The Misters: Books 1-5 Box Set

by JA Huss

  I give Ariel a shrug when she looks at me. But she says nothing else. Just continues down the hall and leads us to the other girls.

  “Finally,” Mariel says, letting her long white coat drop down her shoulders. She hands it to Ivy, ever the polite hostess, and then sinks into a chair at the dingy round table covered in dust. “I hope you all have a few hours,” Mariel says, looking at each of us in turn. “Because this story is complicated and long.”

  We look at each other nervously, but eventually every head is nodding the affirmative. We’re ready.

  “The Silver Society,” Mariel starts, “was first conceptualized in 1909. It was a small group of high society people with ambitious aspirations for the world. A United States congressman, a high-profile lawyer, a distinguished scientist, an entrepreneurial millionaire, and the president of the New York Stock Exchange were among the group’s founding members.”

  “I thought the Silver Society were all women? Women did all this back then?” Cindy asks.

  “No,” Mariel says, looking at her with a small smile. “The Society was men at first. But there were…” she pauses for a moment. Like she’s trying to choose her words carefully. “Extenuating circumstances that first year. An accident that killed six people. These six people, to be exact. But the wives were invested in their husbands and they carried on.”

  “Wow,” Ellie says.

  “Then what?” Ariel asks, ever impatient to get to the point.

  “That was the start. These women took on the newly formed Silver Society and made it their own. But it was a man’s world back then. So they could only invite other women in.”

  “So how did they get anything done?” Ivy asks. “I mean, if they didn’t have any real power? How did they get so strong? And last so long?”

  “They got new husbands,” I say in a low voice.

  Mariel smiles at me. Another warm and comforting smile. Everything about that smile makes me feel better. I trust her. I do. The only reason I’m still here fighting is because of Mariel Hawthorne. “Yes. They remarried and restarted. All prominent men, just like their first husbands. You see, that is the whole point, ladies. The Silver Society is made up of women on the inside, but men on the outside.”

  We all sit still thinking about this for a few seconds.

  “The ladies are carefully chosen from Ivy League schools at the start of senior year. And those ladies are initiated based on their choice of future husband.”

  “So the women have to bring a man in with them. Like partners,” Tori says.

  “Exactly,” Mariel replies.

  “And the men are all well-bred racehorses,” Ivy continues.

  “Very well-bred,” Mariel adds. “Very well-educated. From very wealthy and prominent families.”

  “Like Nolan,” Ivy finishes.

  “And Mac?” Ellie asks. “But how do we fit in, Mariel? Ivy is well-educated, but not wealthy. And I’m not really either of those things. I went to a small liberal arts college.

  “This is where are our problem starts,” Mariel says. She takes a deep breath and exhales. “The Misters were set up by the Silver Society and I’m afraid it’s all my fault.”

  “They wanted Paxton,” Cindy says. “They wanted you,” she corrects herself. “And you got out somehow. You got pregnant with Charlie Vance’s child so they wouldn’t want you. Is that what happened?”

  “That’s how it started. I was tapped in senior year to be one of the lucky ladies. To Pledge Silver, as they call it. But I had been warned by another woman, whom I had known during my formative years at boarding school.” Mariel looks at Ivy. “It was Nolan’s mother. She was on track to marry into the Delaney family but she had gotten word about these Silver people from someone else and we both refused. I got pregnant and she told the Delaney’s all about her invitation. They took care of it from there.”

  “Good God,” Ellie says. “Please tell me that the reason Mac’s parents are dead—“

  “I’m afraid so, my dear,” Mariel says in her mothering way.

  “This is all about you guys not joining? They set up your children?” Ivy asks.

  “Wait,” Ariel says. “Just hold on. Oliver doesn’t come from anything like this, Mariel. Our parents don’t fit this selection process. I mean, they went to college, but it was local. And we have money, but we build bikes, for fuck’s sake. And have a tattoo shop.”

  “They were never after Oliver, Ariel. Think, girl. Who would they want?”

  “Five,” Cindy whispers. “They wanted Five, not Rory.”

  “Yes,” Mariel says. “Your sister was a victim because they wanted the Aston family in the Society. Rory was a way to get that.”

  “But they didn’t get it,” Ariel says.

  “Did they really kill her?” Cindy asks. “Claudette told me that if you don’t join, then you have to eat a poison wafer.”

  “They came up with that solution after what happened with Nolan’s mother. She was far too public about it.”

  The tension practically makes the room heat up. I can’t help but wonder if Cindy and Ariel blame Mrs. Delaney for their missing sister.

  “So she’s dead?” Ariel asks bluntly, the tough girl in her taking over.

  “I have no idea, Ariel. If I did, I’d certainly have told Cindy when we first met.”

  “So the girl, that night they were all accused of rape?” Ellie asks. “She was in on it? And they are the ones who killed her later? When things didn’t go as planned?”

  “Because Five showed up,” Ariel says with a sigh. “And he was too smart to take their bait. They never understood him, did they?”

  She’s looking at Mariel, but Mariel only shrugs. “I don’t know him.”

  “Well, we do,” Cindy says. “And he’d never, ever give in to something like that. He’d figure a way out, no matter what it takes.”

  “And he’d save Rory in the process,” Ariel finishes.

  “What’s happening right now, ladies, isn’t about Five and Rory. It’s about Ellie and Mac. Ivy and Nolan. Tori and West.” She looks at the Shrike sisters. “Cindy and my Paxton.” And then Mariel finally looks at me. “My Katya and Oliver.”

  My Katya. God, she makes me feel all warm. What would I have done without Mariel these past few years? I don’t even want to think about it.

  “But,” Tori says in a very small voice that has no place coming out of her mouth, “what about West? None of this makes any sense when you look at West.”

  “No, Victoria,” Mariel says. “I’m afraid none of it does. And Weston Conrad is the real reason things have gone so wrong once again. Because Claudette Delaney was actually Claudette Conrad Delaney. And in both families, she was cut out. Illegitimate from start to finish.”

  “So…” Ivy is trying very hard to put all these pieces together. “Claudette is Mrs. Conrad’s daughter? And Weston is…”

  “Weston is no one,” Victoria says in a very sad voice. “Weston’s parents are both dead and even if they were alive, those Silver people would not let them live.” She looks up at Mariel, frowning. “They’re not going to let West live either,” Tori says. “Are they? They’re going to kill him. That’s why they’re here. The Conrads are going to get rid of him once and for all.”

  “No,” Mariel says. “Not yet, dear. Not until he gives them what they need.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine - OLIVER

  What happens next is a shit storm of epic proportions.

  Apparently, if you know the right dirty reporter, forty-five G’s is enough to get you on every cable news channel as breaking news. In fact, the coverage is so thorough Mac and I go looking for more TV’s and remote cable hoppers until we have every TV in the building hooked up in my office on the fourth floor and they are all going at once.

  It took about thirty minutes for the second outlet to pick up the story. After that it was a race for details. In fact, two hours later there are news vans cruising up and down College Avenue, apparently enthralled not only with tryin
g to find a good place to do a live broadcast, but also the haunted house across Jefferson Street, at the FoCo Theater.

  We get paranoid at that point and draw the curtains on my window so they don’t know anyone is up here.

  My mom and dad called. In fact, all of us get calls from family and friends.

  We don’t answer any of them. But I do send a text to Ariel: Don’t. Panic. That’s a code phrase we’ve had since we were kids. If something is going wrong, we let each other know not to panic with a single text and no follow-up.

  So hopefully she is spreading the word discreetly, to all those who matter.

  The headlines start out with the basic facts. Mr. Corporate is dead.

  But it doesn’t take long for that to turn into an entire recap of that fateful night eleven years ago. Old footage of us resurfaces, old allegations are rampant. And soon, it’s all tied into the little fiasco that happened out at Hundred Palms Resort. Claudette is introduced. And apparently reporters have been working hard these past few days. Because they have a whole timeline—or what they think is a timeline, because they get most of it wrong—leading up to the fire and shooting out in the desert.

  The resort has been closed since Ivy and Nolan came to town two days ago, but there are local reporters out there too. Talking up insane theories about satanic rituals and devil worship.

  Whatever.

  “I hope West is holding up OK,” Nolan says, his foot tapping out of control on the hardwood floors.

  “Why wouldn’t he be?” Mac asks. “He doesn’t even have a TV.”

  “That place is crawling with people,” Nolan says. “That basement isn’t very secure.”

  “No one will go down there,” I say, thinking it through after the words are already out. Nah. “He’ll be OK. Cindy can slip in tomorrow morning with water and food and a change of clothes. Hell, if Victoria wants to go hang out down there with him, she can.”

  “No,” Mac says. “She’s gonna need to be visibly upset if this is going to work.”

  Pax comes up the stairs from the third floor, where he’s been trying to contact Liam since this all started.

  “Any luck?” I ask.

  He nods. His face is dead serious.

  “What?” Nolan asks. “What happened?”

  “I got a meeting.”

  “When?” Mac asks.

  Pax comes over to my desk, glancing at the drawn curtains and then all the TV’s. “Tomorrow morning. He’s flying in. He’s gonna tell me where to meet him once he gets here.”

  “Did he ask for a pinky toe?” Mac asks, trying to lighten Pax’s mood.

  “No,” Pax says with a heavy sigh, dropping into the chair in front of my desk. “He asked for Victoria.”

  “Fuck,” Nolan says.

  “What should we do?” I ask.

  “Not involve her, of course. We’ll just have to show up without her and see how it goes.”

  “Did you tell him you’d bring her?”

  Pax starts to shake his head, but it turns into a nod pretty quick. “I didn’t have much choice if I want the meeting.”

  We’re all silent after that.

  “We won’t, though,” Pax says, trying to convince himself.

  “We should all go home,” Mac says. “You and Cindy should stay at Ariel’s house tonight. I think Victoria might need the support.” He looks at me next. “You too, Shrike.”

  But I shake my head. “No. I made plans with Katya tonight. I left a message for her but… she’s probably with Ariel and she’s probably been told not to reply.”

  “So you should come with us,” Nolan says as he peeks through a crack in the curtains to look down on the street.

  But I don’t want to get stuck over at Ariel’s house tonight. There is safety in numbers, but there’s also safety in a well-fortified house. And even though Ariel is part owner of ShrikeSafe Security, my house is much better fortified.

  I want Katya with me and I want us both over there, behind my wall and gate, inside my brick building with floor-to-ceiling bullet-proof, mirrored, garage-door windows.

  “Do you think they’ll follow us if we leave the back way?” Mac asks.

  “Only one way to find out. Unless we want to be stuck here all night,” Pax says.

  “No,” the rest of us reply together.

  We look up at all the TV’s when more breaking news banners flash across the lower third.

  “I think I know where Katya is. And she’s probably cold, so if you guys are ready…” I get up from my desk and start turning the TV’s off. “Let’s head out.”

  I turn the lights out as they shuffle down the stairs, all moods somber.

  We did it. We killed Corporate and we bought a reporter and it made national headlines within a few hours.

  We’re winning, right? Our plan is working, right?

  So why do I feel so fucking afraid of what’s coming?

  Chapter Forty - KATYA

  I’ve been waiting at the church for two hours. I wanted to go to Oliver’s place, but Ariel was adamant that I not. She told me to go home. So did Mariel. And I agreed, but I came here instead. There are two places Oliver will go looking for me right now. On the bus stop bench outside his house where I’d wait if I wanted to hang out with him and have sexy times. Or here, at the church, where I’d wait if we were meeting in secret.

  I think tonight totally counts as a secret meeting. So I don’t care how cold it gets, or how long I have to stand here, huddled up in the shadows of the gothic arches overhead. I will wait until he comes to find me.

  Mariel’s story was long and complicated, just like she promised. But it was the call from Ariel and Cindy’s father that shocked the hell out of everyone in that room.

  Mr. Corporate was dead.

  Victoria broke down crying hysterically. The strength inside her—strength that radiated out from her like a suit of armor—melted away in one instant. We pulled up the pictures of West online. Shot in the head.

  Oh, God. I can’t even think straight. That moment… God, poor Victoria.

  But then a text came in for Ariel. Don’t. Panic. That was all it said. It was Oliver.

  Of course, it said a whole lot more than that after Ariel explained what it meant. And even though we had no details, we convinced Victoria that West was OK. We talked her into it. We talked ourselves in to it. We had to believe that they knew what they were doing. That it was fake. Mr. Corporate was not dead. He can’t be dead. Because if he is, then all the Misters can die.

  It was a sobering thought for everyone. And if Mariel wasn’t there to herd us together into one solid wall of bricks, we’d probably have fallen apart.

  I hear the Camaro before I see it pull around the corner, and I’m on the sidewalk in an instant. He barely stops the car before I’m pulling the passenger side door open and slipping inside.

  He drives off without a word. We stay silent all the way back to his house. He enters the fortress the back way, like he did last night, the gate opening, closing. Then the garage doors.

  When the door is finally shut behind us and we’re sitting in the dark, he grabs my hand. “It’s OK,” he whispers. “West is OK. You’re OK. We’re all OK.”

  I look at him, looking at me. He is lit up only by the dim, greenish glow of the dash panel lights behind the steering wheel. “This is it,” I say. “We’re in that moment for real this time.”

  “No, Kat,” he says, shaking his head and squeezing my hand. “This isn’t it. Not at all. We’ve got the whole night ahead of us. And we’re safe here.”

  I look away. Look out the window at the walls of the garage.

  “Come on,” he says. “You hungry? How long were you standing out there waiting for me?”

  “Long time.” I sigh. But I get out. Because he’s the only thing that makes tonight better. He’s the only thing I have that’s going right instead of wrong.

  We close our doors at the same time. They clunk, the way old cars do. And then I meet him at the front o
f the car and he takes my hand again, leading me to the door. We are in the garage closest to the main living area, so we don’t need to pass through any more before we are safely inside.

  He flicks on the lights, but I flick them off. “No,” I say. “I don’t care if the windows are mirrors at night. I can’t be in here if the lights are on. I feel way too exposed.”

  “Maybe just one or two, then. Hmm? How about this?” He walks over to the buckeye tree and slips a switch on the wall. It lights up the trunk, but just barely. And it casts shadows on the glass ceiling twenty feet above it. “Is that OK?” Oliver asks.

  It’s too pretty and perfect not to be OK. So I nod. “Yeah. I think so.”

  “Are you hungry?” he asks, walking towards the kitchen and opening the fridge. “I’m starved. We should’ve gone through the drive-through.” And then he looks over his shoulder at me and smiles.

  God, he has the most charming smile ever.

  “I can make you grilled cheese. Want some grilled cheese? And tomato soup?”

  I laugh as I walk over to him.

  “I bet you thought I forgot,” he says, letting go of the fridge door to cup my face with his hands. “I forget nothing about you, Katya Kalashova.” He leans down and kisses my lips. “Not one thing. And just so you know, this is not that moment.”

  I look up into his eyes. Wanting that to be true so bad.

  He kisses me. Softly. Gently. And then he whispers, “Not that moment,” into my mouth just before his tongue enters and begins to wash away the horror of today. “West is fine, Katya. It was fake. Makeup. He’s alive and hidden away until we get what we need. It’s an act and we,” he says, pulling away from my lips just a little, just so he can make sure to look me in the eyes as he finishes his thought, “we are in control this time.”

  I don’t believe him. I want to believe him, but I don’t.

  “Soup and sandwich?” he prods me again.