Chapter 30 Loophole
Dorian looked into his glass. All ice. When had he finished it?
He nodded and got to his feet. Animkii must have been watching him from the doorway for a while because he clapped him on the shoulder and rocked him a little with a reassuring smile before leading him down the hall past several doors with crests on the doors.
Each chamber was guarded by two statues. He didn’t know how many chambers there were, but the history notes of the Society said that each of the chambers belonged to the founding members.
He passed the Knox family crest, originally the Sidaris family, and paused, looking up at the two statues forming the pillars that led to the chamber. He hadn’t been inside since Vincent’s father died years ago.
The room had been updated several times over the centuries, each new head of the family adding something of their time to it.
He didn’t know what his father had added to it, and he didn’t really care. Vincent kept it as a private parlor for entertainment, but Vincent’s father had conducted the company’s affairs and controlled the family from the other side of the massive, ancient olive wood and stone desk.
Dorian hated the twinge in his chest at the thought of Dorian I.
“You alright?”
He nodded and turned away to follow Animkii.
The walk to the Black chambers wasn’t far. He didn’t know what the original family name was for the modern-day Blacks. The statues that stood on either side of the doors were as regal as all the others and had been retouched. They were crouched mid strike. Their spears extended across the doors, framing the crest. In addition to them was a pair of Animkii’s guards stationed nearby. Animkii keyed in the code and pressed a finger to the door. The spears slid back, and Animkii pushed the door open. As Dorian passed, he noted the eyes of the statues had been replaced with glass orbs that were probably some sort of hyper-advanced cameras, probably from some other business Animkii owned.
Wasn’t Animkii’s family patron the god of wealth? Hades? Pluto? He was too drunk to remember and not drunk enough not to care.
“Welcome!” Animkii said, waving him in. “I don’t think you’ve ever been.”
He hadn’t, and he wasn’t going to lie and say he was starting to feel like they were actually friends if Animkii was letting him into his family’s chambers. The warm, giddy sort of feeling that struck through him had his gaze sweeping the whole room, a welcome distraction from the guilt and tendrils of grief.
The antechamber was gigantic, with a large balcony. Light poured in through the glass he bet was bullet proof. The expanse of the ocean peeked over the edge of the balcony’s railing, but the balcony was covered and more like a greenhouse, given the flourishing foliage. Giant, sprawling couches, a sumptuous rug over the stone floors, and displays of weapons and tools decorated the space. There were other doors. One of them was probably a bathroom, another an office, but overall, the space seemed like only the smallest updates had been applied, mostly for security and convenience.
Jax sprawled across a couch with a drink in hand, a Society-branded book on his knee, and a red pen in hand. He’d changed out of his casual suit. His hair was down still, an elastic on his wrist, and he was dressed for the sun in trunks and a wide-armed tank, showing off the full sleeve of tattoos he’d been building over the years. His feet were covered in socks, oddly.
The door closed behind him.
Animkii stepped aside and slipped his shoes off. Dorian followed suit, crossing the room. Mason was seated on the couch nearest the balcony, looking out like a fucking bird in a cage.
What the fuck was he being recruited for?
“If this is an intervention, I want a bigger glass.”
Jax snorted and sipped his drink. “It’s scheming, actually.” He gestured to the room. “Only place on the whole island you can be sure is actually fucking private.”
“I do try,” Animkii said, taking Dorian’s glass and gliding across the room. “Thought you’d might need it with your new administrator.”
Dorian winced. “How’d you know?”
Animkii smirked. “I get to sit in on the meetings.”
Dorian blinked. “The fuck?”
He was going to ask how, but the gigantic portrait of Animkii’s family on the wall above the bar caught his eye, and he shut his mouth. They were all smiling; it looked like it could have been a candid photo rendered in oil paint. The weight of grief from the funeral settled on his chest again, along with guilt at being an insensitive prick to even think to ask.
Animkii was the only one left.
Of course, he had a seat at the table, whether the rest of the Society’s heads wanted him there or not. Animkii put the glass back in his hand, full of some dark liquid that smelled more expensive than anything he’d ever drank, and probably stronger, too.
He was going to have to sip it like a civilized jackass.
“Take a seat.”
Dorian claimed a couch across from Jax. “What are you doing?”
“Reading for a loophole.” He waved his glass. “There’s one. I know it because there has to be.” He flashed a grin. “Ani’s parents were lovely people.”
Dorian nodded. He’d heard about them, but never met them. They and the rest of Animkii’s family had been found dead the morning of their rookie year’s final championship game, the one that brought the Cup to Fortuna for the first time. Animkii had earned his “playmaker” and “enforcer” badges that game. Then, he and Mason had flown back to Fortuna to arrange the funerals. Most of the team, including Dorian, had attended in solidarity.
“They were,” Animkii said and sat with a sigh, leaning back. “I had figured it wouldn’t come to this yet, but there are changes coming down from the top. Good ones, I hope.”
“Like maids being initiates?”
Animkii cocked an eyebrow. “You’re talking about Ms. Baker.”
“I saw her in a parlor earlier… shiny new slide deck. Defeated.”
“You’re an asshole,” Mason said, his voice flat and emotionless.
Dorian winced and sipped.
“Got it,” Jax said as his phone chimed. He circled something and twisted to toss it to Animkii. “Page ninety-four.”
Why the fuck did—whatever that book was—have over ninety-four pages?
Animkii turned the pages. Jax pulled out his phone, got that goofy grin he got when he was texting the not-girlfriend he’d been pining after since his freshman year, and typed a message. Then, he was scooping his hair up, and a bit of the tension in the air bled out.
If Jax’s hair was up, he was having a good day. Animkii was the exact opposite. He’d worn his hair up for the first two years of his NHL career: ponytails, buns, braids, and any other updo he could manage. It was only recently that he started to let it down.
Animkii hummed. “You might just make it as a crook-for-hire, little one.”