32. Monday

'The girl you love so much that you fought with me to hell and back, the one you imprisoned and did unspeakable things to?

The one whose hair you sniffed like a creep and like a goddamn stalker, collecting her undergarments for your perverse collection of things about her, the one you put a goddamn collar on and let her live some time as your dog?'

He coughed, trying to forget that he was in no way better.

"Oh yeah, I don't really remember her." 

"But you remember Paige, right?" Jace asked.

"Not really?" What should he say that makes sense for him to have a connection with the villainess?

"Damn, then what do you remember?" Jace questioned in an annoyed tone. 

"Well... you?" Lance answered unconvincingly.

But Jace bought it instantly, looking up at him feeling unexpectedly, somehow... flattered? And a bit shy? 

"What the hell, bro?" Lance took a step back, shuddering at the face the other made. 

Jace's face cooled again, but his ears were a bit red. He cleared his throat at this awkwardness.

"Fine, I'll tell you what I know; come in." The elevator had not left the ground floor and only started when he inserted a key. 

"A private elevator, nice," Lance complimented earnestly.

Jace puffed his chest, feeling smug about showing off his living conditions. 

"So, you have enough hush money to pay me, right?" 

Jace looked over, deeply annoyed by the sixteen-year-old Lance. He was cold and decisive in their last life; he didn't get how memory gaps could change a person like this. But he did indeed forget the hardcore stuff, so maybe it was better this way.

Entering the high-end rooftop apartment, Lance was now sure that he could get a lot of money out of Jace. 

Jace went to a bar and got the two of them a drink; sniffing on it, Lance was a bit disappointed for it to be only tea. 

Seeing this, Jace asked, "What? We are still underage; what's with that look?"

"Nothing. Spill it." 

The other sighed deeply.

"Well, I know that what happened to you was on Thirteen Street at the 'Monday club'; there are many rich kids going in and out. I have the names of two of them, one was killed by you after it happened directly, so I know about him too, and of one I have no idea who he is. So, in summary, I can tell you about three of them. But you could stay near the club and investigate the rest yourself."

Lance felt his surroundings spin as he tried to digest the information that he had been assaulted by four guys. He spilled a bit of iced tea on himself as he tried not to tremble.

Jace looked at him with worry and schadenfreude. 

"Good, give me the names." 

After Jace handed him the information, they ate in awkward silence together, and that was only because Lance was hungry as hell before he left without looking back.

Finally, he went to the hospital for his broken finger, and the good news was that it was just bruised.

Before going to the club, he met an acquaintance he knew from the street and got himself some paralyzing drugs and an electroshock weapon—one with real power, just in case. He didn't want to run into his demise.

He went to Thirteenth Street and strode in with momentum, asking at the front desk if they were searching for a waiter. The man looked at him, and seeing how handsome he was, he really gave him a job.

He needed two months to investigate and then finally meet the four guys at this place, searching for the description Jace gave him and the names on the guest list. 

When the rich boys came and he saw their sleek faces, he felt like vomiting.