No Justice for the Damned (Tales from the Tarot)

5. Chapter 5

Chapter five

T he very air of Club Orpheus feels different—so ominously different than it did the last time I was here. As I enter the tight, claustrophobic space, following close on Gus’s heels, I notice new faces, ones I’ve never seen before. It’s not that I expect to know everyone who makes merry at Orpheus but the swarm of newcomers is beyond what I’ve come to expect on a regular evening. Is this Hollow’s doing? It’s concerning. New faces mean new people being exposed to the Operation. Getting too close. I don’t like it.

I do see some men I know, men who served Sebastian, who are loyal to Father. Or at least, I think they are. They look up as I pass but say nothing, remaining seated, nursing drinks or smoking cigarettes. A smoky haze fills my vision as Gus guides me to the back, toward Sebastian’s office. I feel my heart bumping against my rib cage. I urge myself to calm, but knowing what awaits me, anticipating seeing that wicked smile, I feel a thrill of excitement—and a shock of anger.

Hollow’s made a mistake if he thinks he can play in Father’s playground, shake up the foundation of all that Father has built. His message rings in my head. Come out and play. It’s not innocent. It’s a veiled threat. And I won’t stand by and allow someone to threaten Father. Even if that someone has been occupying space in my mind without my permission since we first met. All the more reason to dispatch him. He’s a distraction, one I can’t afford.

We approach Seb’s office, where only a few days ago, I stood outside and told Gus to come to me should he feel the need. Now, I stand beside him as he sighs heavily and brings his fist up to knock at the door.

A voice beckons from within, the same one that spoke to me that night in that crooning, melodic tone. The one I haven’t been able to get out of my head. Dance with me.

“Yes?” it echoes from inside.

“Hollow, there’s someone here to speak with you.”

“Is there?” That playful lilt seems to whisper out from under the door. He doesn’t ask who, doesn’t inquire as to the business that’s brought such a visitor to his door, only says, “Send him in.”

Gus gives me a look, a raised brow as he blinks and swallows. I nod and he opens the door for me to step inside. He stays behind as the door shuts and encloses me in the space.

It’s dimly lit, illuminated by dozens of candles all around the fringes and on almost every exposed surface. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, and by that time, Hollow is already staring at me from where he sits behind Sebastian’s desk.

He’s shuffling a deck of cards in his long, slim fingers, his wide mouth curved in a sly grin. He leans forward, placing the cards on the surface in front of him, and licks his lips. “Well, well. Kill. I admit I hoped I’d see you again but I didn’t realize it would be so soon.”

I step toward him, keeping my face cool and expressionless. “You’ve made yourself at home in Sebastian’s office.”

“ My office,” he singsongs. “Or didn’t you hear about Seb’s untimely death? I’m sorry to be the one to break it to you. I know you two were close.”

I don’t allow his barb to slip under my skin. “I did hear about it, actually. That’s why I’m here.”

“Oh?” He settles back, studying me, his smile never faltering.

“Did you have something to do with it?”

His mouth drops in a feigned expression of shock. “My, my. I know we don’t know each other well, Kill. But it hurts you’d suspect me.”

“And yet here you are. Sitting behind his desk, claiming his office as your own. Running his club, hosting his staff.”

“I wasn’t the one who beat him within an inch of his life.” Another barb. His smile widens.

I frown. I don’t ask how he knows what happened behind these closed doors a few nights ago. “He was alive when I left him.”

“You checked his pulse?”

“What are you implying?”

Those strange golden eyes twinkle with mischievousness. “Nothing more than you’re implying. You think I did harm to Sebastian. I think otherwise. Perhaps he died of the wounds you inflicted that night.”

“Nothing I inflicted on him was fatal.”

“That you know of.”

“I know.” I pay no mind to his words. He’s attempting to shift the blame. Make me doubt myself. It won’t work. “I know you killed him. And I want to know why.”

He wrinkles his nose, blinking long lashes that flutter against his cheeks. “How mean. And here I thought you came here because you missed me.”

I want to roll my eyes. He’s playing with me, taunting me. I don’t understand him. There’s a chaos in his eyes, in his demeanor, that makes me want to draw close, to know more. But he also infuriates me. He’s like a puzzle I want to throw on the floor, an itch I want to douse in gasoline and then set myself on fire to be rid of.

And yet, there’s something about him. Something that tells me he knows more than he’s letting on. I approach the desk as I did only days ago, when an altogether different person sat behind it. Leaning forward, I put both hands on the top, splaying myself in a position that exposes my jutting arm muscles, my broad chest and slim waist. I look down at Hollow where he sits, glaring, challenging.

“What do you want?” I ask him.

He considers me for a moment, a brief silent moment that hangs achingly between us. Then, he turns his attention back to his cards. A stack of simple playing cards, red and gold brocade on the back. He shuffles them and then shuffles them again, all the while grinning, his bright hair falling into his eyes. “What do I want?” he asks, almost to himself.

I wait, watching his hands as they weave through the deck, beautiful, mesmerizing, like a well-practiced dance.

“I think you and I want the same things, Killian.” He fans the deck out in front of me so the backs of the cards are face up. “Pick a card.”

I don’t bite, don’t move to touch the cards or do what he wants me to. So he does it for me, flipping the card so only I can see. The Joker. Without looking at it, he puts it back in the deck and shuffles them all again.

I wait, glaring at him as he shuffles and then reshuffles and then cuts the deck. He fans them out face up in front of me so I can see that each card is different. And then, after shuffling one more time, he stacks them and withdraws the first card on the pile. My card. The Joker.

I’m unimpressed. “Answer the damn question.”

“Hmm,” he pouts. “So serious. You want to know that badly.”

“Don’t test me,” I growl.

He leans into my space and taps a finger against the tattoo on his temple. “You want justice.”

“Justice?” I glare at him.

He nods, smirking still. “Justice for Sebastian’s presumably cruel and merciless slaughter?”

I settle back, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

“Or perhaps,” he tries again. “Perhaps it’s justice for the wrong you believe has been done to your beloved Father?”

I straighten, narrowing my eyes. “What do you know about Father?” I whisper, my voice deadly. I could kill him at any moment. He need only utter the wrong word and I’ll have his heart in my hands.

His teeth glimmer white as he lets out a small chuckle. “I could ask you the same question.”

My hands instinctively ball into fists at my sides. “Answer me.”

“I know everything,” he says, holding my gaze steady in his own, undeterred by the unwavering coldness I direct his way. Then, he bobs his head at me. “My turn. And I’ll ask you the same question. What do you know about the man you call Father?”

“You don’t get a turn,” I snap. “This isn’t a game.”

“Isn’t it?” A shock of danger flashes through those eyes before disappearing as if it had never existed. But I saw it. I know I did. “Isn’t life all just one big game? We wait and we wait until finally we get a turn. To play, to win. To lose. To die. Isn’t that the very definition of a game?”

“I’m not playing,” I snap. “You wanted to send Father a message. What do you want from him?”

“I want what I asked. For him to come out, show his face anywhere outside of that church he calls home. And yet, in his stead, I get you.” He smirks. “Not that I’m disappointed. I’d hoped to see you again but it seems Father’s not very good at following directions, is he?”

I must squirm or grimace or react in some way to his words, because he raises a brow as he assesses me, his grin widening, if that’s possible.

“Unless, of course, you decided to intercept my message. Take matters into your own pretty hands. Why ever would you do that, I wonder? Were you trying to protect Father? Or perhaps you were attempting to protect me from his wrath?”

I swallow, open my mouth to protest, but he’s not incorrect. “That’s not—”

“No?” His eyes twinkle in the low light, the candles flickering all around us. “Then why, Kill? Why come here without telling Father of your whereabouts? Without telling him about Sebastian’s death?”

“How did you—”

“You’re an open book, sweetheart. I can see right through you. You’ve been thinking about me since that first time we met, haven’t you?”

“No! How dare—”

“Is it because of the dreams?”

I falter, going rigid where I stand. “What did you say?”

Hollow stands then, rising languidly to his feet, never once allowing his gaze to fall from my face. “I think you heard me just fine.”

I purse my lips, feeling my whole body trembling unwillingly. “How did you know?”

He shrugs. “Perhaps you’re not alone in having them. Strange dreams with strange faces. Faces you swear you’ve seen before but can’t recall. But whatever could they mean?” He taps his lips with a slim finger, as though thinking, but his sly expression tells me he’s toying with me.

I feel unsteady, strange, tingling all over. He’s set me off balance and I feel I could faint where I stand. Or fall headfirst into those golden eyes. I didn’t tell anyone about the dreams. I know I didn’t. So how does he know?

“Perhaps.” He rounds the desk to draw nearer to me, situating himself directly in front of me, close enough to touch. “Perhaps, there’s a reason you’re having dreams of me. Perhaps our meeting is more than just coincidence, eh, Kill?”

I don’t believe in superstition, in fate or magic. But my breath catches at his proximity; how else could he know? How else could he see inside the depths of my mind? I glance at him and notice his raised eyebrows, his curling lips, as he watches me attempt to puzzle it out, my mind a million miles away.

Then I realize. This is what he wanted. It doesn’t matter how he knows. He’s succeeded in throwing me off, confusing me and setting me on edge. And for a moment, I’d forgotten all about the reason I came here. Sebastian. His murder. Hollow’s new position and his message for Father.

“You’re goading me,” I growl.

“Goading you?” He chuckles. I hate that I like the sound.

“Distracting me,” I grit through clenched teeth.

“I was merely scratching an itch. Something I’ve been wanting to do since we first met. You are ever so intriguing, Kill.”

“Killian,” I snap and he purses his lips. Again, with his mock pout.

“How cruel. And I thought we’d become friends.”

“Shut up,” I close the distance between us then, my chest knocking against his. My hand darts out, fingers curved into claws as I grip his pointed chin in my fist. I direct his sparkling gaze to my own, daring him to make another teasing remark. “You threaten Father, you ask for death. Beg for it. And I’ll deliver. If this is truly a game, as you say, you have no idea how dangerous a game it is for you.”

He squirms with glee; a full smile having broken out on his face. “How exciting,” he nearly purrs. I blink. His reaction is not what I’d been expecting. “I’ve always liked a little danger.”

“Tell me what you want,” I snarl, feeling my anger beginning to boil, to rise to the surface. “Tell me why you killed Seb. Is this about money? Power?”

“Money. Power,” he chuckles. “Such small-minded pursuits. No, darling. I couldn’t care less about those things.”

“Then what?” My patience is waning. I’m going to snap.

“Why, justice. Didn’t we already cover this?”

“For what?” I demand. “For yourself? Did Sebastian wrong you somehow?”

He shakes his head, as much as my clenched fist will allow. “They all have. Haven’t they done the same to you?”

I blink, my breath catching. “What are you talking about?”

He studies me like a mystery to be solved. One he’s already begun to sort out and separate and pick apart. “You don’t remember, do you?”

My hand slips down to his neck, wrapping around that slim column, just tight enough for him to feel the press of my fingers, to remind him I’m dangerous. Because in this moment, I feel ravenous, feral, absolutely bubbling with pent-up rage. He continues to unsettle me, to make me feel things I don’t want to feel. To question and second guess. “Remember what?”

“Shall I tell you and spoil the fun of your discovering it on your own?”

“I won’t ask you again. You know something. Or think you do. Tell me what it is.”

“So curious. Like a little kitten. You’re rather cute when you want something, aren’t you?”

“I could kill you right now.”

“Then why don’t you?” he whispers.

I’ve had enough. He’s insubordinate and smart-mouthed and he needs to be taught his place. Or dispatched. Either option sounds appealing in its own right.

I tighten my grip on his neck and, without warning, slam him down hard on the desk. His back hits with a resounding crack, with a force that would have knocked the wind out of any normal man. But Hollow just laughs.

The sound enrages me.

As Hollow wraps his hands around my wrist, I reach into the gathered hair at the back of my neck. Hanging within the strands is a needle of the same caliber and potency as the one I used on Sebastian. Its paralytic properties will have Hollow immobile and unresponsive within minutes. As I go to plunge it into his neck however, Hollow reaches out and catches my wrist in a tight fist. Glancing quickly at the needle in my outstretched hand, he cocks a mischievous brow and then laughs out loud.

I attempt to wrench my hand free from his grip but he’s stronger than I anticipated. He clutches both my wrists, the one still clasped around his throat and the one that holds the needle, and forces us up off the desk. I grapple with him, only to have him flip our positions easily, landing me on the desk instead, with both arms now pinned to the wood beneath me.

I’m enraged at his quick reflexes, at his audacity. He’s laughing as if he thinks I’m funny. No more threat to him than a field mouse. He’ll regret it.

“I think I like you in this position. Is this how Seb had you, spread across his desk, before you stabbed him in the back?”

I feel my cheeks heat as my anger flares. Stubbornly I wait, silent, and watch as he extracts the needle from my closed fist.

“Going to poke me, were you? I’d have really preferred to be taken out to dinner first.”

He’s locked over top of me, leaning forward and grinning, frustratingly handsome and absolutely aggravating. “Get off me,” I say, determined to keep my tone level. “Or—”

“Or?”

“Or I’ll tear that smirk off your face with my bare hands.”

He laughs. Again. “Vicious little thing.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“I look forward to it.”

I shoot my hips upward onto the desk and knee him hard in the stomach. He heaves forward with a cough, his grip going slack. I use the momentum to shake free of his grasp and retrieve my stolen needle, shoving it toward his neck once more. This time, it catches his skin and draws blood, just before he seizes my hand and slams it back down to the desk again. But it doesn’t matter. It should be enough. I only need to wait until the poison takes effect. He’ll be down and I’ll be able to do whatever I want with him. Search through his desk, rifle through his belongings, torture him to ensure his compliance as I did with Sebastian. Or even kill him. I haven’t quite decided yet which option I’d prefer.

I wait. He cocks a brow, staring down at me. “You giving up on me? I thought you had more fight in you than that.”

“I don’t need to fight anymore.”

“Is that so?”

Something about the look in his eye, about the way he stares down at me and grins, sets my stomach to twisting in discomfort. Slowly, he backs away, allowing me to sit upright on the desk and watch him. And wait.

Hollow crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his head to the side as he meets my eyes. “Seems like your little party trick has lost its magic. What’s that saying? It’s only real if you believe it’s real?”

He’s still moving. Moving and talking and sweeping about the room as though completely unaffected. It’s not possible. The paralyzing agent I used could bring someone the size of Gus or even Eli down in mere seconds. It’s the exact same I always use—high quality and completely pure.

Hollow goes to the door and opens it, holds it ajar for me so the light from the hallway shines in, disturbing the dim ambience of the candles still scattered and flickering throughout. “You can leave now. I’m bored.”

“Excuse me?” I huff, pushing off the desk and striding toward him.

He puts a hand out in front of my chest, stopping me in my tracks, just as several large forms fill the doorway behind him. Men with cold, angry expressions, hard muscles, arms folded taut over broad chests. Men I recognize from the bar downstairs. Men loyal to Hollow, no doubt.

“Where’s Gus?” I ask. He’d been standing outside the room when I entered. But now, as I peer into the hallway, he’s nowhere to be seen.

Hollow doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge the men behind him. “Don’t worry about the traitor. He’ll be treated in accordance with the loyalty he’s shown.”

“You will not harm him,” I snap, forcing vigor and intensity into my tone. Determined not to show weakness. I’m not afraid of these men. I could kill them all now. Though it might be a challenge given there are three of them and only one of me. “He owes you no loyalty.”

“Doesn’t he?” He leans toward me and for the first time, his eyes glimmer with something dangerous. “But it seems this is my bar. My business. My family. Perhaps he should call me Father . Or better, Daddy. ”

My skin feels hot as rage bubbles under the surface. I approach so we’re standing nose to nose. “You’ll stay out of the Operation. You’ll keep your hands off the Drug. Or you’ll regret it.”

“Please give Father my regards. Tell him I’d love to speak with him in person and that if he wants to secure a truce, he’ll need to come himself and forgo sending his messenger in his stead—even such a pretty messenger as yourself. No, I’ll have the real thing or consider his refusal to see me a rebuff and a declaration of war.”

I tremble in frustration, head to toe, radiating fury. “You’re making a mistake.”

He only continues to smile. “And you’ve overstayed your welcome. Our friend, Kill, would like an escort out.”

The large men funnel into the room, place hands on my shoulders and at the small of my back.

“Get your hands off me,” I hiss and they do as they’re told. They know who I am. My reputation. But even still, they don’t back down. They stand beside me, tall and foreboding and effective in serving their purpose as Hollow’s muscle.

I glare at Hollow, unfaltering. “The next time we meet, I won’t be so friendly.”

He chuckles lightly, the skin around his eyes creasing. I can’t help but stare at that tattoo, watching the scales of justice bounce as speaks. “I look forward to it. Good-bye, Kill.”

One of the men at my back shoves me and I have to clench my fists to keep from whipping around and thrusting a fist into his face. Instead, I force myself to move, allowing myself to be ushered unceremoniously toward the door. It’s all I can do to accept the defeat of my current situation. I’m not happy about it but I don’t have much choice.

“Oh, wait. One more thing.” Hollow’s voice stops us all in our tracks. I whirl back around then to see him holding a playing card in his outstretched fingers. The Joker. But this time, there are numbers written across its front. They weren’t there before—I’d have noticed. “For when you want to talk. And you will. I’ll be waiting.”

I bite back a snarl as he places the card in the breast pocket of my jacket.

“Ta,” he tuts, gleeful.

It’s not until I’m once again outside, submerged in the cool night air, that the reality of what’s happened settles over me.

Fuck.