by Elena Monroe
Just as I assumed, his office was empty. It was the first time I had seen inside, and I took advantage of it, wandering inside.
Framed photos covered the walls: a girl in a ski mask with fake lashes and smoke pouring from her mouth, a Bible on fire, and nude photos that didn’t make you uncomfortable, because you weren’t looking at someone in a vulnerable state, but rather, because they were beautifully deranged.
He didn’t have any extra furniture like Vic’s office did, only a desk with a laptop, one chair, and not even a phone.
Grimm was known for hating his job here, but I didn’t know he hated it so much that it translated to disrespectful.
I was lost in the art covering his walls when a sound flooded my ears, shaking me in my skin. It sounded like he broke something as my eyes scanned the room to see a black vase with red roses scattered on the floor. The vase wasn’t salvageable, but at least the roses were.
Quickly grabbing the half empty Fiji water bottle off the desk, I put the flower stems inside and put it back where it had fallen from in the meantime.
“You said be here in 30 minutes, and I was already late, making you very late.”
“That’s no way to talk to your new boss, toots.” He practically stepped over from, as I carefully picked up the pieces of the broken vase.
“Boss? What do you even do here? You blow off meetings, and you don’t shake hands or save face. You don’t even have a receptionist.”
“Don’t ask questions you aren’t ready to hear the answer to.” Strolling by me cleaning up his mess, he added on to the end, “My office is off limits. Don’t come in here without permission again.”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to crawl back to Vic and beg forgiveness. I wanted to quit right then and there.
Silently, I got up, holding the glass carefully in my hands and walking to the kitchen—a neutral area, away from my new boss. Dropping the glass in the trash and washing my hands, I felt a sting as the cold water hit my palm.
Great, not even a few hours at his desk, and he’s already drawing blood.
Hiding in the kitchen, I started to clean the counters, to go through the forgotten food in the fridge, and to toss and organize the small packets of condiments. Grimm didn’t even come find me or demand I do something for him.
Maybe this won’t be so bad if we just stay away from each other.
GRIMM
The fact that I stayed at the office for more than a few hours was a miracle in itself. I was bored to tears.
I had surfed the web, bought a new bulletproof vest, and browsed some porn sites, trying to take up some of my time, but the only thing that had my attention was Abigail on her hands and knees, cleaning up broken glass.
She vacated my presence like the room was on fire. I had to actually look around to make sure it wasn’t.
Abigail didn’t even know I was saving her life.
Ironic, isn’t it? Death saving someone from certain death.
Grabbing my phone from my desk, I debated finding her and giving her some pointless job to keep her busy, but it turns out I couldn’t force myself to care long enough to find her when she wasn’t at the plain desk outside my office.
I had better shit to do than waste my time here. Rub elbows with the corrupt, go to the shooting range, avoid my freak of a mom, go to therapy, avoid more people…
Anything but sit at a desk with nothing to do.
I was a caged animal in that office. No food. No water. Just me and my dangerous thoughts—the kind of thoughts that would drive a sane person mad.
My head was a horror movie—dark, twisted, unexpected, and pushing a lot of boundaries. Ones you didn’t know you even had.
Tucking my phone in my back pocket, I made my way to the front of the office, where the exit was, when Vic shouted my name from behind me. I decided to ignore him and keep going, but he shouted louder, making it hard to pretend I didn’t hear him.
“You ready for tonight?”
My bored expression turned into a grimace, waiting for him to explain whatever he had planned.
“Jesus-fucking-Christ, Grimm…” I watched him almost give up expanding on his disappointment when he pushed out a heavy sigh. “Forgot already? It’s the Hunt tonight.”
The Hunt.
Fuck.
A long standing tradition our families participated in up at the Estate tucked in the mountains, far away from any prying eyes.
It was exactly how it sounded: fucked up and an elitist game only we could play, because only we would get away with it. All you needed to play was a five million dollar buy in, a smile of advantages and connections.
Our four families hosted the event every year. We hosted royalty from other countries, political assholes, and entrepreneurs who were playing into our hands by creating the misdirection we needed to pull the strings without the world knowing it was us.
I had forgotten all about why Abigail was in my house uninvited this morning. Skipping the Hunt wasn’t an option, otherwise I would happily stay home.
“Maybe I’ll see you there.”
His hand landed on my shoulder, regardless of knowing how much I hated being touched. My glare bore into him, demanding silently for him to remove his hand from my body.
“Not optional, but nice try. We’ll all meet at your house and cruise together.”
Walking away, I waved a hand behind me having heard enough, just before Abigail said my name.
Jesus, could I not leave the damn office without being noticed?
Stopping without turning around, I snarled, “What, Abigail? What?!”
“Where are you going? It’s only 9:30 a.m.”
Vic never left early, and he never broke the rules unless it was to his advantage. He controlled the bodies around him like a control freak. I never had to be responsible for anyone else but myself. I didn’t even have a fucking pet.
I didn’t know what to tell her. She could do whatever she wanted, and I would sign the checks, just to not have to be responsible for her death.
My receptionist or... dead. We couldn’t fire people, just to let them loose into the world with our secrets. No, people who were fired were put down.
No one left the Clave that easily.
“And…? I’m leaving.”
“What do you want me to do then?”
Still walking away, I pressed the elevator button a few times, like it would hail the elevator faster. It didn’t. Pressing the button multiple times as an impatient prick doesn’t actually make the elevator come any sooner.
“Do whatever you want. I don’t care.”
She came right up to me, pissed off that I was giving her the easiest workday she had here, ever. “Are you kidding me? I’m your employee, and you have no direction for me?”
Finally facing her, our eyes met. “I have therapy. Do you wanna drive me?”
Her expression seethed something that no one dared to shoot my way: wrath.
“Exactly. Do whatever you want here then. I don’t care, but I don’t need your help with shit, okay?”
The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside, watching her eyes blazing with the urge to kill me, just before she also quickly stepped inside, a second before the doors closed.
“What is your actual problem, or are you always an asshole?” With her arms folded right below her perky breasts, she stood in front of the doors, blocking my only exit.
Taking a step forward, she flinched against the space vanishing between us. She was in heels, but was still at least four inches shorter than me in her cream colors that contrasted my all black sweats.
“Always, toots.”
Abigail’s face slipped into confusion at me agreeing with her. I was an asshole, born with a silver spoon, with no accountability, and molded into the monster I am right now.
I wasn’t ashamed, and no part of my face disagreed with me. My conscience, my morality, my introspect, and my retrospect all agreed: asshole.
“Then fire me…” Her voice wa
s cold and empty. Not threatening one bit, but it made me pay attention to every sound she made.
“No can do.”
“I don’t wanna be part of whatever fucked up game this is between you and Vic. I’ll just quit.” Her eyebrows wiggled at her threat.
“I’m not taking any resignations right now. Sorry.” The doors opened to the garage floor, and I pushed past her, heading for my McLaren that was matte black with glossy black flames. You could only see when the sun reflected off it.
Following me just like I hoped she wouldn’t, I sighed, heavily knowing she could hear me. Pulling on the handle of the door, I stood behind it, ready to jump in and take off after she clearly needed the last word.
“You can’t stop me from quitting.”
Grabbing her arm, I pressed her against my car with my husky low voice between us. “You aren’t quitting, and I’m not firing you. Is that clear? No one leaves the Clave unscathed, so if you feel like dying, then be my fucking guest. That’s on you.”
I felt her hips grind into mine as I pushed against her keeping her against my car. She wasn’t trying to create friction, but it was waking my dick. I wasn’t wearing any boxers under my fitted joggers, which didn’t help to cage my raging hard on.
Abigail swallowed hard, feeling exactly how hard I was against her. I expected her to push me away quickly, but she didn’t.
“You want shit to do? See who you really work for? Come with me to the Hunt.”
“The Hunt?” Her hands were on my chest, my grip was still around her elbow, and my dick was straining against the thin material.
“It’s an invite only event. Just be at my place by six. We have to drive up to the mountains.”
If she was going to work for me, she needed to know who she was working for. I wasn’t the rest of my brothers who lived, ate, and breathed the Clave enough for the darkness to be normal.
This kind of darkness isn’t normal.
Letting her arm go, I watched her shiver against the emptiness of me not being against her as I slid into my car and slammed the door closed. Rolling the pitch black windows down, I spotted her in my mirror, still against my car, trying to catch her breath.
After she pushed off my car, I pumped the gas, shooting straight back in the few inches between us.
She was dangerously close still, and one wrong move could have hurt her.
It would be poetic justice to die at the hands of a guy named Grimm—death having his way, after I had cheated him out of Abigail earlier.
Therapy was the same, as always. Quiet, suggestive… and then you scrape the bottom of the barrel for whatever you can get away with.
I used to barter with her a few years back, after she had taken me on when the previous seventeen kept handing me off to “someone more qualified”.
After bartering didn’t work, I tried to seduce her into just giving me my meds and letting the sessions go by the wayside. I even offered to keep paying her for the sessions I didn’t want.
After that didn’t work, I moved on to just staying silent. I now use the time to think, plan, or doze off with my eyes open.
It was pointless—talking about all the reasons why I’m such a fucked up person. What’s done is done. Short of a time machine, I was pretty sure no amount of “actualizing” my demons were going to exercise them away.
I was part of a goddamn cult who worshipped a God that was good and pure. You would think that should get me some clout, but it didn’t, because it doesn’t matter how you slice it: A monster is a monster.
Point-blank. Period.
“Jason, tell me about your social life?”
“It’s Grimm… for the millionth time. I go by Grimm.” I kept my eyes fixed on the poster of a generic beach, framed, that I’m sure her photographer husband or distant modeling career paid for. This was LA, and I was well aware of everyone being out for themselves.
“Okay, Grimm, tell me about your personal life.”
All these thoughts ran through my head all at once, making me smile. I didn’t normally tell kills my name, but last week I did, when I took care of a politician making noise for all the wrong reasons—reasons the Clave didn’t support.
That was enough for them. Piss them off, refuse to step in line, don’t kiss the ring… all reasons to send a text with your name to me.
“Making new friends? Trying dating again?” Her voice was smothered in honey and sugar.
“Yeah, I met the politician Dave Ernwest last week. He seemed nice enough.”
Met him was taking some liberties.
I confirmed his identity with a quick Google search on my phone, tied up his hands, and forced him to swallow the silencer on the end of my gun, while I unloaded my clip into his mouth.
“Did you make plans to see him again?”
Sure, if you can befriend the red kind of mist my bullets turned him into.
“No…” My mouth was still smirking, and my eyes were still fixed on the waves that weren't actually moving.
“How about dating? Meet any women? Trying any apps again?”
I sucked in a breath and rolled my eyes. Friends and girls were her answers to fixing me, grounding me to this reality. I had both, and neither fixed the damage inside my head. I knew that better than anyone who threw out that sloppy advice, yet the words came up as smooth as toxins wanting out of your body.
“I got a receptionist.”
“That’s wonderful! Working more closely with others can have a positive effect on how we view our self-worth.”
Last week, I worked very closely with my friends when we threatened the director of the FBI. Vic held him down, Khaos showed him the photos of his family so he knew we weren’t joking, and Bowen, well… he was just being Bowen, creeping around the guy’s house. I held the pliers to his fingers, tight against his knuckles. Hard enough to cut, but just not all the way.
I didn’t feel any amount of an increase to my positivity.
“That’s all our time today. You said you’re going away for three days, so I’ll see you Friday.”
Normally I see her every other day, but the Hunt takes priority. Showing your loyalty isn’t an option when it means living or dying.
I lived in LA, unlike the rest of the four who lived in Manhattan Beach, Palos Verdes, and Calabasas. I wanted to live in the thick of it. I didn’t want to be able to escape my life or take it off like a jacket at the door.
My house was tucked down a driveway that made me question having cars this nice. It was slightly up a hill and posed a problem if you didn’t know how to drive a lowered car properly.
Modern.
Lots of windows.
Private backyard I never used.
Bedrooms that were lifeless.
Plants and art my mother picked out, because she was overbearing.
Everything stark white, helping me contrast my darkness.
My closet seemed too quiet without her trying to sneak around.
Sneaking around Death’s closet seemed ironic. Vic set her up to fail, I just didn’t know why… yet. He eventually always shows his hand without trying.
Wearing a suit was the equivalent of putting me in a straitjacket. It doesn’t make me less crazy and feels too tight to begin with. At least Vic knew my taste enough to pick one out that was tailored and all black.
It was tradition that on night one, for dinner, we all wore suits with the snake pin attached to the lapel, showing proudly, like I was supposed to be.
The only people who were proud were the ones old enough to reap the benefits of being in a secret society. The rest of us weren’t privy to enough other than being their servants to the bigger picture.
Abigail never showed. No real shock there.
When you offer to see behind the curtain, most people don’t want to know the evil responsible for the world.
I would have thought less of her if she showed up here again, after me pointing a gun at her and being practically a stranger to her still.
At least
she had brains to match that beauty.
Driving up was the best part. The mountains were covered in fog, the thick redwoods closed you in, and the roads were anything but straight. It was quiet out here, until we let the haunted run wild.
That’s when the quiet shrieked and echoed in my head. Most people didn’t scream before death; that’s a misconception perpetuated by fear—fear the Clave probably planted in the first place.
We wanted you scared.
We wanted you to be sheep to the slaughter.
We wanted to manipulate you in the only way that made you think it was your idea all along.
And the problems? Well, I took care of those.
My father was a descendent of all the men that came before us—albeit, dead now, making him in charge along with Vic, Khaos, and Bowen’s fathers.
The Clave bloodlines of the four families were tied together for life. Hate them or love them, but choosing your family wasn’t an option here.
My father, Roman Rothschild, wasn’t your typical dad. He wore heavy rings, and you only ever noticed when they were back handing you for being smart. Roman wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty; he spent his youth in the same position as me: fixing, killing, lying…
Only better.
We weren’t cut from the same cloth though.
He enjoyed being the monster he was. I didn’t.
My car jarred against the small rocks covering the long driveway up to the estate: Balmoral Castle. It was bigger than actually needed gothic structure on a hilltop with no trees except to line the property.
It was beautiful, but held a lot of ugly. I made sure my outside, covered in tattoos, matched how ugly it was inside my head.
No deception here.
Putting my car in park along with the rest of the Porsches, BMWs, Audis, and other expensive toys, I sat there for a moment, contemplating not actually getting out until someone dragged me.
Fishing out the spare mushrooms I kept in the center console, I wondered if Abigail showing up at my house would have made it easier to focus tonight.
Protecting her instead of myself would have been easier.
Shoving a mushroom past my lips, I got out of my car in the suit I didn’t want to be wearing.
