The Misters Series (Mister #1-7)

by J. A. Huss

  Chapter Thirty-Five - OLIVER

  “That was a joke, right?” I ask Pax, who is still grinning like the mysterious guy he is.

  “Look,” Pax says, crossing his arms and leaning back on the server cabinet. “Liam called me and made an offer.”

  “You’re not killing West. I don’t care how much of a dick he is, he’s still one of us.”

  “Give me a break, Shrike. Of course I’m not going to kill him. But I can fake it long enough to get the answers we need.”

  “How? You don’t think that guy wants proof?”

  “Are there more of these dark web marketplaces? Or is this the only one?”

  “Of course there’s more.”

  “Then let’s find one.”

  “Pax—”

  “Just listen to me, OK? If everything is for sale—and clearly it is, since you’re selling some deeply disturbing shit on this site—”

  “It’s not my site. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  “—then we can buy a reporter, don’t you think?”

  “Why would we want to buy a reporter?”

  “To give us proof. What if we buy a reporter, we stage a murder scene, and then we get that reporter to put it on the news? I could show Liam the proof and he will hand over the answers.”

  “I don’t like it. And I don’t think we can buy a reporter, Pax.”

  “Sure we can. The media is corrupt as fuck these days. We can dangle money in front of them, send them pictures, they put it on the air, and we do our business. As soon as we get what we need, they retract. I think this is how it’s done, Oliver. I don’t even think they will blink. They don’t have to know we’re lying. We just send them the info, they air it as an anonymous social media photo, and bam. We’re golden.”

  I think about it. Look for the pitfalls. But really, he has a point. There are all kinds of things that go viral these days that get picked up by the media.

  “And then what?” I ask.

  Pax smiles because he knows I’m in. “I don’t know yet. I guess it depends on what the girls have planned.”

  A faint banging comes from the other side of the door. I can just barely make out West yelling upstairs. “He knows we’re down here.”

  Pax looks at his watch. “We gotta get this shit started anyway. I’d like to have Weston dead by the end of the night, if we can swing it.”

  I just look at him. “Do not say that outside this room, you understand? And I’m not on board yet. Not until West agrees. So go upstairs and get him and bring him down here so we can talk.”

  I turn away before I can see his reaction, but I am all too familiar with Paxton Vance’s bulldozer attitude once he makes a plan. I have no doubt Weston Conrad will be dead by tonight.

  A few seconds later footsteps thump down the stairs and then West, appears, followed by Mac, Nolan, and then Pax.

  “Did you lock it up?” I ask him.

  Pax shoots me a look closely related to the one I missed a few minutes ago. What do you take me for? this one asks.

  “What’s this all about?” Mac asks, leaning up against the wall, arms crossed.

  “Mr. Mysterious has a plan to discuss.”

  “What kind of plan?” Nolan asks, narrowing his eyes. He’s always been a suspicious fuck. Not that I blame him.

  “Remember when I told you Liam called me and asked me to finish the job?”

  “The job?” Mac asks. “You mean the one where he was paying you to set up West and then kill him?”

  “Hey,” Pax says. “That last plan worked like a charm. I saved your ass.” Pax and West glare at each other. “You should be thanking me, Corporate. Because I’ve just had a stroke of brilliance.”

  West doesn’t look convinced. “Is that so?”

  “Well, what is it?” Mac asks.

  Nolan laughs. “He’s gonna kill him probably.”

  “Ding, ding, ding,” Pax says, his smile so big he looks like a crazed psychopath. Did I really consent to my sister dating this guy? What the fuck was I thinking? “Yes! Hahahaha.” He laughs. Then his face goes dead serious. “Not really, you assholes. West,” he says, looking at him. “You know I might not like you much, but I’ve always had your back. And I’m sorry about this, buddy, but they want you dead. If I kill you, Liam will talk. We need answers, brother. So take one for the team, OK?”

  I put my hands up to stop the uproar. Then place two fingers on my tongue and whistle shrilly to shut them up. “Stop,” I say. Nolan is tugging West off Pax and Mac is pushing Pax into a corner to keep them from fighting.

  “Knock it off, you dicks. It’s a fucking figure of speech, Weston. For fuck’s sake. Don’t you know him well enough by now? He’s just trying to piss you off.”

  West pushes Nolan off him and straightens his shirt. “Well, excuse the fuck out of me,” he says, breathing hard and pointing a finger at Pax, “for not thinking any of this shit is funny. I’ve got way too much on my mind to deal with his childish bullshit.”

  “I have to side with Weston on this,” Mac says. “Knock it off, Pax. And just explain the goddamned plan.”

  “OK, let me fill you in on a few things Oliver just updated me on,” Pax says, looking at me for permission.

  I nod. What’s the point in hiding it now? This shit is happening. There is no way what’s going on with my site on the dark web will be secret once this is all over. I know it. I’m being set up. We’re all being set up.

  Pax explains the plan to fake-kill West and hire a reporter in the dark market to air it. Make it go viral. Everyone is pretty quiet while he lays out the plan, but once he’s done, they are nothing but questions.

  “Where will we take this picture?” West asks.

  “How will we make it believable?” Nolan adds.

  “What if Liam doesn’t believe it? What if he wants a finger? Or a baby toe?”

  “A baby toe?” Pax says, making a face at Mac. “Were you watching The Big Lebowski before you got here?” Pax shakes his head as Nolan huffs out a laugh. “Fucking toe. No one wants a stupid baby toe for proof.”

  “Whatever,” Mac says. “You get what I’m saying. I don’t think he’ll believe it unless he sees a dead body.”

  “And we’re not gonna have a dead body,” West says.

  “But we will have the next best thing,” Pax says, beaming a huge smile at me. “Oliver’s cousin-friend, Sparrow Flynn, owns the Fort Collins Theater, right?”

  “So?” I say. “We’re not getting her involved. Believe me, she is so strait-laced, it will never stay secret. She will tell every one of my relatives before the sun goes down. My dad will come over.” I shake my head, just picturing it. “And my mother will overreact and start pulling out guns. No. We can’t use Sparrow.”

  “What if she doesn’t know?” Pax says. “There’s a huge ZombieFest this weekend for Halloween, right? And she runs the new haunted house in town?”

  “Yeah? So?” I say again.

  “Cindy said it’s pretty hardcore. Like they have professional makeup artists for the blood and gore.”

  “Oh, fuck, yeah,” Nolan says. “That’s genius, Mysterious.”

  Pax looks proud of himself. “Why, thank you, Romantic. I do my best. So all you gotta do, my little matchmaker friend,” Pax says, clapping me on the back, “is tell her West is going to a costume party tonight down in Denver and needs help. Make the rest of that lie up for me, will you? You’re good at that.”

  I ignore his insult and think it over as I scratch the hair on my chin. “Sparrow,” I finally say, “has West painted up like he took a bullet to the head. Then we take the picture, buy a reporter from the dark market, and have him leak it.”

  “Exactly,” Pax says.

  “Tell me again why we think people are gonna care enough about this one murder to show it on TV?” Mac asks.

  “Because it’s Weston Conrad,” Pax says. “The Misters are back, gentlemen. And as much as people would like to say they’re not interested in our deb
auchery, they are. So let’s give them the headline they’ve been waiting a decade for.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six - KATYA

  I get to the building behind Shrike Bikes ten minutes late because of my unplanned stop at home. But as soon as I approach the door, it opens, and Ariel is standing there looking pretty pissed off.

  “Nice of you to join us,” she snaps as she lets me pass and then locks the doors behind us.

  I wait as she does that, then follow her through a sheet of construction plastic and down a hall. “What is this place?” I ask, looking ahead at the large room. It’s got lanes, or aisles, marked out with some kind of track on the ceiling. “A bowling alley?”

  Ariel snorts. “A shooting range.”

  “Really?” I look around as we come to another piece of construction plastic. Ariel pushes her way through, then me. And on the other side is a small office with a dingy round table. All the other girls are either sitting or standing, drinking coffee.

  “There she is,” Cindy says. “Hey, Katya. How’s—” She stops talking to look me over more carefully. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

  I nod. “Yes. Something happened. Or is happening. I’m not sure. But these Antimony girls. You guys, it’s not good. I’ve spent the last four years working towards this moment confident that I was onto them and they were not on to me. But—”

  “What?” Ivy says, setting down her cup and coming over to me. “Slow down, OK? What’s going on? Who are you talking about?”

  “The Silver Society,” I whisper, looking around for cameras and anything that might hide a microphone. “They’re on to me, you guys. I thought we had the perfect plan, but no. They’ve been one step ahead this whole time. I know it. I feel it in my bones.”

  Every one of them—Ariel, Cindy, Ivy, Victoria, and Ellie—is looking at each other with stunned expressions.

  “What?” I ask. “You know what I’m talking about. Mariel told me you all knew.”

  “Mariel,” Cindy says. “You know Mariel?”

  “We’re been working together ever since I left Fort Collins and went back to Gori. We’ve been planning this, you guys.”

  “I think you need to start from the beginning,” Victoria says, pulling out a chair at the table for me. “And God help you, Katya Kalashova, if you lie to us—”

  “You’ll what?” I ask, not liking her implied threat.

  “Never mind that,” Ellie says. “Just sit down, Katya. Start from the beginning and tell us what’s happening. What’s got you so scared. Because it’s written all over your face.”

  “I’m not scared,” I say, accepting the offer of a chair. I look at each of them, one by one. “I’m terrified.”

  Cindy is sitting next to me. She reaches for my hand and gives it a pat. “It’s OK,” she says. “We’re here. And if you’re on Oliver’s side, we’re on your side.” She looks up at the others. “Right, girls?”

  They nod, all except Ariel and Victoria.

  “Ariel,” Cindy snaps. “We have nothing, OK? She seems to know everything. So you need to be supportive.”

  But Ariel doesn’t answer. Victoria does. “Does this have to do with…” She hesitates. “With our shared past?”

  I nod.

  Victoria lets out a deep breath. “OK. I’m in then. If you need help, I’m in.”

  We all look at Ariel, who seems ready to object. But when she looks at Tori, her expression softens. She trusts her, and if Victoria trusts me, then…

  “OK,” Ariel says. “But you had better tell us everything. If anyone I care about gets hurt, Katya Kalashova, and I do mean anyone,” she stresses, “I will make sure you take responsibility for it.”

  It’s definitely a threat. It could mean legal responsibility. Or something more sinister, like retribution from her and her town filled with family and friends.

  So I start from the beginning.

  Once upon a time there were two little girls named Katya and Lily. Both born into the Russian mafia. And by no fault of their own, they were beautiful, golden girls everyone fell in love with. They were smart, and pretty, and spoiled rotten by the Bratva.

  Katya, the older girl by four years, went to her eleventh birthday party dressed like a snow princess. Something out of Swan Lake. She was delicate, and graceful, and expecting to come home with presents and a belly filled with cake.

  But instead of a party there was a meeting between two rival families. Hers, the Bratva, light-haired and blue-eyed. Covered in tattoos that told stories no child should ever have to hear.

  And his, the dark mafia. Wearing suits and carrying big guns.

  She felt like Little Red Riding Hood the moment when she figured out her dear, old grandmother was really a wolf with snapping teeth covered in sticky saliva.

  She was not there to receive gifts.

  She was the gift.

  The promise.

  The glue that would seal these two opposite sides of the family together for another generation.

  “Gori cut my throat that night with the scalpel. It was supposed to be a symbol of the Silver Society. One thin, silver line across my neck. Done in good faith. I wasn’t supposed to fight. They didn’t think I had it in me to fight, I was such an agreeable child.”

  “He’s Silver Society?” Victoria asks, her lips turned up with what might be disgust. Or maybe disbelief.

  “No,” I say. “Not really. If you know anything about them, then you know it’s run by women.”

  “So who’s the leader?” Victoria and Ariel ask at the same time.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “There were no women there that night. Just the men.”

  “Then what good are you?” Ariel asks. “We need to know who runs it, Katya. Surely you must have an idea?”

  “Oh, I have an idea, all right.” And then I look right at Cindy. “But you’re not gonna want to hear it. Because I think it’s your future mother-in-law.”

  I take out my secret phone and press the call button.

  A direct private line to Mariel Hawthorne.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven - OLIVER

  Four hours later Weston Conrad really does look like someone shot him in the head. I went home and got him one of my suits, just to make him look more the Mister part, and he’s just putting the jacket on now and admiring himself in the mirror.

  A knock at the door makes us all turn and look. Sparrow enters, her long dark hair the perfect contrast to her bright blue eyes, which are wide in astonishment. “Wow.” She laughs. “If those judges are going for gore, then you’re definitely gonna win, Mr. Conrad.”

  We all smile at each other. He does look pretty fucking dead when he closes his eyes. The make-up artist even made his lips slightly blue and his skin an ashen gray.

  “I wish you didn’t have to leave,” Sparrow says. “I could use another actor for the house tonight. It’s crazy. We have a line two blocks down the street and my chainsaw guy called in sick with the flu.”

  “Sorry,” I say to Sparrow, going to the door to let her know we need some privacy. “But maybe tomorrow, if West feels like getting made up again. Hey,” I say, thinking of something we forgot to plan. “West wants a picture. Do you think we can borrow some blood and gore to take a realistic picture?”

  “Sure,” Sparrow says enthusiastically. “You know what?” she continues, looking at West, who is fixing his black tie. “I can get one of my set designers to help you with that if you want. Is this part of the contest?”

  “Yup,” Pax says, joining in. “There’s two contests. One live and one picture.”

  “I’d be happy to help you, Weston. Just come downstairs when you’re done and I’ll get it set up.” She leaves and I close the door behind her.

  We all grin at each other. Then start laughing.

  “This is gonna work,” Pax says.

  “It better,” West says, cringing at himself in the mirror. “That fucker had better come clean with everything he knows.”

  “Don’t count on it
,” Nolan says. “I mean, we should not get cocky here. We’re totally bullshitting him. And he’s not stupid. He’s gonna have lots of questions.”

  “Hey,” Mac says. “As long as we get it on TV before Pax calls him, I think we’ll be fine.”

  “I think so too,” I say. “OK, you guys finish up the photo. Get lots of them, and make sure you splatter the wall with blood and bone to make it real. Pax and I will go get on the dark market and find ourselves a corrupt reporter.”

  “Shouldn’t be hard.” Pax laughs. “You know people are still dying to see us fall. They want us in jail. All we gotta do is implicate ourselves in some dirty shit. Everyone will happy to believe it.”

  But neither of us have ever done this before. So I’m not convinced. “Make sure you stay inside when you’re done, West. You can’t go home tonight.”

  “What?” he asks.

  “Come on,” I say. “You don’t really think that Liam isn’t in town? He is. He’s keeping an eye on us.”

  “Then he saw us come in here.”

  “Then he needs to see us all leave,” I say. “Give your clothes to some actor downstairs, West. They can leave with Nolan and Mac wearing your clothes, you stay behind. Just down the hall from here is a stairwell that leads to the basement. Stay there until we come get you.”

  “I’ll send Cindy over later with food and stuff, OK?” Pax says.

  “What are you gonna tell Victoria?” West asks.

  “Don’t worry,” I say, feeling his apprehension. He was probably picturing her seeing him dead on the TV tonight. “We’ll take care of everything else. You just play dead and stay out of sight until we get a meeting with Liam. I’ll come back and walk you guys over in a couple hours.”

  Pax and I leave, jogging down the same set of stairs I told West to use, but we exit on the ground floor. Sparrow was right. When we get outside there are hundreds of people lining up for the haunted house.

  We push our way through and head across to the street to my building. The door is locked when we get there, so I disarm the security system and let us in, then arm it again. We go up to my office and then go through the SCIF room ritual. Once we’re safely inside and everything is locked up tight behind us, I turn the server and computer on.