Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DIORA
I didn’t think a kiss would get me invited to the most esteemed ball of the serial killer world. I never thought I’d be flying to Paris only a week later.
My lips tingle as I recall the way he pressed his lips against mine. Elliot is an intelligent man, a studier, a practicer. When he kisses me, it’s like I’m one of his subjects he’s memorizing. It’s… it’s lovely.
My gaze settles outside the window of the private plane. The white seats are pristine, and full, soft leather greets my skin. I am more than pleased with the accommodations and less pleased with the company I must share it with.
Elliot and I still have a part to play. Regardless of where my alliance stands, Mrs. Jay has to think everything is going according to her plan. Whatever that may be.
Paris is supposed to be hot in June, but this plane is at a temperature set below freezing. I pull the sleeves of my soft sweater over my hands as I slouch in my seat, turning my gaze from the clouds we’re above to the book in my hands.
“Diora, darling, how is your first plane ride going?” My eyes shoot to Mrs. Jay, who wears a light pink tweed suit and a smile that disguises the devil within her nearly perfectly.
I watch the woman who took me under her wing.
Whether through blackmail or bluff, she got me.
Honestly, she probably wouldn’t have needed the blackmail to get me to follow her.
A weak-minded little girl is all I am in her eyes.
A truth I couldn’t deny, not face on, not deep down. I let myself be the perfect target.
“Good,” I say shortly, keeping my eyes on her. I see the pocket knife peeking from her jacket and the white gloves slipping from her skirt pocket. There was no TSA to try to take that knife away from her. I guess that’s a benefit of flying private.
I tilt my head in wonder, though. She normally has the two switched. She never puts her gloves in her skirt pocket, so why today?
One object requires easy access, one doesn’t, so what makes this trip to Paris different?
“Nice, darling, since this is your first event with the Society, we must clear up a few house rules,” she says, smoothing her hands down her skirt before delicately crossing her legs.
“The Society has a lot of rules regarding their events. This ball, in particular, is important. If you don’t follow the rules, you are killed immediately. Do you understand?”
I remain silent as I stare at her. I nod my head a singular time which has her releasing a breath.
I’ve never seen her this way. She goes on to talk about the absolute no killing each other rule for the ball and the mask requirement.
Then the suggestion of making no kills while we’re in Paris.
She goes on and on as I stare at her, nodding when I’m supposed to.
“So, now that is out of the way, I’m glad you and I have a moment to discuss something that’s been boggling my mind,” she says, and my skin lights with nerves.
The one woman who has truly been able to scare me is her.
Hairs on my arms stand, but thankfully, she won’t be able to tell, since I have a long-sleeve on.
I raise a brow, and she takes that as her confirmation to keep going.
“How is the training with Elliot going?” I scrunch my brows and frown. I wasn’t expecting her to ask that.
“I was not asking the air; I’m looking for an answer,” she snips, and my head snaps back to her.
I set my book down in the plush seat next to me and sit up. Pressing my hands into my knees, I look at Mrs. Jay, tilting my head in thought.
“He hasn’t taught me much, honestly. Not yet, anyway,” I lie. We’ve been training every morning for about a week, and I’m surprised she doesn’t know that.
“Ahh, well, we don’t rush our teachings here anymore. It doesn’t always produce the results we want,” she says, picking up her tumbler of hot tea and sipping it.
“He’s yet to take on a one-on-one trainee. Most people are the softest with their first.”
“Soft?”
“Well, yes, failure is acceptable now. We don’t want to push too much, go too far and such,” she says, as if the information is obvious. “I need my Strays to snap—that’s what makes a good killer—but I can’t have my Strays snapping and killing themselves.”
I hold my face perfectly still, but the training here is so hard people are killing themselves? I mean, I guess it makes sense that the only way out of a hitman organization is death.
“Who was the first Stray you trained?” I ask.
“Elliot.”
“Were you soft on him?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“I’m not most people, darling. I was the hardest on him.”
“Yet, he’s not the first Son?”
“Having the hardest training doesn’t make you the best.” Nor the most loyal, I think, but keep that bit to myself. “I recruited Enyo first, but didn’t start training him until after I got started with Elliot. I didn’t want to break Enyo too quickly.”
She talks about them like dogs, and it makes my skin crawl. I guess that’s what the name Strays comes from, but… they aren’t dogs.
“Tell me, why did he invite you as his date to the ball?” she asks. I should’ve known this question was coming. I sigh and lean back into my chair. Still, I keep my eye contact with her, not wanting to give any indication I’m lying.
“It’s part of my training,” I say as I watch the emotion change on her face.
It moved so fast that, if I wasn’t already staring at her, I would’ve missed it.
The quick down-turn of her lip and narrowing of her eyes almost seem too obvious as I stare at her.
I wonder if she wants me to know she doesn’t like my answer.
Still, she fixes her face and smiles as she looks at me.
“What exactly are you supposed to learn from attending the ball?”
“What it’s like being at the top. He said this will signify the start of my training. Once I see what it’s like at the top, I will have to train like hell to make it here on my own.” The words flow like they’re mine. I watch as she eats up every word. He knows her more than she may like to know.
“Hmm. I did the same thing with him, you know. Maybe he takes after me more than I thought,” she says.
“Maybe,” I say, watching as she also leans back. I let a part of me slip. The me Mrs. Jay knew before I met Elliot. I watch as she takes another sip of her drink.
“Why are your gloves and pocket knife switched?”
“My observant little girl.” She laughs, a genuine laugh. A laugh I would think a grandmother could have with their grandchild curled in their lap. A laugh I would have no idea existed if I hadn’t watched cartoons growing up.
It startles me. I almost jump in my chair. Still, I wait for an answer.
“It’s to show I’m not a threat to the Society. No inkling that I’m here to cause trouble. A simple technique to show I’m here for a fun weekend.” She laughs some more, and I can’t tell if she’s telling the truth.
A stewardess comes into the main cabin—I think it’s called—of the plane to let us know the plane will be landing in Paris. I slide my seatbelt on and watch the clouds go by us as we land in Paris, France. Alive and unscathed. Let’s see if we’ll leave that way.