Page 19 of Chef
“The bouquets, they’re not flowers, they're dicks,” I manage to get out between snorts.
All the brothers tip their heads slightly, then one by one start to chuckle, then laugh, and then everyone is snorting and giggling around the Church table, our troubles forgotten, for the moment anyway.
“Of course they’re dicks,” Flack says, shaking his head as we calm down.
“Sorry, um, please continue?” I ask Jay and Theo, who both nod like robots.
“We still have access to Matthew Thompson’s email. The dumb shit never did change his passwords,” Jay says, rolling his eyes behind his thick, black framed glasses.
“Nathaniel Mercy, or Richard McDonald as he goes by, has been goingoffin the emails. Talking about Sage needing to be put in her place, how he needs a team to be able to ‘extract’ you. How he’s going to fulfill the vision Royal Landry had for him. Unhinged shit,” Theo finishes.
“Right, so lemme get this straight.” I say, blowing out a breath. “Ashfall is an offshoot of Eden’s Keep?” Everyone nods. “And I’m guessing whoever is running Ashfall is a former Eden’s Keep member?”
“From what we could find, doing a deep dive after Damian told us about Nathaniel being there,” Jay starts, “I would say that he’s one of the main players, if notthemain player.”
Justice taps his pointer finger on the wood church table. “When he was preaching, did he say he was the prophet, or just a messenger from a higher order?”
“Shit, we didn’t get any of that. Just what we were told when we did a deep dive. Sorry, brother,” Theo says, smiling tightly.
“Is there a difference?” Sniper rumbles.
Justice shares a look with Loyal, who shifts slightly in her seat. “If he says he's the prophet, then he believes he’s a divine source. The voice of God. There can only be one prophet, so if he’s claiming that, then he’s the top dog.”
“But if he says he’s the messenger,” Loyal adds, “then he isn't leading this. He’ll be part of the higher ups, but he’s not the man in charge.”
“Which means he’s either the whole problem, or we got another coming our way,” Vex says somberly.
“We’re DRMC, does shit ever run smooth?” Flack asks, his white teeth peeking through his salt and pepper beard.
Dex nods in agreement before blowing out a breath. “Right, we need to keep an ear out. With the Keep businesses we all deal with locals. See what they can tell you.”
“Or,” Damian starts with a sly grin, “we infiltrate. Let me go to one of them rallies. I’ll find out all we need to know.” He shrugs, and I have to admit, it’s not a bad idea.
“No offence, brother, but you are the most conspicuous person I’ve ever met. Everyone is going to notice the fucking seven foot tall bar manager from the dive bar is sniffing around,” Saint says.
“I’m 6’2, cher,” Damian says with a raised brow.
“Stick to the bar for the moment. If we need you to go in, I’ll let you know,” Dex says to Damian before looking around the table. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, one more thing,” Jay says, pressing some keys on his laptop. The projector screen is filled with faces. Women and girls fill the screen and my gut drops. “These people all went missing within days of Ashfall being in their towns.”
Curses go around the table, my hands fist with anger and pain pierces my palm from where my nails dig into my skin. How dare they? How fuckingdarethey steal these people away from their families? For what end? To breed them? To sell them? The urge to find Nathaniel and get rid of him is almost overwhelming, but I know I need to play it cool. I need to lean into what Mom taught me. Patience, timing, execution. I need proper planning. That is what is going to keep me safe, and end this, once and for all.
“Damian?” Dex says, eyes full of fire. “Fuck what I said. You’re going in.”
Chapter Seven
Chef
“What are you doing?”
I ignore TumTum, instead shoving the palm full of pain meds into my mouth and chasing it with bottled water.
“I’m going for a ride. I can’t sit here after seeing that wall of faces. All those women and girls, fuck!” I throw my empty bottle at the trashcan, but instead it bounces off the wall and hits the floor. “Shit,” I mutter to myself, stomping after it and bending to pick it up. I ignore the twinge in my gut.
“Kid, that's a shit idea. How many of them little pills did you take?” Flack asks from his spot at the bench.
“It was Tylenol. Nothing hard. I’m not fucking suicidal,” I mutter.
