Page 37 of Cruel Pleasures
I know exactly what Hurst is doing. I see him for what he is.
The trap he’s setting. He’s out to win the game. He’s certainly providing the romantic fantasy Imani craves deep down.
But he won’t be the victor. He won’t even come close.
Hurst is playing the game without knowing the rules. He’s trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces.
The Hostess chose me for this task for a reason. Long before Hurst was ever given his set of marching orders.
It was a night not unlike the other night. Dark and stormy, the manor was nearly vacant leading up to the annual Midnight Society celebration. I lurked as I always do, appearing among the shadows to answer her call.
Her mask disguised any reaction. The ghostly face with painted lips and black holes for eyes turned in my direction. Her satisfaction saturated her soft voice.
“You’ve come,” she said. “Just like I hoped you would.”
“You called.”
She took a step closer, her hands folded in front of her. “For a very simple reason. I’m in need of your assistance.”
“And what kind of assistance would that be?”
“There’s a complication I need you to handle. A loose end if you will.”
“Your loose ends tend to be more like unraveling threads. If you expect my help, you’ll give me all the details.”
“You are well aware of what’s happened to Dmitri. Your father bore witness that night to the aftermath.”
“My father and I have not spoken in over three years.”
“And yet you live off his reputation,” she had snapped before catching herself with a haughty sigh. “I would be appreciative of your assistance. You are… talented at what you do.”
“Tell me who. Tell me why. Then I’ll decide if I want to assist you with those talents.”
The mask remained as a barrier to her true reaction, though I could sense enough from the energy she exuded. The pleased manner in which she took another step toward me, the black pools for eyes boring into mine. Soulless and dark.
Evil in the flesh indeed.
“I want to make a trap,” she said. “I want to use a wounded little bird for bait...”
I took my time deciding how to approach the situation. I’ve chosen to use the talents the Hostess spoke of. I already have as I lurk in wait.
The intercom cuts the ballroom music short and the couples dancing begin milling toward the exit. Round one of the games is about to start.
Hurst keeps Imani pinned to his side. She’s almost starstruck in how she lets him steer her off. I’m their shadow, coming up the rear, sight unseen.
In all black, my mask a leather cutout, I’m invisible to everyone. An easy feat considering the Midnight Society is a club of the city’s richest, most powerful narcissists.
People file into the theater abuzz with speculation. Others hover out in the halls like Talia Weinberg and Nolan Ramsey and the staff that’s ensuring the night runs as it should. Hurst disappears inside with Imani and I stop short, choosing to remain outside of participating.
While I may be handling a task that’s been requested of me and serving as a warden keeping things in check, I have no interest in the official Midnight Games. It’s nothing but stupidity dressed up as sport.
The ones fighting for their lives should be the likes of Mr. Vanderson or Nolan Ramsey. Instead, it’s the bottom rung of society that have been enticed by the promise of a handsome cash prize should they win. The only catch being they could very well die attempting to do so.
Death is a part of life. It touches all living things eventually. Inescapable and infinite, there is no cheating it.
Many people I’ve helped along. I’ve stared into their eyes as they took their last breath, and I twisted the knife deeper.
But what I do and what the Midnight Games do are worlds apart. One is a necessary evil. The other is evil for entertainment.
