twenty-five -Brynn- #2
“Magnificent, aren’t they?” McAllister runs his fingers over the fangs of a snarling wolf. “This old boy gave me quite the chase. Twenty miles through the Siberian wilderness before I cornered him. He was an alpha male.”
I swallow, trying to stop myself from punching him in the face.
“You tracked it yourself?” Ares asks, his voice filled with a polite interest that doesn’t suit him. Which he surprisingly manages pretty well.
“Every single one,” McAllister‘s chest puffs like a damn peacock. “I don’t believe in guided hunts. Where is the glory in shooting what another man has already found for you?”
I drift toward a display case holding smaller trophies, like claws and teeth, some of them even from a shark, I presume.
But I’m not here to admire his art. I’m looking for security cameras in case we’ll have to interrogate him in his home, and walking here, I’ve already counted four positioned poorly enough to create blind spots.
“My pride and joy,” McAllister says, gesturing toward a massive black cat, mounted on a rock formation.
Its fangs are bared in fury, and its muscles frozen mid-leap.
“Rare melanistic Jaguar from the . Locals called it a demon. Said it couldn’t be killed.
” He laughs, and I recognize something evil in it.
“Everything can be killed with the right weapon and enough patience.” His eyes slide to Ares, and I can’t help but feel there’s an implied threat hanging in his words.
Ares feels it too because I can see that vein on his neck pulsing. “An impressive philosophy,” he replies, matching McAllister’s stare without blinking. “Though I’ve come to learn that some prey is worth more alive than dead.”
“Maybe.” McAllister‘s smile is so fake now that he can barely keep it up. “Though nothing compares to the final moment when they realize they’re beaten. When they submit to your superiority.”
A knock interrupts what I was beginning to be afraid of turning into a standoff. Vivian appears at the doorway. “Sir, the other guests have returned.”
“Ah, my other guests took a few steps outside to admire the property while you were resting,” McAllister says with genuine interest on his face. “Let’s collect them, and then head to the dining room, shall we?”
We follow him back to the entrance hall, where five men wearing expensive outdoor wear are accompanied by women whose beauty is visibly perfected through surgical interventions and high maintenance.
The women barely acknowledge my presence, but I can definitely see all their eyes pointing at Ares, studying him from head to toe, with the same interest McAllister studies his trophies. Only they don’t want to kill him.
But I could definitely kill them. I’m not even sure anything would stop me.
Ares can sense my murderous intentions, and he wraps a hand around my waist, pulling me toward him in a gesture of claiming what’s his. Even if he promised to keep his distance. Make this look like I’m more of a bed warmer than the woman who owns every piece of him.
“Gentlemen, dinner is ready,” McAllister announces as the men and women take off their jackets and give them to a bellboy who appears out of nowhere.
Their eyes go to Ares, some of them even surprised he’s here, then their gaze lingers on me with something hungrier than just a regular greeting.
“Ares has accepted my invitation, and I think this weekend would be the perfect introduction to how we spend our free time,” McAllister announces and the men exchange knowing glances, like they’re communicating something beyond their words.
“And this is?” a silver-haired man in his late forties gestures toward me.
“Brynn,” Ares answers before I can speak for myself. “My company.”
“Company,” the man repeats the word. “How modern, not having an official title.”
I get the offense, but brush it off with a smile, imagining the ways I’m going to kill him while giving Ares an elbow in the stomach. Company my ass...
***
The dining room has old money written all over it. A large chandelier of antlers dominate its center, and below it, a table long enough to sit twenty, though only fourteen places are set.
Every woman claims the spot beside their companion and speaks only when addressed directly. Their presence feels decorative rather than social. Living trophies to complement the dead ones watching from the walls.
Under the table, Ares’ knee presses against mine, a sign that I’m not alone in this nest of vipers, especially as everyone at this table makes me uncomfortable.
The men who all seem to have similar ages, similar interests, and a similar expression printed on their faces—a false benevolence masking much darker things.
Or the women who, surprisingly, have all come to look alike, except for the different hairstyles and colors.
But their facial symmetry is nearly identical, like they form a taken-to-the-extreme Barbie club. And I’m definitely not fitting in.
There are multiple courses served through dinner, and I’m sure there is a Michelin chef behind them, but the food has no taste as the one of revenge invades every one of my senses.
Conversation flows around business interests, political connections, and mutual acquaintances.
But as the servers clear away our dessert plates, McAllister taps his wine glass with a silver spoon, silencing all conversation.
“Gentlemen… and ladies,” he adds, nodding towards the women.
“As is our tradition, I’ve arranged a special treat for Sunday morning.
A traditional hunt in the north woods of the property.
” His eyes sparkle with anticipation. “I trust everyone brought appropriate attire and will be attending. I have a few extra sets of gears in case anyone forgot theirs, especially since I wanted this to be a surprise for our new guests, Ares and Brynn.”
The men exchange looks, like this is something beyond the simple enthusiasm for sport. And the scarface man raises his glass. “To the hunt.”
“To the hunt,” they all echo, raising their glasses.
I can feel Ares’ gaze burning into the back of my neck. Sunday. That’s when we make our move. When everyone will be armed and scattered through the woods, we’ll get McAllister.
After dinner, the party moves to a lounge, where expensive cognac flows freely, and conversation between men turns more explicit when it comes to business. Some mentioned shipments, others even offshore bank accounts, their tongues being untied by the drink.
I can’t even begin to think what information these men have on one another, but the only thing I’m not hearing a single word about is Kharon.
“Enjoying yourself?” McAllister appears beside me, too close to my personal space. “Ares seems distracted,” he gestures toward my god, who seems to be in deep conversation with a guy. “Maybe you need better company.”
“I’m exactly where I want to be,” I reply, fighting the urge to step back. This isn’t like with Whitlock. I’ve already read him. He’s smarter, more dangerous. Just batting my eyelashes at him won’t work.
“Are you?” His fingers brush my arm, tracing one of the few scars Ezekiel left on my skin. “You seem to have survived much. One might even say you’re trophy worth fighting for.”
Before I can respond, Ares materializes at my side, his hand finding its place on my waist immediately.
“I’ve always been territorial about my possessions,” he says, not holding back the dangerous tone in his voice.
I want to kick him in the stomach and warn him not to blow this up—or to call me his possession—but I’m low-key enjoying this kind of protection a little too much for our good.
Still, McAllister smiles, like there’s room for negotiation. “As I am. But sharing select treasures with worthy associates—that’s the foundation of our organization.”
“That’s only for the hunt,” Ares snarls, then quickly recovers to a much more docile attitude. “Sunday… this hunt. What’s our prey?”
McAllister laughs like he just heard the right question.
“Something challenging. Something worthy of our skills.” His gaze drifts between us.
“Something that understands the true meaning of survival,” he smiles again, but this time, he takes a too longer pause.
“A 1,000-lb grizzly bear. Locals are terrified of it.”
“I love a good challenge,” Ares says as another man who needs to hear McAllister brag a little more about his hunting expeditions cuts in and steals the senator from us.
It’s not long before everyone retires, some citing the long drive, while others are just too hazy from different drinks.
As our door closes, Ares presses me against it, his body flush against mine, his mouth near my ear. It’s not passion this time, it’s caution. “I need you to get out of here tomorrow.”