Page 49 of Cruel Pleasures

I’m no less amused by this surprise turn of events. The night’s just getting started.

12. Archer

Angel - The Weeknd

Imani’s at peace as she sleeps. The aftereffects of the spice have made it easy to pass out for hours. For a while, I sit in the armchair across from her bed, the bloodied knife I’ve found resting in my lap, and I watch her sleep.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Though if she were to wake in this moment, she’d scream and believe it to be.

If she were to wake in this moment, I’m not sure how I’d react. I’d have a lot of explaining to do.

She’s still suspicious of me. Coming across someone stained with blood tends to have that effect. But that’s yet another misconception—if she knew the truth of how I came to be covered in blood she might change her mind.

The vacationers partied the last few nights on the isle away. They knew only vaguely of how it would shut down for the season. Even fewer knew the reason wasn’t only due to winter. The isle was being closed for the annual Midnight Games.

A few members from the society, like myself, Nolan Ramsey, and Klein Fairchild, had arrived early. I needed to check if Mother still had a pulse. Nolan and Klein wanted to troll the tourist spots and scout for drunk, naive women, a favorite past time of theirs even in Easton. They had varying levels of success before Nolan abandoned the premise altogether.

My fingers glide along the sharp blade of the kitchen knife as I recall the night on my mind. It was the last night the isle would be open to tourists. Many vacationers took it as an invitation to get shitfaced drunk and party ’til dawn.

Imani stepped off the wobbling little charter plane she’d flown to the isle in and decided to join them. She went to the Oasis, dark eyes shining with curiosity, hoping she’d be able to relieve the anxiety she was feeling.

I know because I was watching.

Every step she took as the bar door creaked open and she entered, I witnessed from the booth in the far corner. She slid onto a stool and smiled prettily at the bartender.

Klein turned his head back toward me, a grin broadening on his pallid face, and he chinked his beer bottle against mine. “You know who that is, don’t you?”

I played aloof. I gave a shrug and dragged my bottle of beer away from his. If he tried to touch me or anything I owned again, I’d break his nose—and that was to start. The two of us had never gotten along, all the way back to our boarding school days.

He rolled his eyes when I didn’t answer. “The prostitute’s friend. You know, the one who…”

Now I was entertained. I sneered, “You mean the prostitute who stabbed you in the dick? Twice.”

“She got away with Kaden. She’s lucky she did. Or I’d…” he fumed, the ragged breath he released dripping with bitterness. “If she didn’t have Kaden protecting her, she would’ve found out what it’s like to be disfigured. I’d chop something off myself.”

I leaned back against the booth cushion and folded my arms. “Let me get this straight, Kleiny boy. You’re upset because some girl bested you—not once but twice—by shredding your dick, and you believe you could’ve gotten revenge if not for Kaden? This sounds plausible to you?”

“How many times do I have to tell you and Nolan to stop calling me that! My point is, that girl over there—she’s the prostitute’s friend. Probably a prostitute too. I heard rumors she’s here as Francesco Gigante’s guest. Though Talia claimed that’s Clive Newton’s granddaughter. Ha!”

I knew everything he was telling me already.

Through my surveillance of Imani, I was well aware of her plans. The crafty way she’d contacted Francesco and swindled her way into receiving an invite. I knew all about her friendship with Lyra Hendrix and how she’d spent weeks grieving her friend who had been presumed dead by the rest of the city.

In reality, Lyra was out of the country. She was never coming back. How could she when her psychotic paramour was dubbed the most dangerous serial killer in Easton’s history?

Mother had tasked me with tracking Imani for a reason. The girl refused to accept the official story that her best friend was dead. She was a liability, poking her nose into affairs she shouldn’t have been.

But Klein knew nothing about my tasking. He knew little to nothing about Imani.

“I have an idea,” he said. “Time for a little payback.”

My eyes narrowed as Klein slid out of the booth and then started toward the bar counter. He wedged himself between where Imani was sipping on her cocktail and another group of vacationers stood.

She had no clue who he was. She’d never seen him before.

As he introduced himself as Kaden, she was alarmed and thrown off, then slowly fell into conversation with him.