Page 81 of Cruel Pleasures

It would be easy to reach out and give in to baser wants. It would prove how human I still am, no matter how detached I present.

I’m issuing the warning I have because the Midnight Society can’t go unchecked this time. They can’t be allowed to destroy a woman who has caused no real harm. She’s done nothing to deserve what the Hostess has planned…

Morality has never played a factor in my work. I’m a killer for hire. The right price has been what matters. The rules of my profession have guided me. If I agree to a job, then that job gets done regardless of whether the target is an innocent.

Yet it weighs heavily how different this situation has become. It’s the prick of a guilty conscience I didn’t realize I’m in possession of.

“Your silence is an answer, Ryu,” Imani says after a pause. She sighs and then sags against me, her head dropping to my shoulder. “You’re right. I never should’ve come. I just… miss her. So much. All the time.”

I’ve gone stiff. I’ve forgotten how to speak though I wouldn’t have the correct words anyway. I never do and never have.

But I understand the turmoil that’s grief better than most people. I’ve allowed it to rot away inside me for more than a decade.

It goes nowhere and remains forever.

That’s the first thing Imani needs to understand.

“I just want her back.” Her voice cracks, giving out from the five simple words.

“You wondered why I don’t attend any society events,” I say. “You seemed confused why I was sitting out on the private beach instead. I was watching the tides come in. Seashells wash up if you wait long enough. It’s something we used to do together.”

Imani lifts her head off my shoulder and frowns at me. Her question is a silent one.

“She liked to collect them. Each seashell is as unique as a fingerprint. Each one has its own shape, size, color. Its own pattern and energy level. We would spend hours at the beach searching for the right one that caught her eye. Good and bad weather,” I muse aloud. “It was silly and ridiculous. It was a waste of my time… or so I thought.

“But when she was no longer around, I found myself going to the beach anyway. I was keeping up the search. Looking for her in the seashells. But I won’t ever find her again. Because she was too unique to find more than once. It’s difficult to go to a place where I once made good memories, but I embrace the pain. Accept it’s all that remains. Her memory.”

“Your tattoos. The fish, the ocean, the clouds and sun…”

“The seashells,” I finish for her, gesturing to a few decorating my ribcage. “She’s not coming back. Just like your friend’s not coming back. But you have her in your mind and no one can ever take that from you. You’ll survive like you always have.”

I stand up from the bed and slide my t-shirt back on. I’ve spent enough time in her room that it’s compromising me and the job I’ve taken on. It’s exposed me in a manner I didn’t wish to be. I’m at the door when she calls out to me again.

“You were the masked man in room six, weren’t you?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re very talented with ropes.” She smirks.

I glance at her from over my shoulder and almost do the same. Only the edges of my mouth quirk. “I have many talents. Shibari happens to be one of them.”

I leave Imani where she is in her room, closing the door behind me. A few steps down the hall are all it takes before I’m sensing a watchful pair of eyes on me. Glancing over to the staircase, I find Timothee clutching a tray, his pointy face sharper than usual.

The disapproving expression leaves no room for subtlety.

It’s a look of warning.

The Hostess will hear about this.

19. Imani

Lost at Sea - Rob Grant, Lana Del Rey, ANNA

Talia Weinberg turning up dead was bad enough. But then it happens again.

A week into my stay at the Hurst Manor, I’m woken up by a shrill scream from out in the hall. I spring up in bed already in a breathless panic, feeling like I’ve woken from a nightmare. In the next few minutes, I discover reality’s become a nightmare too.

Quincy Mercer lays dead in the third floor hallway much the same way Talia had—his mouth slack and open, his eyes wide and vacant, his chest gaped from a deep stab wound. He’s pale and cold by the time we find him. The staff member who’s come across his body was making her way up with breakfast trays when she almost tripped over his body.