Prey Drive by Jen Stevens
Chapter 33
the wolf
a charity gala. Like all their public events, families are expected to attend. It's the last place I want to be, surrounded by a crowd of narcissistic rapists, murderers, and criminals. If I have to endure one more conversation with a crusty old man flaunting his wealth to me, I'll throw myself off the thirtieth story balcony.
This world is so incestuous and brutal. How is it that we've allowed a small group of people to hold the most amount of wealth, only to hoard it and watch as the rest of the world burns to the ground? How is it that I'm sitting at a table completely covered with rare foods that everyone here is too image-obsessed to eat, while the Stardusts of the world struggle to make it to their next meal? Mallory and her mother are prattling on about their next European vacation while her father tries to talk my ear off about the failing investments my father roped him into, as if I give a fuck. Sienna has been flitting in and out of the room, inserting her own comments and snide remarks about the people who aided in her murder that only fuel my anger.
I'm not a good man. But I knew that making people like this even richer by trampling on those who work hard to earn every dime was going to slowly kill me. It's why I refused to ship off to some expensive Ivy League college and join the family business the second I graduated. Instead, I took what knowledge I already had, and I created something that actually added value to the world. The whole world, not just the top three percent.
But I have to show my face at these things if I want to keep them off my scent. I've got a plan for how I'll reveal myself as the one who’s been plucking them off. Missing one of their many opportunities to throw money around like it's confetti and giving their pea-sized brains a chance to connect the dots feels too anticlimactic.
For now, I like to be here to hear them speculate. To listen from the outskirts of the room as they quietly take their guesses on who could be hunting them down, then obsess over who might be next. The fact that they haven't already narrowed it down to someone connected to Sienna only further proves what sick sons of bitches they truly are. Every single one of them is guilty of the same crimes committed against my sister, some even worse. They know if their killer is out for retaliation, it’ll take a lot more kills to truly pin it on one incident.
“I heard he doesn’t take any souvenirs from his victims.”
“My friend on the force claims there might be multiple killers, since there's so much variation with how the bodies are left.”
“He doesn't even wait between victims like most serial killers. Just dumps the body and moves onto the next.”
Their whispered conversations fill my ears as I move through the room. They don't know what to do with the information they have about their killer, and that's what terrifies them the most.
I haven't been sworn in as a member and gone through the insidious hoops to be initiated yet. My father and all my uncles are on the board, so it's fully expected I'll follow behind. They would prefer that time to come sooner rather than later. The incident with Sienna, as they so delicately put it, bought me some time to recover before accepting those men as my “brothers.” The group of snakes who committed the crimes were given a slap on the wrist, and then initiated within the following week.
They should have known from the start that I would never rest until each and every one of them was no longer breathing.
My mother tried to raise hell, but no one listened to her. How my father can still sit beside those men and protect them from paying for their crimes is beyond me, though I'm not entirely convinced he was as innocent as he tries to claim. I think there was an expected role for him to play as the wounded parent, and he performed it out of necessity. But something about it lacked the heart and contempt that should have been there against the men who butchered and raped his own daughter.
His death will certainly be the most painful.
I'm doing my rounds, slowly walking the perimeter of the room to avoid being pulled into any real conversation, when someone taps me on the shoulder from behind. When I turn, I'm not surprised to find Logan's father, Charles, standing before me with a grim expression. He's been tailing me all night.
“Sebastian,” he greets in an unusually melancholy tone.
I still remember the smug smiles that Charles and Logan wore in the courtroom when it was announced that the charges for Sienna's murder were dropped. There was a moment when I seriously considered killing the man standing before me right alongside his son. But in the end, taking Logan from him and forcing him to live the rest of his life without his precious heir to inherit anything he worked his long, useless life for is far worse than any torture I could dish out in the workshop.
Charles was always the most boisterous, obnoxious person in the room—especially with his little mini-me by his side. When Logan was initiated, they threw a bash at their vacation home in Cabo, completely ignorant to the fact that multiple families were mourning their losses as a result of his sick ceremony. The shell of a human standing before me is as broken inside as every shattered bone was in my sister’s dead body.
It's a rewarding sight, to say the least.
“Charles,” I accost with a wide smile, a little too loudly. “How have you been?”
He scowls the slightest bit, taken back by the fact that I haven’t fallen all over myself to offer any condolences for losing his son the way everyone else here has done the instant they see him.
I killed Logan weeks ago. There’s no reason for him to still be milking his death now. They sure as hell didn’t offer us that privilege when we were in the same position. And besides, there’re five other families here who have lost their sons in the same manner who are getting by just fine.
They just have no idea the killer is standing among them. Although, Charles looks oddly suspicious.
“I’m sure you’ve heard about Logan,” he says bitterly, wincing at the mention of his late son’s name.
Nodding once, I tip my drink toward him. “I did. Sorry to hear that yet another bright future has been stolen away.”
The apology comes out as insincere as it feels, but I’ve gotten my point across. I don’t give a fuck about Logan. He’s just another name on a long list of people who have been forced to give their lives to this incestuous, ego-driven secret society.
“You two were always close,” he pushes, before narrowing his eyes.
I only shrug, tightening my lips into a thin line. “We lost touch when he went away to college, but Logan always made sure everyone was having a good time.”
Everyone but the unfortunate soul he deemed his victim that night.
Logan was an asshole well before he graduated college and initiated into The Order. We all knew it, and I’m sure there are far more people relieved to hear he’s gone than there are mourning his loss.
Charles leans in, positioning himself so we’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder, and it looks like we're assessing the room together.
“They’re saying the killer is targeting The Order specifically,” he mutters in a low enough tone to avoid anyone overhearing. “The Serpent Slayer is what he calls himself.”
No, that's what the media is calling me.
It's got a nice ring to it, though I would have chosen something more original. Maybe less conspicuous. I'm sure one of the board members coined the name themselves. They love to flaunt the secrecy of their society in everyone's faces just to seem interesting.
There's nothing interesting about a group of men who abuse power and destroy lives for the hell of it.
I raise my brows at Charles, playing the part he expects me to play—a shocked, concerned member with no clue if I'll be next.
He knows something. I’m sure of it now. I just need to figure out how much.
“Why would they be doing that?” I wonder aloud, my tone satirical.
I’m walking a dangerously thin line, mocking him like this. But I'm hoping that I'll get some sort of accusation out of him, so I can assess what kind of threat he is to my process.
“You and I both know that initiation into our order is quite unique. Seems to me that someone is targeting our younger recruits.” He finally turns back to me, scanning his eyes over my body in an open show of sizing me up.
I scoff at the mere thought that he could have a chance against me. Charles just raises his brow and goes on with his rant, playing directly into my hand.
“Perhaps the killer is tied to one of The Order's victims.”
Ah, yes. There it is: the nail in his coffin.
He's just guaranteed his own death with one long, sideways glance.
“I wouldn't be surprised to find that's true,” I reply coolly, already envisioning all the ways he'll scream as I tear his flesh from his body.
It's not like he's an innocent man. Bring his name up with any of the wives and daughters of The Order after they've had a few drinks, and they'll sing like canaries about how he's raped and molested them or someone they knew.
“When is your initiation planned, Sebastian?” he asks, throwing me out of my thoughts.
“It's not. I'm not prepared to join yet after what happened to Sienna.” I'm not going to lie to him. Not when I've already decided he's dead. But I do need to be more careful in case he tries to bring his suspicions to anyone else.
“You know, the punishment for harming another brother is quite harsh. Most don't survive it…”
I watch closely as he brings the whiskey glass to his thin lips and downs the rest of it. Sweat has gathered along the edge of his graying mustache, and his hand shakes when he lowers it back down to slam the glass onto a nearby table.
“I'm aware.”
I'm not sure what he's getting at with that comment. Is he threatening me with the punishment, or reminding me that, while I'm not technically a member, I could be harmed without repercussions?
He's indirectly threatened me twice now in the span of five minutes. That has earned him a couple of fingers being cut off, at the very least.
Maybe I'll slice those disgusting, wrinkled lips right off his face too.
“Just keep that in mind.” With that, he walks away as if he's just won this weird standoff he instigated.
But his steps are hurried, his body tense.
He's nervous. As he should be.
I'll be the boogeyman stealing him away in the dead of night. But for now, I direct my full attention to following him to ensure he doesn't have anyone else on my trail.