Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Had it really been ten years since he set his plan into action? The first feast lived in his memory as if it were only yesterday. This year’s festivities marked a commemorative triumph only he could truly understand. To others, it was merely a wild night that changed the lives of a select few.
Jack exited the Bentley before Henry rounded the car. The massive front doors swung open, and Stone Volkov filled the threshold like a sentinel carved from the same dark material as the lodge itself.
“J.” Stone’s green eyes caught the light with predatory calm. “Early as always.”
“Good to see you, Stone.”
Like his Russian brothers, Stone’s bearlike presence radiated the kind of stillness that preceded violence. But Jack was under no threat here.
“Ash is waiting in the study. Hunter’s wrapping up a few security checks.” He gestured for Jack to lead the way inside.
The unchanged entrance carried an inescapable draft due to its massive size and ancient stone walls. Soaring ceilings reflected in the black marble floors. Wrought-iron chandeliers hung overhead, bristling with gas flames that never dimmed. No wonder people called them the three bears. Something animal and unrefined lay dormant beneath their power and wealth, something only a fool would wake.
When they reached the study, a large library with a gaping fireplace and an antique billiard table in the back, Ash Volkov rose from behind a massive desk, stretching out his hand in a warm welcome. “J.” His golden hair caught the fading sunlight as his ice-blue eyes creased at the corners. He rounded the desk and clasped Jack’s hand. “Welcome back.” He gestured to a leather chair before the fireplace. “Coffee?”
Jack settled into a leather Chesterfield chair. “Mad Hatter, if you have it.”
Ash raised a brow, but made no comment as he moved to the bar cart and poured two fingers of amber liquid into a crystal glass.
Jack was still on Tokyo time.
Heavy footfalls announced Hunter Volkov’s approach as Ash handed Jack the glass. The third Volkov brother entered the study like an unapologetic storm, black eyes sweeping the room before offering any form of greeting.
“Perimeter’s clear.” He eased his impressively honed body into the chair opposite Jack. “You’re fucking early.”
“I’m always early.”
Most would shiver at Hunter’s scarred face, but Jack had seen true ugliness before and didn’t flinch at the superficial kind. Deep down, they all had scars. Some simply had the luxury to hide them better than others.
Hunter’s gaze lowered to the glass resting in his palm. “Good trip?”
“Successful. No complaints.”
“Good.”
Ash retrieved a leather portfolio, thick with correspondence. Jack’s golden stalk insignia embossed on the cover.
“Four hundred twelve applications. Screened to eighty-seven viable candidates for you to personally review.”
Jack took the file. “Thank you.”
He’d refined the application process over several years. The carefully designed process sought a specific kind of desperation. The moral riddles eliminated thrill-seekers along the way. And the sensual questions ensured the events menu fit the tastes of their male guests.
But Jack valued the essays most. Those couldn’t be worked through an algorithm or delegated to someone else. It was his event, and therefore, he saw it as his personal duty to read each and every one that made it this far, leaving the final selection to his discretion.
The essays were a far cry from quality literature, but each one told a story and showed him proof that good humans still existed. The words on those pages were glimpses into real people’s souls.
Flipping open the folder, he skimmed the first few applications, only giving them a surface glance.
“Daisy Burdan. A twenty-two-year-old laundress in London. No criminal record,” he read aloud.
“There are a few in there with records.”
“That doesn’t bother me. Sometimes people have no other choice but to break the law. Not everyone is privileged enough to escape the penalties.” He shut the folder, deciding to save the finer details for later when he was alone.
“I’ll forward my approved list by week’s end.”
“Perfect. The official invitations should reach them by month's end. There are a few we're still vetting. Cross-referencing addresses and account information to make sure nothing is off.”
Jack didn’t question how they hacked into such private data. Experience showed him the Volkovs were sticklers for detail and experts in both digital and physical security. He trusted them to get the job done.
“Emerald card? Gold seal? Full presentation as usual?” Ash asked.
“Simple and elegant.”
Once they had the guest list covered, they reviewed venue preparations. Jack toured the ballroom where the masquerade, better known as The Wrecking Ball, would take place. Chandeliers were being dusted and rehung by silent staff working diligently to see to every preparation. The black marble floor reflected like dark water.
Ash noted the various areas that would be transformed for the event. “The does and stags will arrive by limo and be presented from the veranda as usual. The hunters will be well on their way by that point, having enjoyed several hours of libations prior to the ball.”