Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
“You’re not cruel, Jack. The minute you stop trying to prove otherwise, you’ll see.”
He laughed to himself, cold and devoid of humor. “Perhaps. But only a fool would mistake me for safe or kind.”
“Then I suppose I’m a fool.”
Beyond the haunting thump, thump, thump of those ghostly footfalls that tormented him at night was the lingering, inescapable question as to how his mother could have done that to him. Why? What made him so impossible to love? A mother was meant to protect her young, and she sold him to a monster for drugs and a pantry full of beans.
A balmy draft mixed with the chill. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m any different from the men I destroy, using these women as bait.”
“They choose this, sir.”
“When a person is out of options, there’s very little choice left.”
“That may be true, but they’re adults. It’s still their decision to make.”
“I suppose.”
Once more, he wondered if this tenth anniversary of The Feast would be the last. A thought he had every year as the event approached. Yet somehow, he always returned.
Jack wanted to believe his intentions were noble, but the truth was, he had an addiction to the hunt. Not the hunt these men would attend this week, chasing after prey and glutting their carnal appetites until they stunk of sweat and sin. No, Jack wanted to hunt the hunters.
Each one was a possible token for his mantle, hidden monsters who believed themselves untouchable. Jack knew how to draw them out. He created a perfect setting to unleash their darkest nature. And that was what brought him back year after year.
Not nobility. Not lust. But a thirst for blood and power from the most indomitable, reprehensible men alive.
True, some were just perverts looking for a wild fuck fest. But Jack knew how to tell them apart. He knew how to weed out the truly depraved, and that was when the real work began.
“How much longer can I do this?”
“You’re Jack Thorne. You can do it as long as you like.”
“Not without cost or consequence. I feel it, Nick. Eating away at my soul.” He emptied his glass in two long swallows. “Promise me one thing, Nick.”
“Anything.”
“Promise you’ll tell me the day I go too far.”
“I’ve always given you honesty and truth, Jack. And I’ll continue to do so until the day I die.”
Of the few people Jack trusted in this world, Nick Carrow was one of them. “Thank you.” He turned and looked at his old friend. “For everything. Not just today. For... all of it.”
Nick’s expression softened into something almost paternal. “I’ll leave you to dress. Stone should be by soon to take you to the new surveillance room.” He slipped out of the suite, closing the door behind him with barely a sound, his silent footfalls drifting soundlessly down the hall.
Chapter Seven
The Entitlement of Man
The landing was smoother than Daisy expected. There was a slight bump, a roar of the engines, and then they were taxiing across another private tarmac beneath the clouds. Her stomach swooped at the thought of being transported to some unknown land without even providing proof of her identity.
Maybe they didn’t need her identity, because it was easier if she didn’t have one. Less to erase. Oh, God… What had she done?
“Fuck,” she whispered, wondering why these flaws in her plan were only occurring to her now.
The door opened and fresh air rushed in, carrying the balmy scent of salt and pine—nothing like home.
“Miss Burdan.” A flight attendant appeared at her elbow, one she didn’t recognize. “This way, please. Your car is waiting.”
Daisy quickly gathered her bag and walked toward the exit. The stairs seemed steeper going down, or maybe her legs were just more unsteady now that she was finally here. Wherever here might be.
“Where are we?” She turned and blushed, realizing the flight attendant hadn’t followed her off the plane.
At the bottom of the steps, another black car idled. A new driver with a similar blank expression waited for her to descend. He rounded the car and opened the rear door with a stiff nod. “Miss Burdan?”
“Y—yes.”
“This way.”
She stepped within the space of the open door, but hesitated before getting inside. “Where are we?”
“We’re at an airport and we need to get moving to your next destination. Please have a seat and buckle up.”
Her gaze drifted back to the plane and her breath caught at the sight of another woman appearing equally as apprehensive. Daisy wanted to wave or rush to her and ask if she had information she didn’t. But with one gentle press to her shoulder the driver managed to usher her into the car and shut the door.
Sound buffered in the silence of the car as she stared through the tinted glass at the woman descending the stairs. Unlike Daisy’s modest blonde hair, this woman had dark waves that fell past her shoulders, almost black in the sunlight, like the wing of a raven. But there was an edge about her, an evident hardness. She looked nothing like the kind of woman one would expect to disembark from a private jet. But neither did Daisy.