Page 96 of Cruel Pleasures

“Right here, Mistress. It’s on the mannequin head on the dresser.”

“This is unacceptable! They will pay for this! All of them!”

“Of course. We’ll make sure of it.”

“I’ve had enough,” she spits. “I’ve had enough foolishness.”

“I’ll see to it everyone is held accountable. And the matter of Timothee?”

“You already know. It’ll be handled after the games end. We have bigger matters to address now. Time for a meeting with the council. Call them in. Now.”

I’m gone before Jerome can even approach the door to make her request happen. I’m already a floor away by the time he’s out in the same hall, scurrying off to alert the other high-ranking members in the club.

Nothing I overheard surprises me.

The Hostess wanting revenge for what she perceives as disobedience is to be expected. As Hurst stated earlier, she’s never done well once people disrupt her delusions. She’s spiraling… and fast.

There’s no telling what she has planned next, though I have a few ideas.

I have moved in these circles long enough to understand the escalation that usually happens. Boundaries don’t exist when you’re on the enemy’s home turf. The odds are stacked against us.

Against Imani.

I go to her room. I press my ear to the door and notice the lack of light from the crevice at the bottom. She’s gone to bed.

For a moment, I consider my next move. Whether I want to do what I’ve done every night since the event at Hurst Manor began. There are better uses of my time, such as eavesdropping on the emergency meeting the Hostess is holding with the rest of the council members.

I could even use this time to look into the unsolved murders in recent days.

The players are supposed to be gearing up for their last gruesome round in the games; warden duties have been taken on by Rook solo tonight with Hurst and I otherwise occupied.

And yet I choose to do what I’ve done the other nights—I let myself into Imani’s bedroom. I’m quiet, soundless, as I do. The door cracks open and then closes so fast no light from the outside spills inside. The dark engulfs the room enough to swallow me up along with it.

Though I can still navigate the general layout of the room and distinguish the outline of the furniture. The bed, in particular, which takes up the center of the room.

The canopy that surrounds it has been untied and the curtains hang partially open across both sides. A small bump lays curled up among the pillows.

Imani’s fast asleep.

If I hold still enough, I can listen to the steady, gentle cadence of her breathing. Inexplicably, the sound is more relaxing than the waves crashing at the shore in the middle of the night. I close my eyes, standing in the pitch-black room and listen to the sound of her breathing. The soft soughs that leave her as she sleeps so soundly.

Asami used to sleep similarly. Once she was out, she was out. World War III wouldn’t wake her.

I used to smirk to myself and watch her too.

But this is different.

As I stand over Imani’s sleeping form, reveling in the symphony that is her steady breathing, I’m quickly reminded of earlier. The things that I had overheard outside the Hostess’s door. Her shrill panic and vow to exact revenge.

Any moment, she’ll be putting her new plan into action.

Imani may feel she can survive on her own, but she has no idea what these people are capable of. Using proxies like me to do their bidding is just the tip of the iceberg. Nothing is above them. Anything is within their means.

Human life has little to no value. Someone like Imani even less.

I’m under no delusion they plan on sparing her. That was never their intention.

From the moment the Hostess hired me to track Imani and keep her under my watchful eye, I knew where this task was headed. As a man who has eliminated many in the past for a payday, I didn’t care. What did it matter to me if they eliminated some stupid, delusional girl throwing herself into a lion’s den?