him had been almost animalistic, as if she’d been repressing the urge for so long. He’d gotten caught up in the moment. Several times, in fact, he thought with regret.

The regret doubled when he remembered the way it had ended. The way she had run off, without answering his questions. The way she had cried as she kissed him. He questioned whether he had done something wrong, or whether he had hurt her somehow.

Well, asides from the lying and the manipulation. Ryder deeply regretted that, as well. He should have come clean from the start, he thought. An apology text was very much in order.

Ryder patted his pants, searching for his phone. There were a few confused seconds as he dug around in them, frowning. Then it dawned on him. He laughed, one hand smoothing his hair back.

Truly, he had underestimated Jane.