Page 65 of Vicious King

Davenport pursed his lips. A couple of the men muttered amongst themselves, their voices too low and soft for me to hear what they were saying.

My father smiled thinly. “You should know that in most cases, we take the oath very seriously. Henry was… different. He wasn’t just any member.”

“Yes, he’s my son,” Davenport said bitterly.

“He wanted to leave, so we reached a deal. Instead of death, we allowed him to go quietly, as long as he agreed to be monitored on a permanent basis to ensure he doesn’t breathe a word of our secrets to anyone else. We have a private security detail following him around at all times. He can’t see them most of the time, but they’re always watching. They listen to his phone calls, monitor his texts and emails, and track all his activity.”

Jesus.

“That sounds like a shitty way to live.”

“I’m sure, but it’s preferable to execution,” my father said crisply. “Henry was lucky he had a relative and ally in such a high place.”

Good old nepotism.

“So you really do kill other traitors, then?”

Van der Veer raised an eyebrow. “Do you remember a man named Jonathan Wilkinson?”

“You mean the guy who ran for President back in 2008?”

“Yes, him. He was a third-level member. He tried to leave. He thought the nature of our society would prove to be a major conflict with his political campaign, if anyone tried to dig deeper into his background. Now, we knew it wasn’t possible for anyone to dig that deep, given the sort of connections we have, but we knew he had to be dealt with anyway, for the mere suggestion that he could leave the order.”

I lifted one brow. “But he died in a plane crash.”

I still remembered all the news articles about it. Wilkinson’s private jet had gone down over a lake in Michigan in the middle of the presidential primaries.

“That unfortunate accident was arranged by us,” my father said.

I frowned. “But he wasn’t the only one who died. His advisors, his wife and kids, the pilots, and the cabin crew all died too.”

“Collateral damage. Our secrets must be protected,” Van der Veer said.

A cold feeling slithered through my guts. Holy shit. I knew these guys were dangerous, but I didn’t realize just how far they were willing to go.

I plastered on a satisfied grin, hoping it masked the turbulent feelings of disgust beneath. “Nice. Brutal as fuck.”

“I’d say ‘efficient’ is the more apt word. But anyway, I’m sure you’re itching to know what else we’re hiding up here on the top level,” Davenport said. His eyes glittered deviously.

It almost felt like I was in some sort of junior school club with silly so-called secrets like ‘all girls have cooties’ and ‘I hate my teachers and my mom’, along with a ‘no girls allowed!’ sign hanging over the pillow fort entrance. Unfortunately, after hearing how Jon Wilkinson was murdered along with several totally innocent people, I knew it was all deadly serious.

“Of course,” I replied.

“First you must understand our process,” he said. “The first level is for members we consider to be… not serious. Those who could never align themselves with our values. We are happy to have their money and connections and share ours in return, but that’s as far as it goes.”

I nodded. I already knew that.

“A select few each year are chosen for the second level. These are men who have shown promise and potential in terms of sharing our worldview. We allow them to discover and explore their darker tastes and desires at this level. Many stay at this level forever. But for some of them, like yourself, it’s eventually no longer enough.” He paused for a second. “It’s not real enough. Not the sort of darkness they are truly interested in. So that’s what the third level is for.”

I feigned confusion. “What are you saying?”

He exchanged glances with my father and the others. “Before we tell you anything else, we must apologize to you. When a member is still at the second level, we lie and mislead them out of sheer necessity. We had a feeling you would suspect things, as all lower-level members tend to do from time to time, so we falsified so-called evidence, made up convenient stories, and so on.”

“About what?” I asked, cocking my head to the side as if I didn’t already know.

There was a long, dramatic pause. Every council member exchanged a glance, their brows drawn and foreheads creased. Was it just me, or were they nervous?

They fucking should be.

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