44 - Jocelyn
~ 44 ~
JOCELYN
I wasn’t even remotely prepared for dinner service. Then again, no one was. This time around, it had nothing to do with the food, the kitchen, or even the staff.
No, it had to solely to do with Roman Wynter.
Any merriment or camaraderie that might’ve carried over from last night was squashed instantly, the very moment the mercenary captain entered the room. His expression was sour, sullen, and his body language radiated an underlying anger. He looked ready to take it out on anyone who dared even speak to him. The dark circles under his eyes hinted that he hadn’t slept a wink, either. So much for his nap.
The real issue however, was with his men. Upon arriving at dinner they immediately took over the room, and the usual security forces were nowhere to be seen. The minute the last seat was filled, they blocked the exits in an armed show of brute force that left no question as to who, in fact, was in charge.
But there was a great deal of animosity, too. A general disdain hung palpably in the air, hovering over the entire dinner service like a living, breathing thing. Dirty looks were being cast in every direction, course by course, and it set everyone on edge. Jacob Foley’s men were undoubtedly distraught by his disappearance, and their eyes gravitated to his empty chair. Victor Knox’s men, who’d waited an hour or more at the dock for his arrival, were likewise pissed. Together with Foley’s men, both groups were distracted by the abrupt seizure of the room by Roman’s armed guards.
Blight, I realized, was no longer a mercenary company. It was three. What started as fissures had fractured the company into three distinct groups, each eying the other suspiciously, and sometimes far more than that.
As for Roman, he preferred shoveling food into his mouth rather than fend off any accusatory glances. And those glances went both ways. His own men appeared absolutely murderous, staring down the other two groups with lethal intent. It was clear they saw mutiny. It was only a matter of how it would be handled.
“Emily…”
One of the doors cracked open, and Dorothea motioned me through. I exited in the direction of the kitchen, passing a pair of very serious looking men with rifles who begrudgingly stepped aside for me. Just as I did, I heard voices rise from the table behind me.
“C—Chef Kayden needs you.”
Dorothea’s usual expression involved some measure of nervousness. Right now however, it was bordering on neurotic.
“Is it time for the next course already?” I asked.
“Who knows?” she shrugged. “They haven’t touched the last course. Nobody’s eating.”
“I know.”
“Have they started killing each other yet?” she asked fearfully.
“Not yet,” I swallowed. “But I expect any minut—”
I choked on my last few words as Bishop appeared and abruptly dragged me into the kitchen. Kayden flew over, and together they pushed me into the walk-in.
“What’s happening?” they demanded in unison.
“I… I don’t know,” I replied. “Roman isn’t talking. He isn’t letting anyone else talk either. And he’s the only one eating. Everyone is sitting there, staring at him, watching him pick through his food.”
The two men looked at each other grimly. I could see information passing between them.
“I thought this was supposed to be an important meeting for them?”
“It is,” said Bishop. “I mean, it was. Now it’s a shit show.”
“Why?”
“Because he knows .”
They took several moments of silence, deciding what to do. I could only stand there, studying their handsome faces, thinking back to our shared past. Those faces had been so young, so carefree. So full of mischief and revelry, back when things were simple, when our biggest problem was a missed homework assignment, or scrounging up enough money for gas.
I wondered what Jason would think if he could see us now. The three of us standing here, surrounded by armed killers, in a mansion on the other side of the world. I’d just hid a body , for shit’s sake. And things were apparently about to get hairier.
“Alright, you go back in,” Kayden said to me at last. “Bring the next course. Stay in there, in case someone orders a drink—”
“No one’s ordering drinks,” I cut in. “No one’s eating or talking or doing anything. It’s a funeral parlor in there.”
“Bring it anyway,” he replied. “Stand off to the side. Observe and say nothing. But keep as close as you can to the door, because if shit gets crazy—”
“ When shit gets crazy,” Bishop interrupted him.
Begrudgingly, Kayden nodded. “When shit gets crazy, you run your little ass right back here.”