Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
DIORA
“Okay, so we’re throwing a killing spree disguised as a tea party. Who are the targets, and how are we going to get them there?” the tall medic who was stitching up Tom’s arm yesterday asks.
We have been pulled into an immediate meeting for the Top Dogs to create the plan for Mrs. Jay’s tea party. I wonder if putting this party off on us was always part of the plan or something she’s doing to piss the guys off.
“It’ll combine all our current targets, all from differing backgrounds and purposes, so the deaths don’t look connected,” Enyo answers.
He stands at the head of the table, a presentation being shown on the projector, and the golden dream of a man sits at the first spot to the right of Enyo, typing away on the presentation.
I’ve learned some of the team members’ names by now.
There is Enyo—the leader when Mrs. Jay isn’t around.
He’s also her favorite and most trusted.
He is a Son. Son is the highest level of Strays under Mrs. Jay, and there are only two in this entire society but I think this is something Mrs. Jay added herself.
Enyo seems to love smiling, as he always has one on his face.
He has light brown skin like mine and knows what colors work on him, based on the muted green cable-knit sweater he wears.
He has a light amount of facial hair and black hair in a buzz cut style.
The second Son, my handsome boy, is Elliot.
The man with the questions and adorably soft hair.
He also knows computers and databases like a wizard.
The rest of the Top Dogs each have some sort of specialized skill.
Hank is a medic, Tom is a gun enthusiast, and the rest, I’m slowly figuring out.
But what I can’t quite figure out is how I fit into all this.
I know my herbs, but is that enough to be within the ranks of these professionals?
“Who are our targets?” Tom asks, raising his eyebrows. This is quite the unusual setup, but I’m not at a point of outwardly questioning Mrs. Jay. Not yet; probably not ever. I don’t even dare to question why she wants me here.
But Elliot does. He says new recruits go missing after three months, and yet, here I am, clearly not missing. So, what’s different about me? Is it because I’m a girl? Am I a distraction? To whom? Elliot?
Elliot seems to be the one with information. Enyo’s a Son, so he should know more than the rest of us, but he either doesn’t know, or he doesn’t care about the missing Strays. Isn’t he on the track to becoming an owner? Why wouldn’t he care?
“We have two main groups set as our targets: the blabber mouths and the dirty politicians. Here are the listed names of our targets. The names listed under your name are your responsibility. Your job is to get them to the event,” Enyo informs us.
My eyes instantly find my name and my list of targets.
Diora Moss
Daniel Kallous
Matthew Oppin
Jules Hartford
Mayor Jack Kilthmore
She knew exactly who was on my list. How? I haven’t told her jack shit. She knows of Juliet, of that night. She probably knows more about me than I can imagine. My eyes met Elliot’s, and he’s watching me. Does he know, too? Are they conspiring together? That sneaky little bitch.
“Newbie gets the Mayor of Litchfort? Already? Damn,” Parker says, twiddling with a knife, marking up the table. Parker is a Black man with black almost brown twists that reach about his eyebrow.
“I don’t make the assignments, I just relay them,” Enyo says.
“We’ll need someone to do the boring shit: find tables, chairs, rentals, etc.
Mother has the decorations down already.
” He’s incredibly bored with this meeting, if not the whole event, yet he stands here, putting everything together.
Everyone here truly follows every word Mrs. Jay says?
“Normally, the newbie does that, don’t they?” Tom asks with excitement coating his tone. He smiles at me, and it takes everything in me not to raise a challenging brow. He wanna bet?
“Well, our newbie here is busy with something else, so Tom, find ten round tables big enough to fit five people at each—”
“Wait, that makes fifty targets when there're not fifty names up there…” Hank says, pointing at the projected lists.
Hank is a man in his late thirties maybe, with graying brown hair and a lean, crooked nose.
He was mid-process into creating a splint for the huge man sitting next to him, cradling his hand. I think his name is Roan.
“Strays will be placeholders throughout the tables to ensure that this event goes smoothly,” Enyo says, rolling his eyes. Gosh, he’s a lively one.
“Diora, we will need a drink strong enough to kill. Do you know what you’ll be preparing?” Enyo asks, raising an eyebrow. I watch each of their facial expressions.
“There are a few options, but one that is tasteless, pretty much undetectable, that I can grow enough by the time we put this event on: Oleander. We’re using oleander,” I say, thinking back to the corner of my greenhouse I have cleared for this special event.
Oleander is a flowering shrub, a beautiful pink and red shrub that affects its victim’s heart.
“The plant contains toxic cardiac glycosides which leads to death. It’ll be the most convenient to use, little to no mess.
The problem is getting our hands on it.”
“Just another thing on our fucking to do list, then, huh?” Elliot says, adding it to the slides.
“Don’t rush into the negative—” Enyo defends, but Elliot quickly interrupts.
His hot and cold game is running lukewarm and confusing me. He gets all in my personal space, telling me things I shouldn’t know, then acts like he hadn’t had his nose in my hair the day previous. I can’t decipher if he wants to be close or not.
“How do we know she can actually do it? Grow this plant and make enough to take out our targets undetected? Three months under Mother’s wing doesn’t make her some sort of super killer.
” Elliot doesn’t bother glancing at Enyo, but directly at me.
Like he’s arguing with me, when all I’m here is to do my job, as far as he knows.
As far as he knows, I’m another one of the damaged souls Mrs. Jay is recruited to be a hitman.
What has he found out in the last twenty-four hours that’s made him wary of me?
“Well, now that you brought her training up, Brother, Mother has assigned her under your wing.” Enyo sighs as he delivers the message, but the curses under Elliot’s breath don’t go unnoticed.
“I don’t know shit about plants.”
“But you know shit about murder. More importantly, how to get out of any situation, and she needs that kind of training.”
“Why doesn’t she run drills like everyone else?”
“Because she’s not everyone else. Mother explicitly said she wants you to take over her training,” Enyo says.
That gets Elliot to stop. For some reason, he’s compliant when it comes to Mrs. Jay—a woman he seems to hate.
He resorts to glaring at me, as if I told Mrs. Jay to assign my training to him.
As if I’d be stupid enough to ask Mrs. Jay anything and think he wouldn’t use said request against me. I bet, if I asked the woman for a cookie, she would give me a brownie, if she’d even give me anything in the first place.
“Everyone is dismissed,” Enyo says, waving his hands.
I stand, collecting my purse before slinking out of the room.
That is, until a hand grip my shoulder. I see Roan, the brute strength of the group with the broken hand.
I bet he could toss me through a wall if he wanted to, with his broken hand even, but his warm smile tells me he won’t.
Not right now. I can’t trust anyone yet.
“Welcome to the team, dirt digger,” he says. His green eyes shine bright against his tanned skin as he chuckles.
I only nod my head, watching the room to see if they picked up on the nickname he tried to give me.
“It’s Diora,” I say. Nicknames have never been my thing. I have a name, a full name, and I don’t like to be addressed by anything other than my name. Juliet calls me Dee, but Juliet is, and will always be, my exception.
“Blossom?” Tom calls as he passes us and heads into the hallway.
“Absolutely not!” Roan says. He shakes his head and scrunches his face, displeased with the nickname. My face breaks into a grin at the distaste of such a girly name. It would be the one name I’d probably like out of all the names they’d come up with.
“How about sprout?” another says. His name is Jones. He’s an Asian man with black hair and light skin. I’m not sure what his special skill is, but if I had to guess, by his top heavy body and lean legs, nimble fingers and sharp gaze, maybe… a shooter.
“None of you twats have a nickname. Her name is Diora to you,” Elliot murmurs, but it’s enough to get the group to settle down.
“Why don’t we go by nicknames? Nicknames would be so cool,” Tom asks.
“Because we’re not superheroes. We’re killers,” Enyo answers, his back facing the group.
“Diora, you’re coming with me,” Elliot commands. He surges toward me with a hand out to reach for my arm. I let him take it, liking the feel of his large hand wrapping around me. I grin, watching as his eyes narrow.
“Why?” I ask. I don’t see his motive. I don’t know if he’s working with Mrs. Jay or against her, but I’ve come to appreciate his truly pretty face. Elliot is a work of art. His strong brows and light brown eyes almost hurt to look at. His jaw is sharp and his cheekbones high.
“I’ve got to train you, don’t I?” This time, his brows rise, and I see the tiniest peak of his lip on the left side turning upward. He’s happy. His eyes spark a bit in challenge, and the thrill of excitement runs up my spine.
What kind of trouble are we getting into?