70. Lazarus
The Black Orchid Club hums with a low, sultry energy, the kind that wraps around you like a velvet glove.
The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume, cigar smoke, and the faint tang of whiskey.
The dim lighting casts long shadows across the room, and the sound of soft jazz mingles with the murmur of conversation.
It’s a place where secrets are traded like currency, and power is worn like a second skin.
Leandra walks beside me, her arm linked through mine in a way that feels almost possessive.
She’s dressed in a silk black dress that clings to her figure, the fabric shimmering faintly under the lights.
Her braids hang loose, framing her face and for the first time in days, she seems…
relaxed. Not entirely at ease, but less tense, less guarded.
I glance at her, noting the way her eyes dart around the room. Taking in the opulence, the decadence, the sheer excess of it all. She’s been locked away in the villa for too long, surrounded by silence and shadows. This, the noise, the movement, the life must feel overwhelming.
But she doesn’t shrink from it. She meets it head-on, her chin lifted, her posture straight. There’s a quiet strength in her, a resilience that I admire, even if she doesn’t realize it yet.
Jacob, the owner of the club greets us at the bar, his face lighting up with a mixture of awe and deference.
I haven’t seen him since that eavesdropping back at the villa.
Before I always considered him a bit of a joke, a man who played at politics but never truly understood it.
Now, I’m wondering if he is another problem to be dealt with at some point in the not-so-distant future.
“Grand Master,” he says, bowing low. “It’s an honour to have you here at last...”
I wave him off, my tone dismissive. “Is the booth ready?”
“Of course,” Jacob says, his voice eager. “Everything is prepared. There’s a bottle of fine whiskey waiting for you, and your guest has already arrived.”
He glances at Leandra, his gaze lingering for a moment before he addresses her. “And for the lady? Perhaps champagne? Something lighter?”
Leandra looks at me, her expression unreadable. I give her a slight nod, a silent reassurance that she’s free to choose whatever she wants here.
“Whiskey is fine,” she says, her voice steady.
Jacob nods, his smile widening. “As you wish.”
I take Leandra’s hand, leading her deeper into the club. The space is a labyrinth of booths and private rooms, each one more opulent than the last. The stage is occupied by a singer, her voice smooth and sultry, and the crowd watches her with a mixture of admiration and lust.
Leandra’s gaze flickers around the room, taking in the sights, the sounds, the smells. She’s quiet, but I can feel the tension in her, the way her fingers tighten around mine. This place is a sensory overload, a stark contrast to the silence of the villa, and I wonder if it’s too much for her.
But then we reach the booth, and I see the moment she stiffens beside me.
Ezekiel sits at the table, his posture relaxed, his expression calm. He’s dressed impeccably, his suit tailored to perfection, his hair slicked back. He looks every inch the powerful man he is, and I can feel Leandra’s reaction to him; the way her breath catches, the way her body tenses.
“Ezekiel,” I say, my voice cool and measured.
He rises from his seat, his smile polite but distant. “Lazarus,” he says, his tone equally cool. “It’s been a while.”
I nod, gesturing for Leandra to sit. She does so reluctantly, her gaze fixed on Ezekiel, her expression unreadable.
I take my seat beside her, my gaze never leaving Ezekiel’s face. “I trust you’ve been well,” I say, keeping my tone casual.
“Well enough,” he replies, his smile faint. “And you? I hear you’ve been… busy.”
“Busy,” I agree, my tone dry. “But then, so have you.”
He inclines his head, acknowledging the point. “Indeed.”
The waiter arrives, setting down glasses and pouring whiskey for each of us. Leandra takes hers, her fingers trembling slightly, but she doesn’t drink.
Ezekiel’s gaze shifts to her, his expression unreadable. “And who is this?” he asks, his tone polite, but I still hear the curiosity beneath it.
“Leandra,” I say, my voice firm. “My wife.”
His eyebrows lift, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Your wife,” he repeats, his tone thoughtful. “I wasn’t aware you’d married.”
“It’s a recent development,” I say, my tone dismissive.
He nods, his gaze lingering on Leandra for a moment longer before he turns back to me. “And what brings you here tonight?”
“Business,” I say, my tone curt. “And curiosity.”
He smiles faintly, leaning back in his seat. “Curiosity,” he repeats. “A dangerous thing.”
“Indeed,” I agree, my tone dry.
The conversation continues, a delicate dance of words and implications that tells me Ezekiel thinks I’m in his pocket now, that I’ll just dance to his merry little tune, but right now I don’t care.
I’m too acutely aware of Leandra beside me; the way she sits so stiffly, the way her gaze flickers between Ezekiel and me, the way her fingers tighten around her glass.
She’s silent, like a quiet storm waiting to break.
I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling, because Ezekiel is more than just a man; I know he’s a ghost from her past, a reminder of everything she’s endured, everything she’s lost.
And as I watch him, as I listen to his words I feel a surge of anger, of fury so strong all I can think about is wrapping my hands his throat and squeezing until I feel the last bits of oxygen leave his body.
But I don’t, because this is necessary, because this is part of the game too. I have already beaten one adversary by outsmarting them, I know I can do the same with this one too.