The Juliette Society, Book III Read online

Page 21


  Standing on my tiptoes, I peek through the peephole.

  There’s a man with a tattooed face standing there on my doorstep.

  That fucking pink doughnut will haunt me to the end of my days.

  I grin and jerk open the door, closing it behind me to give Anna two safely closed doors between herself and the outside world. “Bundy?”

  His eyes widen with pleasure and surprise, and a little chagrin at the details surrounding this meeting—his wardrobe choice is something else—and he gives me an outlandishly formal bow and presents me with a thick, vellum envelope.

  I grin at how ridiculous Bundy Tremayne looks in a bowtie and brown suit vest paired with satin shorts with knee socks. His legs are so white and scrawny his knees stick out. I tilt my head. “Did you lose a bet?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Did it involve someone here or did you do something before you got to the compound?”

  He scratches his face and smirks. The laugh lines are a little deeper in his face, so his life mustn’t have been all terrible in the years it’s been since we last saw each other. He crosses his arms. “I’m not supposed to say anything in case it influences you one way or the other. There may or may not have been an incident with a salami and a Ukrainian woman, but you won’t get the details from me. You’re supposed to open the envelope.”

  Seeing him gives me a lighthearted moment of “the gang’s all here,” though we’re not—and things definitely aren’t completely lighthearted at the moment. But it makes me wonder who else is in the compound, sipping a fancy drink by a pool, or who else was at some of those parties I went to.

  Was Bundy at the party Penelope threw for me?

  Was Kubrick wearing a stylized mask at the surrealist party? Maybe he was fucking someone. Maybe he was fucking someone while wearing a gorilla mask. Hell, maybe he was being fucked by someone wearing a gorilla mask. Either scenario is as likely as the other.

  I smile and open the envelope, wanting to ask Bundy about any mutual friends, but deciding to wait in case I spoil the surprise.

  It’s an invitation to someone’s place, written in a careful, elaborate font. I always meant to learn calligraphy but never found the time…or had the patience for it. There are a lot of hobbies I’ve been interested in but never gotten to. There have been even more that were idle interests; something I thought might be cool to try when I saw, but promptly forgot about.

  Fire-twirling. Napkin-folding. Making sculptures out of magnetic sand. Are these things lost to me now if I’m to take some form of punishment for killing X, even though it was the right thing to do?

  There’s only one way to find out for certain.

  Curious, and knowing the timing has meaning to it, I decide to go with Bundy. He turns and I follow him, noticing the tail attached to the seat of his shorts. I’m about to give it a friendly tug when I realize it’s actually peeking through the seam of the ass of the shorts.

  It’s a butt plug with a luxurious faux fur tail attached that swings and swishes when he walks.

  Bundy must have really done something naughty to be being punished this way on top of being treated like a lapdog. For someone who prefers to be on top, this punishment seems to be against his nature. He’s going along with it rather well, a spring in his step and everything.

  I wonder if he knows Anna is alive, but I don’t ask, for asking about her reveals she’s here, and if he doesn’t know that, it’s for a reason.

  Besides, it’s not my secret to tell.

  But I can’t see him knowing she’s here—and knowing what we’ve just done—and not mentioning it. Perhaps his orders are stricter than I thought, for all the frivolity.

  Bundy leads me in silence, to the plainest villa on the street, and I know that whoever lives here is important, because like the grail in Indiana Jones, whoever is in charge here doesn’t care to show off their money. They aren’t trying to impress anyone with possessions or flashiness. The simplicity is deliberate. Us all being here is the best show of influence and power they need.

  Bundy opens the door and leads me inside the dark, cool hallway to a room like a confessional booth at a church, and closes it behind me.

  Shut in the darkness, I take a seat on the velour cushioned bench and wait. I’m surprisingly calm, but maybe it’s because my body and brain have finally hit saturation point and can’t react to anymore shocks at this point.

  A moment later, there’s a little bump as their door opens then closes on their side of the ornately carved wooden screen that separates us. A bit of light shone through when their door opened, showing me the details of the partition. It’s so smooth and fine I could probably push my fingers through it like tissue paper, but I don’t for obvious reasons.

  Then it too swings open, revealing the smiling face of…Bob DeVille. “Catherine.”

  “Bob, I—”

  “Come with me, don’t be nervous, Penny is here,” he interrupts and opens the partition between us, leading me through the door into a larger room with one large chair and twelve slightly smaller surrounding it, which form a circle. All except two chairs are empty. “Mine, and yours,” he says, taking his seat.

  I take mine as well, avoiding eye contact with anyone except Penny and Bob. Their intense scrutiny makes me feel like a bug in a jar which annoys me, and I throw my shoulders back and boldly look them in the eyes. I’m not a scared little girl they can intimidate. Whatever they’ve got planned, I can more than handle it.

  The woman in the most ornate chair inclines her head to me. “Welcome, Catherine.” Her voice is warm and rich like melted butter. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” She’s in her late forties with a heart-shaped face, silky chocolate skin, and wide brown eyes that remind me of Inana’s. Her hair is pulled back tight in a perfect chignon, and her clothing reeks of class and wealth without making show of the fact that she is the leader.

  I was relaxed, sure. But maybe my pulse kicks up a little that she’s not some alpha asshole businessman in a suit. Then again, it’s The Juliette Society—so what else could I expect other than a woman to be the one in charge? The hint’s been there in the name all along.

  I lean closer. “Thank you,” I reply. I smile. “I liked your delivery boy.”

  She chuckles. “Ah yes. Bundy and you have a history. I was hoping it would amuse you.”

  I grimace. “You didn’t make him wear that tail just for me, right?”

  “No. That was to atone for other actions of his own making. He’s nearly redeemed himself and can go back to his shenanigans soon. I’d never tell him, but he does keep things interesting around here.”

  That makes me feel slightly better for my…well, I wouldn’t call him my friend, but I’d hate to know he’s forced to serve some asshole like X for the rest of his life. He deserves to cut loose in a place like this where the girls don’t need drugs to fuck, unless it’s that kind of party. Maybe he found a large woman with seventies pubes like he dreamed of.

  But I’ve come here not to talk about my old acquaintance or for a girly chat. “This place is yours?” I ask, meaning so much more than the house we’re sitting in.

  “In a manner of speaking. If I told you it’s mine now but not forever, that would be accurate.”

  “Have you known about me all along?” Somehow, speaking in front of the others feels natural instead of like we have an audience.

  “Not much escapes my notice when it comes to the world we’ve created.”

  Somehow her confession doesn’t creep me out. It’s sort of like having a guardian angel watching over me, even if she’s not always done a great job of protecting me from harm. Speaking of X…

  “You brought me here to discuss something in particular.”

  When she speaks next, I can hear the smile on her lips in her words. “I do so love your directness, Catherine. It’s been brought to my attention that we have a mutual…issue.”

  “If you’re talking about a certain pretentious asshole with
a one letter name, then I took care of it.” My impatience overtakes me. “X killed people. He killed some of our members. He tried to kill me by destroying my career and reputation.”

  “Not all who are dead stay dead.”

  My blood runs cold. Did I not kill him? Did I let go too soon and his heart stuttered back to life after Anna and I left? Impossible. “I know he’s dead.”

  “I was speaking of you, not him.”

  I unclench my fists and uncross my legs. “What are you talking about?”

  “You almost went there a couple times, but something always held you back from that final push. The stakes never changed—things were always life or death.”

  They knew all along I was in danger, but didn’t think to step in? “Surely you have people who could have…neutralized the threat.”

  Bob laughs softly and tells me that this wasn’t about just taking him out. “It was a final initiation—whether or not you were ready to take your rightful place of power.”

  I frown. “My rightful place?”

  The woman nods. “We have watched you for a long time, evaluating your choices. We believe you have proven yourself to be a valuable asset.”

  “What about Anna?”

  She smiles. “Your friend is a favorite to many of us, but even you must realize there’s a fundamental difference between you and her.”

  Back at X’s, I’d literally handed revenge to Anna on a platter and she’d been unable to take what was hers. “She knew everything I did about X and was still unable to do what I did.”

  “Precisely.” The woman gestures to those around us. “Not everyone is suited to this lifestyle. Even fewer are able to do the things we in this room do to protect The Juliette Society and ensure its survival. But you, Catherine, have earned your place here—if you want it.”

  There’s a poetic justice in cutting the head from a hydra and seeing your own face spring forth. By killing X, I’ve won the opportunity to become the beast, merge with it, grow stronger with it.

  I look at Bob, and his smile is enigmatic. Penny nods like she knew all along I belong here. Each person in this room has power. Each person in this room knows exactly who they are.

  No fears, no regrets, no excuses. They’ll do whatever it takes to get what they want and protect the people they love. To be true to themselves, even though it’s not always the easy path.

  And they think I’m one of them.

  I lean back in my chair, sliding my hands over the arm rests with a smile, because you know what?

  They’re right.

  EPILOGUE

  SOMETIMES ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES you’d never dreamed possible. Even if you get away with something, it can feel like there’s another shoe waiting to drop. It’s all about the anticipation in that case, even if it’s not, because you’re looking forward to whatever may come next.

  And sometimes, nothing happens except for the changes inside you that are invisible to the rest of the world. You carry on with your days, weeks, months, years. You live your life the way you want to live it.

  No fear, no regrets. Until one day you look back and decide which decisions you made were the right ones. Which things you’d have done differently to get you to the optimal place a little faster.

  And you want to share the hard-won lessons you learned with someone worthy of the knowledge.

  And that, my dear, is the reason you’re here right now.

  But before we go any further, let’s get this out of the way: I want you to do three things for me. No, not stop, drop, and roll—although in a sense, your world is about to catch on fire.

  If you want it to.

  So, one: Do not be offended by anything you read beyond this point.

  Two: Leave your inhibitions at the door.

  Three, and most importantly, so pay attention: Everything you see and hear from now on must remain between us.

  Okay. Now let’s get down to the nitty-gritty.

  When I told you that a secret club exists whose members are drawn only from the most powerful people in society: the bankers, the super-rich, media moguls, CEOs, lawyers, law enforcement, arms dealers, decorated military personnel, politicians, government officials, and even distinguished clergy from the Catholic Church—did you believe me?

  Or did you think I was speaking hypothetically?

  I wasn’t talking about the Illuminati. Or the Bilderberg Group, or Bohemian Grove, or any of those corny plot devices used to advance the commercial agendas of disingenuous conspiracy nut jobs.

  No. This club is a lot more innocent—on the face of it.

  But not underneath where I’ve peeled back the lies and showed you the truth.

  This club meets irregularly, at a secret location. Sometimes remote, and sometimes hidden in plain sight. But never the same place twice. Usually not even in the same time zone.

  We call it The Juliette Society.

  Maybe now you get my drift. Maybe now you understand why this secret society, The Juliette Society, might not be as entirely innocent as it seems.

  And when I told you that I’d managed to penetrate—pardon my French—the inner circle of this club, did you believe me? How about now, after all I’ve shared with you? Does it make you hungry for more? What is experience worth to you? And what does it cost?

  And they’re not the same thing at all. One is concerned with meaning, the other with sacrifice.

  We’re so used to paying a price—for our weekly shopping, our health, our mistakes, our indiscretions, and other crimes, affronts, and misdemeanors—and never questioning how much, or who decides what that is and why. And, as a culture, we seem obsessed with what’s been lost—whether it’s innocence, privacy, privilege, security, or respect—rarely with what’s been gained.

  No one but no one can tell me what my experience is worth. No one but me. It’s something only I can know and understand and feel. It’s something only I can weigh up, measure and quantify. Something I can choose to pass on to others or keep for myself. And that’s my choice, and my choice alone. It’s my freedom to decide. My responsibility to uphold.

  Let’s not mince words here. We’re talking about sex. About fucking. And everyone does it, whether in public or in private. More or less. Straight or kinky. Solo or in pairs or groups. With the opposite sex or their own. And, in practice, usually several or all of the above options in combination. Our sexuality is as at least as complex as our personality; maybe more so, because it involves our bodies, not just our minds.

  This isn’t about science, it’s about being. And that’s why I don’t particularly trust the conclusions of people like Doctor Kinsey and Doctor Freud, especially when it comes to women. Because how do you quantify or categorize desire? How you can make value judgments on what’s good or bad for people, for individuals, based on how they feel? Based on how they fuck?

  We’re all freaks. In secret. Under the skin. In the sack. Behind closed doors. When no one’s looking. But when someone is looking, or when someone knows, that’s when there’s a price to pay. A price that’s put on us, like a pound of flesh. And that price, it might be called many things, when it’s really just one thing.

  Shame.

  But by now you should know that shame is a construct designed to keep us from claiming our power. Some of us are able to throw off the shackles of that word, that concept they’ve tried to hold us down with.

  I have it.

  Inana had it.

  Anna has it.

  We could argue back and forth forever about nature or nurture, but this talent, it’s not something I was born with. At least not that I’m aware of. No, this is something I realized. But it has been with me for a long time, hard-coded, buried like a switch in a sleeper agent, and only recently turned on.

  I see that same talent in you.

  Now, the time has come to decide. This story has become about what you want. How far you’ll go.

  Do you remember what the three stages of initiation are? Let me remind you.
<
br />   Disorientation of the senses. Intoxication of the body. Orgiastic sex.

  Everyone’s kinks are different. Taking the ultimate risk for some doesn’t involve hands around your throat, letting them choke you within an inch of your life. Sometimes the ultimate risk is reaching out to someone.

  The way I’ve done with you.

  You’re here now, reading these words because you want to know what it tastes like to savor a life like this. But you’ll need to ask yourself, “What is experience worth? And what does it cost?”

  This is what my experience is worth: I understand things now about sex and power and how they connect and interact that some people never get to discover during the course of their entire lives. And I didn’t know what the future held when I killed Mr. X, but I did always know one thing that was not in the future I saw for myself: Being a whistleblower.

  My instinct for survival was and is a lot stronger than my desire to save the world. So I could play the hero if I wanted to, but do I want to be known as that person for the rest of my life? Do I want to live with the consequences? What would my life be then? Secrets are best kept, not revealed. This one has stayed with me. But I reserved the right to change my mind at any time.

  What would you have done in my position?

  Do you want to find out?

  See, this is how these things work. You need to know that. No one has any incentive to go public. It’s not in anybody’s vested interest.

  That’s the true nature of power. The occult nature of power. It’s hidden. And it remains hidden. So The Juliette Society, it just carries on. Girls like Anna will continue to disappear. Or turn up on islands in other countries.

  And evil bastards like X will be put down like the dogs they are. Because he’s dangerous and doesn’t know enough about the bigger picture to realize that he is replaceable. Ultimately, he’s one link in the chain that can easily be replaced. It’s always been that way and it will always be that way. Mutually assured destruction benefits nobody.

  What about me?

  What am I getting out of all this? What’s the price I’ll have to pay and how could I have known? Before the fact, not after; because sex is not a supermarket aisle where you can browse all the different options and know the cost before you make your choice. So let’s assume I was fully conscious and aware of everything that I was doing and why. It’s far more interesting that way, isn’t it? Because there are no excuses. There’s no one to blame.