Chapter Six
KILLIAN
I strode through the restaurant’s main area to the private room at the back of Luminosity. The heavy oak door closed behind me with a soft thud. The space’s dim lighting cast long shadows across the rich mahogany paneling, creating an atmosphere of exclusivity and secrecy.
My mind still reeled from my encounter with Trissa. Her tear-stained face haunted me like a persistent ghost, and a primal, possessive need to fix her problems brewed inside me.
Jareth’s imposing figure was silhouetted against the backlit bar, his broad shoulders taut beneath his tailored jacket. He didn’t turn as I entered, but I knew he was aware of my presence. This was an area in which he and I were alike. We’d learned to be observant of our surroundings and had trained our bodies not to react outwardly.
I grunted a barely passable hello and joined him at the bar. The crystal decanter of Macallan Anniversary Malt 1928 50 Year Old Single Malt whisky caught the light, its amber liquid promising respite. I poured myself a generous measure, the liquor sloshing around inside the Glencairn whiskey glass, and gulped it down.
“Nice to see you too, Killian,” Jareth drawled, his voice carrying the customary edge of sarcasm. “You do realize that’s over two thousand dollars a glass and should be swirled and nosed before letting it sit on the tongue. Not gulped like a fucking heathen.”
I refilled my glass and tipped it toward him, then took a defiant swig, draining half of what was there. “Sorry,” I muttered, knowing I was being an absolute dick. “Had some unexpected business to attend to.”
Jareth’s dark gaze didn’t waver, and his eyebrow slightly raised. “And how is she?”
My head snapped up. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Jareth had an uncanny ability to read people, and somehow knew everything that went on in his empire, even if that included a dark hallway in his restaurant.
I shrugged, but the door swung open again before I could respond. The energy in the room shifted palpably as the rest of our crew arrived.
Jack Finn led the pack, his large frame dwarfing everything around him. The beard he grew during the NHL season was still in place, giving him a rugged, wild look. He grabbed a beer from the fridge behind the bar, popped the cap with practiced ease, and settled into one of the plush leather chairs around the poker table. “What the fuck’s going on now?” he asked, his eyes darting between Jareth and me.
Trey Oso was right behind him, a vision of effortless style in a bespoke suit he likely created. As Head Designer at Jareth’s Couture Fashion House, he always looked like he stepped off the runway. He poured two glasses of red wine, passing one to Luke Vega, a sought after Hollywood actor, before taking a seat. “Is it about that douche Peter again?” he asked, swirling the wine in his glass.
Luke said nothing as he sat down, but his piercing blue eyes regarded me carefully. It was like he already knew something, and the slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth made me uneasy.
Archer Loxley, our resident professional archer, the irony of his name was lost on no one, was the last to enter. Jareth passed him a tumbler of Macallen before they both took a seat. Archer’s callused fingers deftly shuffled a deck of cards as he asked, “Peter fucking Young. Why were we ever friends with him again?”
Our group was silent, the only sound was the rhythmic shuffling of cards. We all knew why. We’d met playing baseball for a state-wide team. At my insistence, Peter became a part of our group when he tried out and made the team after he was removed from his parents’ care when he was twelve. It went on like that over the years. Peter would get caught doing illegal shit, removed from his parents’ custody, and then his parents would find a way to get him and his sister back.
I growled, “You know Peter.” Not elaborating further. I wasn’t sure what to tell them. They all knew Trissa too, since she’d been at most of our games and practices.
They grumbled their agreement over what an asshole Peter was as Archer began to deal for our Texas Hold ‘Em game. The soft thwap of cards hitting the table punctuated the tense atmosphere.
I looked at my hand, two of clubs and seven of hearts. A trash hand.
Without looking at me, Luke spoke up as he pushed some chips forward. “And how’s Tris?”
I should’ve known by his cagy attitude that he had something he was waiting to say. “Fine,” I immediately recognized my mistake. That one word was as good as admitting I’d seen her.
Luke called Trey’s bet, the rattling of the chips filling the momentary silence. “Really? After ten years, all you have to say is good?” He tapped his chin. “Has it been ten years, though?”
I was in a piss-poor mood, and now I had something to fixate on. Well, someone. Luke and his stupidly veiled comments. “You got something to say, Vega?” I snapped, mucking my hand into a pile of discards.
He flicked his gaze to me, his expression fucking gleeful. “I’m just wondering why you’re not saying anything about that.”
“What are you two talking about?” Trey asked, his eyes narrowing on me as he raised the bet.
“It’s not a big deal,” I grunted, hoping they’d drop it. I retreated to the bar and poured myself another whiskey, the deep, rich mahogany catching the light.
“How is Trissa not a big deal?” Archer asked, disbelief etched into every line of his face as he called. “You were obsessed with her when we were kids.”
“I was not obsessed,” I muttered, taking a long sip of my drink. “Can’t we focus on the game? Do you all need to be the fucking Housewives of Rhode Island?”
Jack placed his cards face down on the table and leaned back in his chair, his chips plinking together as he toyed idly with them. “Dude.”
Jareth, the fucker, sat there not saying a word. He was enjoying the fact that I hated every second of this. Not for the first time, I wondered why we had ever invited him into our sacred circle.
I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck, already feeling the tension knotted there. “Tris and I talked,” I finally admitted.
The threat after the flop was a royal straight: Ace of hearts, King of spades, Ten of diamonds. Trey bet aggressively, his chips hitting the felt with a decisive thud.
“What the hell did she have to say after ten years of silence?” Jack asked, folding his hand—he clearly had no face cards. “I bet she’s boning that fucktard, Peter.”
White-hot anger surged through me. I lunged across the table, scattering chips and cards as I grabbed the front of Jack’s shirt. “Don’t you ever say shit like that about her again,” I snarled, my face inches from his.
“Here we go again,” Archer sighed, collecting the scattered cards. “Jack, stop antagonizing people and stop being a dick.” He elbowed Jack, who turned his stone-cold glare on his best friend.
“Thank God we don’t have real fucking money on the line for this game. You’d have messed up the pot and ended the night assholes,” Trey muttered.
Not that any of us needed the money. The game was a way for us to connect, but even more so the excuse we used to conduct our less than legal dealings.
I let go and eased myself back to my side of the table.
“Fuck you,” Jack spat. “We all know Killian was devastated when she chose that fucker. We were the ones that had to pick him up and put him back together. Excuse me if I don’t give a shit about Peter or Trissa.”
Luke sighed. “Jack makes a good point. Is it a good idea to start talking to her again?”
“I’m not exactly talking to her,” I grumbled, running a hand through the curls of my shoulder-length hair. I returned to my seat, the chair scraping against the floor.
“Are you fucking her?” Trey asked bluntly, crossing his arms. His expression made it clear what he thought about that idea.
“I’m not fucking her.” I tipped my head and stared at the ornate ceiling, tracing the intricate pattern with my eyes. “She wants me to love coach her or some shit.”
The sip Jack had taken spewed out across the table, dousing the cards and the green felt mat. Archer whacked his shoulder blades as he wheezed in his next breath.
Trey raised an eyebrow, dabbing at his sleeve with a napkin. “I think I speak for all of us when I say, what the fuck, Killian? And what the fuck is a love coach?”
I shook my head, reaching for the decanter again. “It’s teaching her how to attract guys.” I only knew what it was because of my conversation with Trissa and a quick online search as I walked from the restaurant to the back room. “I’m going to say no.”
“You haven’t already? This just keeps getting better and better,” Jack muttered, wiping his chin.
“Killian, you’re only lying to yourself,” Luke said softly, his eyes knowing and concerned.
I shrugged. This is why I didn’t want to say anything. I’d been devastated when Trissa chose Peter. It didn’t matter that I’d been the one to walk away without a word from our friendship. That I stopped hanging out with them, then stopped answering text messages or phone calls.
I’d barely slept or showered for weeks afterward. These men were the reason I got over that heartbreak and decided love just wasn’t fucking worth it if it hurt that much.
“Why?” Luke asked, as we all picked up the cards on the table and tossed them in a nearby garbage bin. Then he grabbed a fresh deck and dealt a new hand.
“Why what?” I groaned. I was already tired of talking about this. My head was a mess, and the heart I had successfully caged all those years ago was beating at the bars to be released.
“Why would you help her?”
I looked at my new cards: pocket aces. The irony wasn’t lost on me—going from the worst to the best blind—I pushed forward the little blind. “Honestly, I think if I do, maybe it will finally allow me to let go of her.”
“I get it.” Luke nodded, tossing in the big blind. “I’m afraid to ask who she wants you to help her with.”
I winced, and the table fell silent. The only sound was the soft rustle of cards as he checked his hole cards.
“No,” Jack pushed to stand, his hands on the table, towering over me. “No fucking way.”
I grinned, a humorless expression that felt more like a grimace. “I did have half a mind to say yes and fuck with both of them. To let her think I’m helping when really I’m just sabotaging her chances with Peter.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Trey frowned, his chips clicking together as he contemplated his bet.
“We’re all assholes to some degree, but if you do that there’s no coming back from it, Killian,” Luke reminded me, his voice soft but firm. “If Trissa found out …”
He didn’t need to finish that statement. “Maybe I’d want her to.” A sick, twisted part of me wanted to inflict the same hurt she’d dished out on me all those years ago.
“They deserve any pain he wants to rain down on them,” Jack growled, throwing his chips into the pot with more force than necessary.
Archer crossed his arms over his chest, his cards forgotten. “I’m with Jack. Neither one of them gave a shit about you, Killian. Go forth with the fuckery is my vote.”
The weight of their words hung in the air, as heavy as cigar smoke curling towards the ceiling. I stared at my pocket aces, symbols of strength I wasn’t sure I possessed anymore. “Can we just play? I’m done talking about the past. I didn’t come here for a therapy session,” I insisted.
Jack held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright. But don’t come crying to us when it blows up in your face.”
There was no response except for us to continue the game in relative silence.
Several hands in, Archer cleared his throat. “So, gentlemen, shall we discuss the real reason we’re here tonight?”
The atmosphere in the room shifted and an undercurrent of purpose ran through us. This was the other side of our gatherings, the part that went beyond friendship and into something darker, more dangerous.
A purpose created the day we ruthlessly went after the company Archer’s older sister Isabelle had worked for. She’d been victimized by the CEO, and the day she died Archer had found her diary explicitly detailing everything that had been happening for months. She’d endured the abuse because their family needed the money.
Without the funds and social standing, his family, who’d been barely scraping by, couldn’t hire a lawyer to fight such a well-respected person and business, so it was all swept under the rug.
Until we had the money and expertise to make Isabelle’s boss pay.
After that experience, we decided to continue our behind-the-scenes destruction, choosing people and companies that found ways to screw over the little people. Individuals and their associates that would never have been forced to pay for their sins if we didn’t exist.
Luke grinned. “I call this meeting to order. I want to note all the Merry Men are in attendance.” The asshole had dubbed our group that after we’d decided to call our shell corporation, Sherwood Inc, aptly named since we took from rich corrupted assholes and gave back to the people they fucked over.
Ignoring our eye rolls, Luke continued. “Trey, please share which target has been selected this month.”
“A 2-4 vote, for Zennial Corp., submitted by Archer.” We were not allowed to vote for our own submission to keep everything fair. “Archer, take it away.”
“Zennial Corp.,” he said, his voice hard. “They’ve been cutting corners on drug trials, falsifying data to pharmaceutical companies to make it through to the next rounds of testing putting lives at risk. They have various foreign research labs that on paper don’t seem to link back to them, so their negligence is far-reaching.”
“What else?” Trey asked.
“They’re massaging the numbers. Giving more participants the placebo so they can sell the rest of the product on the black market. Most of the drugs they’re selling are narcotics or psychotropic. And from what we can tell, they’re working with various drug cartels.”
“How bad?” I asked, leaning forward. I had a bad feeling about this and made a mental note to tell Judd.
“Bad,” Archer replied. “We can’t confirm numbers, but between their falsified data and using the drugs not for their intended purpose, people are dying and they’re covering it all up.”
“Jesus,” Luke muttered.
Archer continued. “They’re targeting low-income communities for their trials, preying on people who can’t afford more than basic healthcare.”
A heavy silence filled the room. We were all very familiar with the lack of health care the population they were using faced.
“So,” Trey said, his voice uncharacteristically grim. “How do we take them down?”
For the next hour, we strategized. Archer had already gathered a significant amount of evidence, but we needed more. We divided up the tasks, making a plan to gather intel using our contacts for inside information, assigned members to surveil the company and key personnel, and obtain access to high-level events, as well as using our combined tech skills to hack into their systems.
As the night wore on and our planning wrapped up, the conversation drifted back to lighter topics. But even as I laughed at Jack’s latest locker room antics and debated the merits of method acting with Luke, my mind kept wandering to Trissa. Not because I cared, just because her request was a complication I didn’t need.
Whatever I’d felt for Tris needed to be squashed. If I decided to help her—and that was a big if —it would be on my own terms.