Chapter 40 #2
“Gentlemen,” Thorne says, “I’d like to introduce our newest member, Jiya Kline.”
“You’re officially one of us now,” says a man with amber eyes and an impressive physique in a tailored suit. “Though your way in was far too hard. Couldn’t you have just filled out an application like the rest of us?”
Laughter breaks out around the table. The tension in my shoulders eases.
“I prefer the dramatic entrance,” I reply, earning more chuckles.
“I’m Ambrose Thatcher,” he says, stepping forward to shake my hand. “Weapons specialist. And before you ask, yes, I remember you from the bar. You make an excellent Old Fashioned.”
“You’ve met Xander, our tech genius,” Thorne says, continuing the introductions.
“And of course, Lazlo,” Darius adds with a smirk. “Though you two had a rather pointed introduction already.”
Lazlo touches his arm. “She’s quick with a blade, I’ll give her that.”
One by one, they step forward to welcome me with handshakes, pats on the back, and even a hug from Xander. I’m overwhelmed by the warmth of their reception.
I look around the chamber, taking in the hemlock flower motif subtly incorporated throughout the space. Etched into crystal tumblers, embossed on leather coasters, woven into the carpet pattern.
“This is amazing,” I say, running my fingers over the smooth obsidian table.
“It serves our purposes,” Thorne replies, pouring drinks from a crystal decanter. “But there is one small complication we need to address.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re the first woman in the club,” Thorne says, handing me a tumbler with amber liquid. “And since the Beacon Hill Gentlemen’s Association is a men’s club, you can’t just be a member and walk straight in whenever you please. It would draw too much attention.”
I accept the drink. “How then?”
Thorne smiles, his steel-gray eyes gleaming with amusement. “Would you like to manage the bar?”
I stare at Thorne, an incredulous laugh escaping my lips. “You want me to be your bartender?” I swirl the amber liquid in my glass. “I suppose that is my day job.”
“Not just any bartender,” Thorne clarifies. “The manager of one of Boston’s most exclusive gentlemen’s clubs. The pay is...substantial.”
I take a sip, letting the expensive bourbon warm my throat. “And I suppose this position comes with certain extra benefits?”
“Access to our chamber whenever needed,” Darius says. “Intelligence gathering from unsuspecting members. And of course, the occasional special tonic for deserving targets.”
Calloway’s hand finds the small of my back, his touch warm and reassuring. The simple gesture grounds me in this surreal moment.
“This is quite the offer,” I say, glancing around the table. My new colleagues. My new family. “But before I accept...”
I turn to face them all, standing straighter. “I think Calloway and I need a vacation.”
A chorus of chuckles ripples around the table.
“We need to stay low still,” I continue, setting my glass down on the obsidian surface. “We’re not out of the woods with Detective Ramirez. And I thought maybe we could get some time alone in some place exotic?”
“Exotic,” Ambrose repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Like where? A romantic getaway to a quaint village in Bavaria? As you know, I toured with the 101st Airborne Delta Force SEAL Team during the Franco-Prussian War.”
Calloway snorts into his drink while Xander doesn’t even try to hide his eye roll.
“I was thinking somewhere with beaches,” I say. “Somewhere I can see Calloway without a shirt more often.”
“Seconded,” Lazlo chimes in with a grin. When everyone turns to stare at him, he shrugs. “What? A man can appreciate good abs. It’s like God took extra time that day.”
“Belize,” Thorne suggests, ignoring Lazlo. “I have a property there. Very private. Outstanding snorkeling.”
“By ‘property,’ he means ‘private island,’” Xander adds. “Complete with staff that knows better than to ask questions.”
I turn to Calloway, whose face has lit up with a boyish excitement I’ve never seen before. “Belize? What do you think?”
“I think,” he says, stepping closer to me, “that watching you emerge from crystal blue waters might be the death of me.”
“Wouldn’t that be ironic?” I reply, unable to stop my smile. “After all the elaborate ways I tried to kill you, it’s a bikini that finally does it.”
The room erupts in laughter, and something unfamiliar settles in my chest. Belonging.
“How soon can we leave?” Calloway asks, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Two weeks,” Thorne answers. “That should give us time to ensure the legal situation is resolved and the heat from Detective Ramirez has cooled. And enough time to get Jiya oriented with her new position.”
I raise my glass. “To new beginnings, then.”
“And to finding that mystery person who poisoned that guy at work,” Darius adds with a knowing smile.
I lower my glass. “Yes, about that. Does anyone want to explain—”
“All in good time,” Thorne interrupts. “For now, let’s celebrate your freedom and your addition to our little family.”
I narrow my eyes, aware that I’m missing something, but decide it can wait. After all, I’ll have plenty of time to discover all their secrets. We’re a family now, after all.
“I’ve never been to Belize,” I say, picturing white sand beaches and Calloway in nothing but swimming trunks. “Though I’ve always wanted to go somewhere with water so clear you can see the bottom.”
“It’s magnificent,” Thorne confirms. “The staff will ensure your privacy while still providing a five-star experience.”
Lazlo shifts in his seat, wincing as the movement jostles his injured arm. “Speaking of privacy,” he says, clearing his throat, “since my arm is out of service, I’ll need a bit of help with my next kill.”
The room goes quiet, and I realize this might be my first glimpse into how The Society operates day-to-day.
“Perhaps you should wait until you’re healed,” Ambrose suggests. “There’s no need to rush.”
Lazlo shakes his head. “I’ve been watching this guy for weeks. A medic. He’s set his eye on a new victim. Young woman, fresh out of college. It needs to happen before he can do any more damage.”
A heavy silence falls over the room.
After a moment, Thorne nods. “Okay. Take Ambrose with you, then.”
“I’ve got a plan that should work with two people,” Lazlo says, relieved. “I was thinking we could—”
“Save the details,” Thorne interrupts, raising a hand. “This is your operation. Just make sure it’s clean.”
Ambrose straightens his already perfect tie.
“I served with a special reconnaissance unit in Paraguay during the Great Emu War of 1932,” he says with complete seriousness.
“We specialized in removing rogue medics who were selling patient organs on the black market. I still remember the precise technique we used to make it look like natural causes.”
Lazlo blinks. “The Great Emu War was in Australia. In the 1930s. And it was against actual emus.”
“That’s what we wanted people to think,” Ambrose replies without missing a beat.
I study his face, trying to do the math. I have no idea how old this man actually is, but he definitely wasn't alive in the 1930s. If I had to guess, I'd say he's probably around Calloway's age, which makes his elaborate war stories either impressive fiction or complete delusion.
No one else seems surprised, though.
I press my lips together to keep from laughing. I’m beginning to understand the dynamic here. The gallows humor that keeps them sane while dealing with the darkness of what they do.
“Two weeks,” I agree, looking up at Calloway. “Think you can handle the anticipation?”
He grins. “I’m very good at delayed gratification.”
“Jesus, get a room already,” Xander mutters.
“We intend to,” Calloway and I say in unison.