Chapter 2
Rhylan
Twenty-Four Years Old
CONFRONTATION.
Many things come to people’s minds when they catch wind that I’m a male dancer by trade. I’ve heard all the savory compliments since setting foot in this industry, and yet, not a day goes by that I’d reconsider my choice in career.
There ain’t nothin’ in this world that could steer a determined man like me away from livin’ his life to the fullest.
The Kerosene Cowboys had become a staple attraction on Broadway from the day it opened its double doors and rolled out the red carpet, especially for women who grew tired of the repetitive bar crawls and desired a more hands-on form of entertainment.
Hoping to get a quick nap in, I’d just settled on one of the couches in the locker room when Trent slid past me, yanking the tip of my boot in the process.
“Giddy up, Cowboy, the new owner just arrived, and we’re already late for his introduction.” I don’t remember hearing anything about a change in management.
“New owner? Since when?”
“Dunno.” He shrugged with pursed lips. “But he means fuckin’ business. Mister money bags brought two huge ass bodyguards with him. Dresses like an asshole.”
“Gotta name?” Sitting up, I dragged a palm down my face, failing to process what he was saying with zero caffeine in my system and my brain fogged from lack of sleep.
“I think I heard someone say Slate-something. Not sure if that’s his first or last name, but we’d better join the rest of the guys up front before he finds some stupid excuse to fire us.
God only knows what kind of power trip that man could be on today.
” Because the last thing I needed right now was a loss of what little income I already had… Goddamnit…
Pushing off the couch, I followed Trent down the hall and through the two-way door that led into the bar, silently creeping up behind the rest of the dancers that had formed a semi-circle around the new owner, already in the middle of his takeover speech.
“…and with this new arrangement comes a new standard of protocol for all existing Kerosene performers. Unlike those who will join later, your initiation into the Men Under Revue will only require you to complete one test instead of three.”
Protocol? Initiation? Men Under Revue? Tests? What the fuck?
“Hey, Silas… What’d we miss? Is that him?” Trent whispered over Silas’s shoulder just as we’d stopped at the far back of the group.
“Dustin Slate…” He murmured in response from the corner of his mouth. “The leader of some secret society that is taking over Kerosene, and it’s some intense shit… We’re all fucked.”
“As in our jobs?” I rushed out in a low whisper, while getting a good look at our new boss standing tall in an all-black suit, red silk tie, and radiating all the ‘don’t fuck with me’ energy that was physically possible.
“Try our lives…” Trent and I snapped our attention to Silas, his face turning grim with his words. What he was saying didn’t make sense, at least not in a realistic way. Why would new ownership threaten our lives? And how could they? Was that even legal?—
“Proving your worth by passing your test will establish your position among our ranks. Being a member of the MUR gives you not only power, but a wealth that is unparalleled for anyone in a career field such as yours.” Dustin held up his right hand, displaying a thick black ring on his finger.
“This represents membership and your loyalty to the brotherhood. And those who earn the honor to covet such a ring are your allies—your family.”
I was trying my damn hardest to take his speech seriously, but all that came to mind were the words ‘what the fuck’ playing like a broken record stuck on a loop.
Based on what was being said, I already knew we’d missed a lot of crucial information; this felt more like the end of the discussion rather than the beginning. Silas would need to fill Trent and me in on the blank details later. I’m sure he had to be just as confused.
“There are seventeen of you standing here right now, and hopefully by the end of the next three months that number won’t change.
But know that failing to complete your test, refusing to comply with our rules, or attempting to run will result in the same outcome.
You take our secrets to the grave from this moment forth.
How and when that happens is a decision entirely up to you. ”
Whoever this man was, wherever the fuck he came from, he wasn’t here to screw around and sign pay stubs. Stepping into work today was effectively signing your death certificate. Silas was right… We’re all fucked.
“Tests will be assigned based on current employment seniority. You will receive the details via text message when the time comes. Target elimination is a requirement, not a suggestion. But as for the method of execution, that choice is yours. This is where you must decide where your future and loyalties lie. If you have any additional questions, my guards Leo and Axel will happily answer them in my absence.” Elimination?
Execution? He did not just insinuate that we would be killing someone as part of our test…
“Good luck, and welcome to the brotherhood.”
The room remained silent as Dustin pivoted on his freshly polished heel and exited the bar, his guards standing like stone soldiers; still and unmovable. But the second those double doors shut, more than half the Cowboys erupted into a disarray of questioning, fear, and anger.
“What the fuck does he mean we take this shit to the grave?”
“Murder? They want us to commit murder—willingly?”
“Why were we not warned ahead of this meeting?”
“I’m not dying for that pompous piece of shit.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I watched the chaos from behind, the same thought running through my head. Trent tugged on my elbow, pulling my attention from the uproar that had continued to escalate by the second, and gestured his head with a slight tilt back toward the locker room.
Without a word, I followed his lead, ducking into an empty administration office at the far end of the lounge. Silas was already waiting for us when we stepped inside, shutting the door behind us and effectively muffling the rage-filled chaos from the bar.
Trent dragged a hand down his face, tugging at his jaw before turning to face Silas with hands on his hips and a perplexed expression on his face.
“Alright, so let’s start with you telling us what we don’t know, Silas. Because that did not just fucking happen. We did not just get involuntarily inducted into a secret society against our fucking will.”
“Believe it, Trent, because we did. We all did.” Silas gave a long-winded sigh; more denial than relief.
“Here’s what I gathered from everything he said before you two showed up…
We are the first in their expansion. You know those three revue shows in Vegas?
” He paused to check that we were all on the same page before continuing.
“Well, they’ve been running this organization for fucking decades—decades...
However, it sounds as though they don’t murder simply for the fuck of it; there’s a clear-cut reason for every death, and the compensation Dustin was explaining right before you two showed up…
” Silas blew a low whistle as he slid his hands into the front pockets of his wranglers. “I’m… not entirely opposed to this…”
A quiet moment passed over the three of us as we all processed, considered, and tested the idea.
“I guess… if I’m being honest—” Trent broke the silence first, his eyes wandering from the floor to the ceiling before connecting with mine. “I’m not either.” Un-fucking-believable.
“And so that’s just it?” I held my palms out, hoping that one of them would come out and tell me that this was all some fucking joke at my expense. “We’re all just going to go along with this? Killing for our paychecks?”
“While continuing to moonlight as Kerosene Cowboys? Yeah. We are.” Trent confirmed without a single hint of doubt in his tone.
“Rhy, I know you’re already working to justify doing this, and I can already tell you that Silas and I are going to see it through.
What could be better than being set for life while enjoying what we do? ”
“What about our morals?”
“Fuck ‘em.” A short shrug was all he gave in cold-blooded answer. “With the kind of cash we’ll be rolling in, we don’t need a clear definition of right and wrong. And as long as what Silas said holds true—that our targets deserve their deaths, I don’t see any other reason to question the decision.”
What the fuck do you say to that?
How do you respond to something like that? And I was struggling to justify his reasoning, but goddamn. The word ‘no’ drifted further away from my vocabulary the longer we stood there.
Trent had been working for Kerosene since it opened around ten years ago, and Silas started a year before I did. Both were in their early thirties, and if they, of all people, were open to the idea of becoming contract killers, then who was I to be the odd one out?
“So we’re doing this?” At least at the end of the day, I wouldn’t be alone; none of us were. Seventeen dancers and I fucking hoped that every single one of us would still be here by the end of the last test.
“Oh, we’re fuckin’ doing this.” Trent laughed, bringing Silas and me in for a group hug.
These two had become my closest friends since the day I started working at Kerosene, so knowing we had each other’s backs was already a massive weight off my shoulders.
If we were going to cross a line of moral boundaries, we might as well do it together.
I did, however, wonder how the rest of the team was handling the news; their muffled shouts from the other side of the door had quieted to nothing, hopefully due to agreement and not resistance.
“I guess the only thing left now is to figure out a method of murder while I wait for my text.” Never in a million years did I think that those exact words would ever leave my mouth.
“You’re welcome to join Silas and me at the gun range for target practice. I’m more than familiar with a 9mm and willing to teach.” I considered Trent’s offer, a sly smile pulling at the corner of my lips as an idea suddenly popped into my head.
“Nah... I’ve got a better idea.”
Time to make my father proud.