Conclave (Devil's Night 3.5)

by Penelope Douglas

  No, we can’t. We’re not criminals, and I have to constantly remind myself of that. We don’t break laws for personal gain. We do it for fun.

  We don’t have to kill him, but things can’t stay the same, either. “I want him gone. Out of Thunder Bay,” I tell Michael. “And out of Meridian City.”

  “We can’t buy him out,” he replies.

  “We won’t have to,” Banks interjects.

  Everyone stops, turning to her. The skin of her bare shoulders glowing in the candlelight, and I sit up in my chair, meeting her eyes.

  “He’ll give everything to us,” she says.

  I hold back my smile. My favorite thing about Banks is that she proudly refrains from bringing anything to the table unless it’s a solution. I’m listening.

  She turns to Michael. “Killing Schraeder Fane isn’t all your father is guilty of, to be sure. We’ll find something and use it to persuade him.”

  “Persuade him to do what?”

  “Seek life elsewhere,” she replies sarcastically.

  Michael shakes his head. “He still won’t leave quietly.”

  “Then we’ll take care of it,” Kai says, losing patience. “We’re only doing what’s necessary, Michael. We have kids to think about. Rika’s right. He can’t stay.”

  It takes a moment, but Michael finally looks up at me, and I know what’s going through his head. Yes, his father is dangerous. Yes, he’s hurt people immeasurably.

  But couldn’t we say the same things about ourselves? We’ve hurt each other. We’ve killed.

  The difference between us and Evans Crist, though, is that he acted out of greed and a lust for power. We’ve always acted out of what we thought was service to our family. Our true family. Evans barely acts with consideration for his wife and Michael. He won’t care about the rest of us. I don’t want Mads and Ivar anywhere near him.

  Slowly, Michael nods.

  “And I don’t want his name,” I add.

  He stills, his eyes slowly rising to meet mine.

  I know he probably feels targeted so far in this meeting, but I need it out, and better sooner than later. I’m not changing my name when we marry.

  His chest rises and falls slow and steady, but I can tell he’s fucking pissed. “I want you to have the same last name as your children.”

  “I will.”

  My heart pounds, because I don’t want to hurt him, but I can’t bend on this. It’s something I’ve thought a lot about. Why should I have to change my name? Who made that rule anyway? My father was a good man who left no sons to carry on the name. He deserves this.

  My last words hang in the air as no one breathes at the table, and Michael stares at me, the growing anger playing behind his eyes. I know I’m asking a lot. He was born with a name he thought he’d carry his entire life. He doesn’t have to change his.

  But I’m not changing mine. Michael and I are locked, but neither of us says more, probably because we don’t know what to say. He either wants to yell and doesn’t want to do it here, or he wants to throttle me.

  “Al…right,” Kai stammers, and I know he’s glancing between Michael and me. “We’ll… come back to that, then.”

  Everyone shifts around the table, but Michael won’t look away first, so I do. I’ll let him have that.

  “Will…” Kai says, moving onto the next subject. “What do we know?”

  Misha sits up. “The last text I got from him was months—”

  “Forget texts,” Kai states, looking around the table. “When was the last time we had a visual on him?”

  “Thirteen months.”

  We turn to Damon, his whisper hanging in the air as he rolls an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

  “And twelve days,” Alex adds. “He video called.”

  Thirteen months. I blink long and hard. Thirteen fucking months.

  “And we can rule out he’s not dead, because his parents aren’t worried,” I tell them.

  Misha pulls something out of his breast pocket and unfolds it, setting it down on the table. Damon immediately snatches it.

  “What’s this?” he asks, inspecting the sheet.

  “A list of males from wealthy and prominent families who have fallen off the grid and reappeared over the past thirty years,” Misha explains.

  Damon scoffs, flinging the paper over to Michael. “We usually deal in digital files here in the twenty-first century.”

  Michael takes the paper, scanning it.

  “And what good is interviewing a bunch of middle-aged dudes going to do?” Damon continues. “A. They won’t talk. No one talks about Blackchurch. And B. The location changes. Even if they did talk, they wouldn’t know where it was anymore.”

  “Maybe the location doesn’t change,” Misha argues. “Maybe that’s part of the story they tell us. And maybe Warner… Stratford… Walmart Cunningham III can give us a lead. Something useful. Unless you have a better idea?”

  “His grandfather,” Winter chimes in. “He’s the one who probably put him there to begin with, right?”

  Michael turns to Alex, plotting the next step. “Can you get in?”

  She laughs under her breath. “I don’t know why you think these men divulge state secrets to their whores.”

  “Because it’s worked before.” Damon grins, teasing her. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

  But I sit up. “No.”

  They all look at me.

  “We’re not using Alex like that,” I explain.

  At some point, she’ll finish her graduate degree, get a new job, and what will we do then when we can’t pimp her out? I’m not sending her to that old man.

  “Besides,” I go on. “Men like him don’t handle the details themselves anyway.”

  “His assistant, then,” Kai says. “Jack Munro. He’ll know everything.”

  “And if he won’t talk?” Misha retorts.

  “I’m sure information is more forthcoming when you want to put someone in there instead of take them out,” Alex mumbles.

  The table falls silent, but I see a slight smile curl Michael’s lips.

  “What?” I ask.

  He quickly hides his smile and shrugs. “Nothing.”

  But I watch him for a moment. He’s thinking something.

  Alex draws in a breath. “I’ll ingratiate myself to Senator Grayson’s assistant as soon as Conclave concludes.” And she meets my gaze before I can say anything. “I’m doing it, Rika.”

  I swallow my argument, not happy putting her into the position, but it’s Will, and I know she’ll do whatever it takes at this point.

  Winter sets her hand on the table. “And if we find Blackchurch, and he’s there, how do we get him out?”

  “We need to know what kind of fortress we’re dealing with first,” Banks tells her. “If the stories are true, they’ll have free run of the house and grounds. If we’re able to get to them, then they’re also able to get to us.”

  The table falls silent as Banks looks around at each of us.

  “There’s a reason Blackchurch is like that,” she continues. “Why it’s not simply a luxury spa with locked cages and guards. Why they’re left alone as if they’re dogs thrown into a pit to eat or be eaten.”

  Images flash in my mind of what she’s describing, and how, at this moment, Will could be sitting in that place. My head falls.

  “They’ve burned their bridges and decided not to be part of a family,” Banks goes on, “so now they’ll learn their place in the natural order.”

  The natural order. Tough love on crack. They have their needs provided for. Food, shelter, medical attention, if needed… But otherwise, they’re completely alone and…at each other’s mercy.

  “They will have resorted to base instinct,” Banks tells us. “Their lives are about survival now. The rest of the world does not exist anymore. They’re a system of their own with rules and laws…” She pauses. “And consequences.”

  She might know more about Blackchurch since G
abriel considered sending Damon, or she might just know what happens to dogs in cages. Either way, I know everything she says is true.

  “They’re hoarding food,” she says, “each one of them fighting for their share. They’re forming alliances to protect each other, and they will have made weapons with whatever’s laying around.”

  My chest constricts.

  “There will be an alpha,” she continues, “and Will…will not be it.”

  None of us speak as, I’m sure, everyone’s mind is going to the same place as mine. Imagining Will and what he’s possibly living through right now. Those men are not his friends. Will isn’t strong by himself.

  He isn’t Michael. He isn’t Kai.

  “I’m going to be sick,” Winter chokes out, tears filling her eyes as she rises from her seat.

  Damon gets up, takes her hand, and they both leave the room.

  The door closes again.

  “How did we let this go for so long?” Kai breathes out.

  “We fucked up,” Misha says, his eyes now more worried than ever.

  But Ryen chimes in. “Will’s okay.”

  Alex looks over at her, a tear falling down her face. “How do you know that?”

  “Because he has an advantage over those other prisoners,” she tells us. “He’s been in prison already. He’s done this before.”

  I tuck my lips between my teeth and close my eyes, trying to calm myself. She’s right. I swallow and try to unknot my fucking stomach. If Will is there, he’s alive.

  “Jack Munro,” Michael says, looking at Alex. “You make contact, and we want to hear from you as soon as it’s over.” And then he repeats, “As soon as it’s over.”

  She nods.

  “Let’s take a break, then,” he tells us.

  The room suddenly feels too tight, and I push my chair back as everyone rises from theirs. I need some air.

  The food on the table sits uneaten as everyone drifts out the door to stretch their legs. I turn to leave, but someone grabs my hand, stopping me.

  I look up at Michael, both of us silent as the room slowly empties.

  “Say my name,” he whispers.

  The vein in my neck throbs.

  “Michael,” I say.

  “That’s not how you say it.” He inches closer, taking my face in his hand. “How you’ve always said it.”

  I want to look away, because I can feel the tears at the back of my throat. I want to tell him. I want to get rid of this pain and fear, but… Our future looks perfect. I’m about to change it.

  And I can’t.

  We’re in love. Right now, in this moment. Things change in seconds, and I can’t.

  “Where did you go?” He searches my eyes. “Where are you right now?”

  I feel my chin tremble.

  “There’s something else you’re not telling me.”

  I open my mouth to say it. Or kiss him or anything, but I...

  I have all night. I can’t yet.

  Pulling away from him, I turn on my heel and charge out of the room.

  “Rika!” he barks.

  But I don’t stop. I swipe the tear off my cheek just as it falls and make my way out toward the sun deck, passing through the lounge area where everyone is congregating on the couches with a drink.

  I stop at the edge, peering out over the black ocean, a white beam of moonlight spreading into the horizon. The wind blows through my dress, the chilly air doing nothing to soothe my nerves.

  Just let me make love to him one more time before I fuck everything up.

  “How far out are we going?” someone suddenly asks.

  I blink away my tears, looking over my shoulder at Ryen.

  “The boat’s been moving for a few hours now,” she points out, laughing a little. “We must be far enough out. No one is escaping to shore at this point.”

  I turn back around, fixing my eyes on the sea. “I told them not to stop until they hear from me,” I tell her. “Or we hit land.”

  “The next land is Ireland,” Misha says.

  I force a smirk. “Then we better work fast.”

  Actually, Misha and Ryen can probably sit the rest of the night out. Their business is done, and they certainly won’t need to hear the rest of what goes on. The Cove. Damon’s inheritance. His plans to put Banks in D.C., which he thinks I don’t know about, but really, it makes perfect sense.

  Will’s grandfather spends most of his career staying in power, and while Damon’s motivation isn’t entirely selfless, Banks would be suited for it. Once she finishes her degree, he’ll convince her to run for state legislature until she’s thirty and old enough to run for Senate. Everyone perfectly positioned to make the world how we want it to be and connected enough to keep making money. It’s shady as hell, but she won’t be bad in that office. Not bad at all.

  If she goes for it, that is. Unfortunately, I foresee a huge fight first.

  I turn around, seeing Damon enter the lounge, and I grip the railing behind me. “How’s Winter?”

  “She’s okay,” he assures, carrying a box to the table. “Just freshening up.”

  He plops down at the table, across from Misha and Ryen, and turns his attention to them.

  “Babysoft,” he teases and dumps a box on the table in front of Ryen.

  “What is this?” she asks, opening it up.

  She reaches in and pulls out an ornate, black eye mask made of metal with black ribbons to secure it around her head. The design allows for her skin to peek through the gaps and has exotic holes for the eyes. It’s more a masquerade-type mask than what we wear. It’s beautiful, though.

  “It’s the girl who comes out when you and Misha are alone,” Damon explains. “It’s for when it’s dark and private, and he wants to do fun things with you.”

  Misha takes it out of her hand and sticks it back in the box. “No.”

  Damon laughs, amused but not shocked. Or fazed.

  “Just let her try it on.” He pushes the box back to Ryen and looks at her. “Later. When you’re alone. See if you like what comes out.” And then he turns his gaze back to Misha standing up. “See if she hears it. Maybe you’ll hear it, too.”

  They don’t ask what he means, but I know. L’appel du vide. Winter’s philosophy of who we are and what brings us together. Maybe Misha and Ryen are more like us than we thought. Maybe everyone is. Given the chance.

  But Misha just sighs and pushes his chair back, getting up. “I need to be drunk to deal with you.” He walks to the bar.

  Damon follows, making himself a drink, but he doesn’t bug Misha further. I glance at the doorway, noticing Michael hasn’t followed us. He’s probably ready to wring my neck.

  I cross the lounge and step into the head, closing the door. But it catches, and I look up, seeing Kai slip in behind me and quickly shut the door.

  My eyes immediately sting, and I didn’t realize how hard I’m holding back until I’m alone with him. He approaches me in the quiet, secluded little space in front of the sink and takes my face in his hands.

  He looks at me, and my eyes water.

  “I know,” I whisper. “I know.”

  “You’re torturing both of you,” he says. “Tell him.”

  My chest shakes, and I try to look away, but he doesn’t let me. He holds my face in place.

  “It has to be in private,” I tell him. “He’ll be angrier if I put him on the spot in front of everyone.”

  “He won’t be angry.”

  He’ll be in a terrible position, though. One where he’ll be between a rock and a hard spot, and I’d be asking him to make a choice where both options leave him giving up something he wants.

  I need to make the choice for him. I always knew that.

  I let my head drop, slowly falling forward into Kai’s chest. “It would kill me to see him with another woman,” I whisper. “What if he marries someone else, and I have to live in Thunder Bay and see them?”

  I start to cry, feeling his arms circle around me, and I b
reak down, the dread and anticipation sitting in my stomach and making me sick.

  Kai whispers against my hair. “Shhhh…”

  But the door suddenly swings open, and we pop our heads up. Michael stands there, and the look on his face makes my stomach sink. He bares his teeth, grabs Kai by the jacket, and hauls him out of the bathroom.

  I gasp as he throws his friend back into the lounge, Kai crashes into the table, the vase on top sliding off and breaking on the floor. Ryen yelps, scurrying out of her seat and out of the way.

  Michael charges over to Kai, grabbing him again and fisting his lapels.

  “Whoa, whoa, stop!” Kai growls.

  “Michael, stop!” I yell.

  He shakes Kai, shouting in his face. “What the hell were you doing?”

  “We were just talking!” Kai tells him.

  Damon stands frozen, watching but ready, while Misha, Ryen, and Banks look on with worried stares at the scene.

  Michael leans in, speaking low in Kai’s face. “You don’t touch her.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Kai argues.

  “Then what was it like?”

  This came from Banks, and I turn my eyes on her, her doubt stinging.

  Michael throws Kai off, breathing hard, and Kai looks at Banks, fixing his suit and looking exasperated.

  “Just hold up, okay?” he tells everyone. He’s not sure what to say to explain himself to his wife and protect me at the same time. I put him in that position.

  I step forward. “Michael…”

  “Fuck you, Rika,” he says, cutting me off.

  He stands up straight, turning his attention on me, and I tense.

  “Fuck your power, your schedule, your assistant,” he tells me, “your fucking little entourage everywhere you go, your plans, and your chess games. I gave you too much power.”

  I can’t move. Slowly, the bricks of every moment we built together start to shake, and I don’t know if I’m more shocked by his sudden disdain, or the fact that he actually thought Kai and I were…

  “And you know,” he goes on, “I wanted this. I wanted you to own it. I didn’t want another version of my mother. Silent, docile, living separate lives. I wanted my other half.” He looks at me, and I don’t see love anymore. Just hurt. “And I got it,” he says sadly. “When I look in the mirror, all I see is your face. I can’t tell the difference anymore.” He hesitates and gestures to Kai and Damon. “I’m all about you, and you…? You talk to them, instead of me.”