Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Hayden Herron
The Brotherhood’s private quarters sit at the edge of Eulogia, not far from the mausoleum—a dormitory-style manor reserved strictly for Juniors and Seniors, completely off-limits to anyone outside the Society. Membership, too, is exclusive to upperclassmen—privacy at its finest.
I’m seated on a tufted couch at an oak table in the smoking room with the twins, Archie, and Hudson, half-listening, eyes fixed on the offensively high pile of coke pyramided on a mirrored tray in the center.
My glass of straight vodka on ice sweats beside me.
Something the five of us have in common.
We all prefer vodka to whisky—cigarettes to cigars.
My gaze focuses back into the conversation to add a laugh at Dex’s jab about whatever cologne Archie over-applied that evening.
Velvet curtains, dark walnut walls, oil paintings of men who look exactly like us, the signet shown purposefully on their pinkies as they rest a hand on their knee. The whole place is curated to remind us we’re not like everyone else. And never will be.
Our first gala as full Bonesmen flew by in a blur, too many hands shaken, not a single face remembered. It’s not that they weren’t important; it’s just that there were too many for any of us to keep up.
Ford's blazer drapes over the back of his chair, already embroidered with the Society's insignia. He and Dex are Legacy members, direct descendants of a founding member, so they’ve practically been members since birth. He’s launching into some diatribe about the seating arrangement at the gala, acting like it’s a matter of national security.
“It was a deliberate insult,” he says, cutting up a line on the mirror with his unreleased Amex Black Card. The scrapes aggressively against the glass. “Putting me next to Cure. He kept asking about my little sister, like she’s any of his business.”
Archie barks a laugh, mouth curling, while Hudson shoves him for being a bit too loud.
Archie’s draped across the lounge chair like it’s his throne.
Shirt open, tie loose, he leans forward and pours a bit more vodka from a crystal decanter over the ice in Ford's glass. “Maybe the dumb twat thought he’d have a better chance with you. We all know what would come of asking Dex.”
Dex snorts. “Yeah fucking right, he knows better than to ask me. Surprised he even risked Ford, to begin with.”
Dexter’s perched on the arm of the couch, legs swinging, money clip already out. He peels off five hundred-dollar bills like he’s dealing playing cards, one for each of us, then starts rolling his between his fingers like it’s nothing more than paper. He holds it out to me. “Herron?”
I shake my head.
“Suit yourself,” Dex mutters and leans down to snort one of the lines his brother just cut. When he comes back up, he’s got that wired look in his eye, pupils blown, grin feral. “You see the mayor’s daughter tonight? The little blue number with the slit up to God?”
“She looked like she wanted to get eaten alive,” Archie says, licking his thumb as he flips through a pack of cigarettes like he’s choosing between them, even though they’re all the same. “And I was feeling generous.”
Ford rolls his eyes, and Hudson and I join him.
“Tell me, Archibald,” Dex starts to laugh, cackling so loudly he almost slips off the arm of the couch, “did you eat her pussy before or after dinner?”
“What’s the difference to you, Dex?”
Dex can barely contain his laughter; he thumps a fist to his chest and gasps for breath.
“This difference is whether or not you ate me out of her.” He bursts out laughing again.
I can’t help but chuckle, myself. They’re high and loud. But there’s a comfort in it. A rhythm. It’s easier than silence. Easier than thinking about the tasks waiting for us once this haze wears off.
Because under all the charm and trust funds and inherited names, we all know what this really is. We’re not just here to socialize. We’re here to prepare.
And my assignment has already begun.
Dex flings his rolled-up bill at Ford. Archie lights up with a gold-plated lighter that used to belong to his grandfather, or some other ghost in his bloodline. Hudson helps himself to a few lines in silence. I lean back, glass resting on my thigh, watching them devolve into familiar chaos.
Ford starts complaining about the gala again, no doubt annoyed that it wasn’t as perfect as the ones his mommy usually throws.
But through his petulant pouting—like the weight of our class’s social obligations is some unbearable burden, as if he doesn’t secretly relish every second—I see my in.
I swirl the glass in my hand but don’t drink. “What exactly did Cure say?”
Ford glances at me, then at the others, then back to me. The silence drops an octave.
“He asked if she’d be at the end-of-summer events this year,” Ford mutters, eyes narrowing. “As if he has any right to ask. She’s still in boarding school, for God’s sake. Practically a child.”
Archie whistles low while Dex’s face scrunches tightly. My face remains impassive, as though I don’t already know her whereabouts.
“He’s sniffing around again,” Dex says. “Fucking Cure.”
Ford grinds his teeth, leaning forward to pour himself another drink, his fourth since we’ve been here. “We’ll need to have a little chat with the fucker tomorrow,” he says, locking eyes with his brother.
Archie grins manically. “Maybe I need to remind him who she really belongs to.”
Ford rolls his eyes, and I don’t miss Dex’s smirk.
Interesting how neither of the twins seems even remotely bothered by Archie joking like he owns her. If only they knew.
“Don’t be a fucking asshole, Arch,” Dex says, stealing one of Archie’s cigarettes and lighting it. “We all know she wants nothing to do with you.”
I study Archie. “In love, are you?”
His cheeks turn red at my mocking tone, and he throws me a dramatic glare.
“Quite the opposite, actually. She’s a bit too familial to me.” He says in a way that makes Dex mock a gagging face and sound, “But…the old men of the Huntington-Russell and Franklin family want what they want.”
So she’s like a sister to him. Interesting.
Still unsatisfied and driven by the urge to drag her out of that prissy little boarding school and piss on her like she’s mine, I press on.
“Wouldn’t be the first Bonesman to fuck his sister,” I say, lifting a brow, just to see how he reacts.
“Shut up, Herron,” Ford grunts, angry at the talk of his sister. So I push, just to see if I’m poking the proper point.
“Did you see the ass on Dale Danton-Taft?” This ought to piss Ford off.
“Dale isn’t any of your business either,” Ford clenches through his teeth, his jaw ticking slightly.
“She’s my Chosen, making her very much my business."
"If you wanted her so badly, brother, why didn’t you bid for her yourself?” Dex chimes in, laughing a little too loudly.
You can bid for a specific Chosen if you’d like, asking the leaders of the Brotherhood to do you a favor before you’re even sworn in.
But it also means you’re in debt to them.
Most men avoid swapping pussy for debts before they’re sworn in.
But it looks like I ended up with the woman he would have preferred, meaning he didn’t risk it.
He only laughs, and Hudson joins him.
I let the silence drag, but I’m not done.
My gaze remains locked on Archie. He’s still lounging, one leg draped over the other, cigarette now hanging from the corner of his mouth like he’s posing for some deranged aristocratic portrait. But I’ve known him long enough to know when he’s acting too casual.
I tilt my head. “Meet your Chosen tonight, Arch?”
He looks at me, blinking through the smoke. I didn’t see her at the Gala tonight, but I need to know if she was there and I missed her.
“Obviously, I was without a Chosen this evening, Herron, my future wife’s still in school. She’s been assigned to me since nappies. I’m practically related to her,” He says, waving his hand at me like I’m missing something. “Did you not just hear me?”
He doesn’t need to know I’m already well aware of him and Martine’s impending nuptials.
“Hmm,” I reply. Wondering what this means. If she isn’t a Chosen, but she’s already promised to Archie, is she going to be left out of the ceremony because she’s already sworn to someone?
“Herron,” Archie says with his usual playboy smile. “You sound jealous.”
I smile back, but mine is far sharper. “Please. You clearly didn’t get a proper look at my Chosen.” Just like I expected, I catch Ford’s anger suddenly radiating out of the corner of my eye.
But the most significant shock of all, and what I definitely didn’t expect, is the flinch in Dex’s posture at my words.
Ford looks furious, and all of my suspicions are confirmed. I’ll throw him and Dex a bone for the moment. Not because I want to do him a favor, but because I have a plan, and it involves both of them.
The silence turns heavier, just for a moment.
I reach into the jacket slung over the back of my chair and pull out my silver cigarette holder and lighter. Popping it open and taking one out; in seconds, I’m taking a long, steady drag. Overhead, the face of my Breitling glints with the reflection of the chandelier.
Ford's eyes never leave mine. He’s watching me just as I was watching Archie moments ago.
“Too bad she looks like a boring fuck,” I say slowly, enunciating each word before sucking in another large puff.
The silence stretches for a few seconds too long, the four of us staring at each other.
Then Dex breaks the moment with a snort-laugh, tossing a half-empty cigarette box across the table, nearly missing the mound of coke.
“Christ. This little gossip circle’s better than a whorehouse rumor mill. Bonding over women now, are we?”
Ford still holds my gaze, but eventually smiles slowly. His posture hasn’t changed, but something behind his eyes has.
He understands me.
Good.
He should know I’m watching.
They all should.
I may be friendly now, but that doesn't mean I won't gut them without thinking twice.