Page 2 of Savage Hunter

Avery, thirteen months prior

Tonight is the night of secrets.

The Primrose Gala is considered the most extravagant event of the summer.

And one of the best-kept secrets among the elite and powerful of the criminal underworld.

And deadliest, in retrospect.

Because nothing good ever comes of secrets.

My mother thinks I know nothing about the men and women of the dark world who keep them. And she’s right. I’ve kept myself apart from her as much as she has shunned me.

But tonight, that changes.

If invited, no one willingly misses the Primrose Gala.

Not even me.

Each year, the location changes. Many times, it flits from city to city within the United States. But this year my mother has a deep nostalgia for the warm Mediterranean Sea and Sierra Blanca.

So here we are in Marbella, Spain. Countless pristinely dressed servers rush through the halls, their trays laden with delicacies brought in from around the world. All their efforts for guests who will never appreciate their attention to the artistically folded napkins. Or the towering erotic ice sculptures currently being positioned inside artificial columns of frigid air designed to keep them from melting in the Spanish summer heat.

A treat for those lucky enough to get an invitation. No one knows whose name has made the Primrose list until the night of the event. It’s one of the most guarded secrets. Everyone among my mother’s broad list of elite friends holds their breath in anticipation of receiving the black and gold invitation on the eve of the summer solstice. A mere twenty-four hours before the event takes place.

Politicians, tech billionaires, silver screen figures and those working behind it all comprise the “list”.

Lorelai Primrose is known for her eccentric tastes and deep pockets. Because of this, she surrounds herself with people who possess similar mindsets. As a widow of the late senator Johnathan Primrose and the only daughter of an oil tycoon, my mother thrives in the limelight as much as she does in the secrecy behind her summer gala.

Glittery evening gowns, tuxedos and endless laughter will mix with the Spanish summer air filtering through the large open balconies within a handful of hours.

People will smile. They will make powerful friends and gossip about all the extravagant Strottarga Bianco caviar served on a buttery baguette come morning.

That is what the front page of all the major newspapers will chatter about, anyway.

I know the truth.

Whispers along the undercurrents of my mother’s world suggest that once the guests savor the caviar and drink the champagne, my mother leads her wealthy friends to the lower level for debauchery and sin.

Thatnever makes the front page. Or tenth.

Down there—behind the locked enigmatic red doors—is what the Primrose gala is all about. I don’t have to see behind them to know the men and women who show up with their black and gold invitations are not here to practice small talk.

They’re here for something forbidden.

What that forbidden thing is exactly is a mystery to me. They have never allowed me to get close enough to discover what that forbidden thing is. Whispers among the help have caught my ear. And sure, curiosity has pushed me to find out. Each time I get close, the guards see me to my room.

My once young, naïve mind often wondered if the Primrose guests spent hours behind those doors painting nude portraits of one another. I know my mother for her artistic abilities. Given the various levels of undress I’ve seen members leave in, it seemed possible.

But unlikely.

Late nights walking the darkened halls of the Primrose mansions have taught me a few things. Namely, how to tread quietly and keep my ears wide open. My mother’s voice carries and she thinks closed doors mean absolute silence. They don’t.

Rumors swirl around my family and how my mother retains her wealth. I hear those too, but it’s hard to believe the inky whispers of rivals and enemies.

Of which there are many.

And yet, enemy or not, I’ve never heard of anyone declining one of her invitations.

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