Eulogia

Chapter 24 #3

“They’ll come for her if we take him without permission,” Archie says. “You know that, right?”

I don’t answer.

He leans in closer, more insistent now. “If Ford’s still under their jurisdiction, and we pull him out, we don’t just piss them off. We break the contract or breach the Blood Oath, then we strip them of a Legacy asset. Anyways—where the hell is Dex?”

“I don’t know, he went off script, went dark. I haven't heard from him since that night.” I mumble, honest for once.

Hudson is silent beside me, but I feel the tension in his body shift. They still don’t realise the risk she’s in either way, the risk I put her in when I took her for myself.

“How the hell are we going to get him out?” Archie presses. “You think we just walk into the Brotherhood’s house and ask? You think they’ll hand him over because your wife is upset she doesn’t get her brother?”

“They’ll negotiate,” I say finally, knowing the most significant negotiation of all is the one for my wife’s safety.

Hudson finally joins in and snorts. “Since when does the Brotherhood negotiate?”

“Since always,” I snap. “They don’t care about loyalty. They care about control. And control can always be bought.”

Hudson glances at me. “So what are we offering?”

I stare ahead, the mausoleum growing larger, colder, more inevitable with every passing second.

“My name,” I say. “My position. I have the information they want, and I plan on using it.”

Archie leans back, jaw pulling into a mocking smile, “So, in short, we don’t have a plan. Great.”

The car falls into silence again, filled only with the sound of a lighter as Hudson takes a drag from his cigarette.

We all have roles within the Brotherhood, but the Brotherhood is about power. There’s nothing we can do other than give something up in exchange.

Because they will negotiate, and I’ll pay the price.

Whatever it is.

The tires crunch over the gravel as we pull up to the mausoleum, the air thick with the smell of damp stone and dying leaves. It’s colder here, even with the sun high in the sky.

This day feels never-ending.

The building looms ahead, carved from limestone. Ivy curls around the base, as if trying to strangle the structure from below.

I cut the engine and step out first. The silence is deafening as I pull out a flask from my sports coat pocket. I take a hefty swig and pass it to Archie, who takes his gulp and passes it to Hudson, who I’m certain finishes the rest once I feel the weight of it after he passes it back to me.

We all look at each other for a moment before nodding once and moving.

Archie and Hudson follow, weapons tucked but close. We don’t speak as we approach the doors. None of us knows what we came here to do, but I walk with my brothers at my side regardless.

I push the heavy iron door open with both hands. The hinges groan in protest.

Inside, it’s dark, the scent of old wax and stone settling into my lungs like dust. The inner chamber is lit only by scattered candlelight.

We walk down the corridor to the meeting room and, luckily, find the Chairman already seated in the center.

I step forward, shoulders squared.

“You have someone I want,” I say. “And I’d like to make a trade.”

My ego and arrogance are loud, but the Brotherhood is built on trust and dedication. If I’m negotiating for something, they’ll hear my side and evaluate. I have to negotiate for my wife's safety and for her brother's. The complexities are not lost on me, as I focus solely on getting my wife safe.

There’s a pause. Then Chairman Creekmore’s voice, smooth and cold, “Nothing was taken. He submitted himself willingly as required of a Legacy.”

My jaw tightens.

“Then I’m willing to negotiate his release early.”

Another pause. The flicker of candlelight dances across the stone walls.

“He has completed his rites,” the Chairman says. “But extraction is…delicate. If you remove him, the contingency is activated, and you’ll be in debt to the Brotherhood.”

My blood goes ice cold.

“Martine,” I say.

Creekmore doesn’t respond because he doesn’t need to, and for once, I feel a sense of relief. If I understand the situation, I can control it, and when I’m in control, very few things don’t go my way.

Behind me, Archie and Hudson stand silent, waiting for me to make the call.

I look the Chairman dead in the eye.

“Then let’s make a new contingency.”

Chairman Creekmore’s gaze sharpens at the word contingency, but he remains still. The two cloaked men beside him exchange a glance—slight, but I catch it. They weren’t expecting that.

“You confuse ego with power, Herron. You think you can just take whoever you’d like without repercussions, and then come here and demand the release of a Legacy as though you have the right.”

I step forward, my voice low but clear.

“We both know I’m a member because of power my name holds. And I’m here to give you something better.”

Instead of a reply, there’s only silence, thick as oil, so I continue with my hand.

“In exchange for my wife's safety in her position, and the release of Ford, I’ll give you Douglass Huntington-Russell—and everything he’s been running at Seraphim underneath Marchand’s nose.

I’ll also give you the information on Martine's real father.”

The flicker in the Chairman’s eyes is the only reaction I need.

It was a lucky guess that they had a hunch about what was going on in that club, how Douglass was running a ring of forced sex work from some of the Bonesmen's wives, like Margaux, and forcing her to be used by other Bonesmen in exchange for cash and favors.

It was my original assignment. Look into the Huntington-Russell Senior twins and find information about Margaux Belmont. The Brotherhood already had an idea about the horrific atrocities happening behind closed doors and orchestrated with handshakes.

They had considered looking into only Henri for it, but Henri’s ledgers had already been such a mess.

He had been beating and abusing his wife, making bad business deals, and going behind the Brotherhood's back.

It was enough to decide to take him out, but they never had the proof they needed to consider his twin, Douglass, or his involvement.

Here I am, offering it up on a silver platter, precisely as they need it.

“Club Seraphim,” I continue. “Every off-ledger dollar and every unapproved transaction connected to the Brotherhood’s funds—laundered through a network by a Huntington-Russell Marchand doesn’t even know exists. I have the information.”

The silence becomes heavy with tension. The two other more senior Bonesmen beside him shift.

One leans forward slightly, as if considering.

This was the information they wanted, and I’m using it in exchange for my wife's safety. They can’t ask for her death, when I married her and gave her a position against their liking, if I hand them such loaded information.

“You expect us to believe you’d turn over your own unapproved wife's family,” the Chairman says, voice like a blade in the dark, reminding me of the choice I made without permission.

The one I knew I was bound to be punished for eventually. A part of me always assumed they wanted us together in the end anyway. Why put me on an assignment surrounding her?

I smile—tight, humorless.

“I expect you to remember who I am.”

I may not be a Legacy, but my family name carries more weight than that of any other student at Eulogia. The wealth and access that come with it are incredibly beneficial, and they are aware of this. My family has been the largest donor to the Brotherhood since its inception.

A long pause follows—one of the candles flutters in the draft.

“Douglass will be delivered alive,” I add. “With a ledger, names, and three untraceable drives of financials. All verified, in exchange for Martine to keep her position as my wife, and the release of her brother from training.”

“And the girl you went against orders and married is worth all of that to you?”

My jaw flexes.

“Martine is no longer your concern. She was never part of this. If Ford returns, you remove the clause. She is not to be watched, followed, touched, or used in any way. Ever.”

The Chairman folds his hands in front of him, fingertips resting together like a man preparing to accept communion.

“You’re offering something we can accept, but we refuse your terms of the Legacy,” he says.

My jaw tightens. “You just said the Legacy training could be finished early. You said his training was complete.”

He tilts his head slightly, as if amused by the assumption.

“It was,” he replies. “The Fordham Huntington-Russell Legacy training is concluded.”

A pause. A breath.

“But there’s still Martine,” he continues, “the Huntington-Russell…and now Taft Legacy.”

The words land with the intensity of thunder. I don’t speak, continuing to hold my cards close. The Brotherhood always knew the truth; they just needed my confirmation of it.

Because I know exactly what he’s saying.

They’re transferring the obligation. The Legacy doesn’t end. It evolves. And now it’s Martine who owes them a favor.

The Brotherhood never forgets a bloodline.

The Brotherhood believes in blood as currency.

Martine represents the perfect vessel—a symbol of lineage, obedience, and control.

A marriage of three of the most powerful names: Huntington-Russell, Taft, and Herron.

In their eyes, she isn’t just a wife. She’s a consolidation of power.

And they want to control the bloodline that holds that much power, as it’s never historically existed before.

My voice cuts through the stillness, low and controlled, but barely.

“What does that mean for her?”

The Chairman doesn’t blink. “It means your wife now owes us a favor.”

“I didn’t ask for riddles,” I bite. “What kind of assignment are you planning to give her?”

He leans back, the candlelight flickering across his expression, unreadable and godless. “When the time comes, you’ll know.”

I take a step forward. “If you touch her—if you drag her into this—”

He holds up a hand, calm as ever. “You need to remember, you’re the one who dragged her into this. We don’t need anything from her right now.”

The words hit like ice.

“We honor our side of the negotiation,” he says. “Ford is yours.”

Archie shifts beside me. Hudson exhales quietly.

But I don’t move.

Because this isn’t a victory, this wasn’t what I was willing to give up. They’ve handed Ford over, but they’ve marked Martine. She’s on their ledger now.

And the Brotherhood never writes down a name they don’t intend to collect.

I don’t move. My voice comes out colder this time, “Is she going to be trained?”

The word hangs heavy in the space between us. The knowledge of what Ford endured simmers beneath my skin. I’ve only heard rumors of the worst kind. The torture. The isolation. The mind games dressed up as Legacy training. The Chairman doesn’t flinch.

“No.”

“She won’t be pulled into rites?” I press. “Conditioning? Testing?”

I’m not stupid enough to leave a negotiation without clear terms.

He tilts his head, slow and deliberate. “There are no plans for that.”

I step closer. “But?”

There’s the faintest curl of something at the corner of his mouth. It isn’t a smile. It’s worse. “There may come a time,” he says, “when she is needed. This is your doing, Herron, you’re the one who decided to go against the Brotherhood and marry someone else's proposed wife.”

My jaw tightens, fists curling at my sides.

“When that time comes,” the Chairman continues, “she should be ready.”

My blood goes cold.

“She belongs to me,” I say quietly. “Not to the Brotherhood.”

“You all belong to the Brotherhood because of the decisions you made. You pulled her into this the moment you took her from another Bonesmen,” he replies, tone even. “Some of you just take longer to understand it.”

He waves a hand once, as if concluding a business meeting.

“Your brother waits below. Take him. Our contract is satisfied.”

I don’t thank him. I don’t speak. I turn and walk, jaw clenched, fury burning through me like fire.

“Oh, and Archie,” Chairman Creekmore calls after us, making us pause. “We’ve assigned you a new Chosen. You’re to secure her immediately. There will be no more Chosen games that you boys seem to think you have a right to play.”

My shoulders tighten involuntarily as I brace for Archie’s response. He’s a loose cannon with his jokes, and there’s only one way he takes direction—badly.

“She better be fuckable,” he says slyly, turning slowly to face the Chairman.

“It’s Parker Thompson,” the Chairman replies, his voice cracking through the room like a whip.

Archie’s head snaps up, shock flashing in his eyes. “You’re joking,” Archie mutters, though his tone is flat, stripped of its usual bite. His gaze drifts for the briefest moment, unfocused, as if some buried memory has just clawed its way to the surface.

I study him, thrown by the change. I’ve seen Archie drunk, enraged, amused, even reckless, but I’ve never seen him rattled.

“You know her,” I say, not as a question.

He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw works, a muscle twitching as he forces his expression back into something neutral. “We’ve crossed paths.”

The lie is blatant, and it leaves me wondering what in hell could make Archie flinch like that—and why the Brotherhood would hand her to him.

“I’ll secure her,” Archie charges ahead, brushing past me with a vigor unlike his own, working his way to the staircase that leads to the cells beneath the mausoleum.

The air grows heavier as we descend, each step taking us further from the surface, further from her. The light from above fades until it’s just the weak flicker of bare bulbs strung along the corridor, casting long shadows that twitch with every movement.

The smell hits first—metallic, stale, the stench of stone that’s held blood. My jaw tightens as we follow the narrow passage to the last cell.

Ford’s there, slouched against the wall. He’s bloodied but upright, his shirt torn, and when his left hands shift in the light, I’m surprised to see all fingers intact.

The finger was simply another play. It was merely a threat to my wife, another way to gain more leverage over me. Nothing but a parlor trick meant to make us believe there were repercussions for our unsanctioned actions.

He looks up, and despite everything, he smirks. “Took you long enough.”

I grip the bars, every muscle in me tense. Relief, anger, impatience—they all mix into one sharp pulse. I need him out of here now. Not for me. For her.