He nods slowly and then attends to the patron.
Jack doesn’t know the whole truth, and I don’t intend to tell him. He knows he might be in danger tonight, but he doesn’t know about the organ harvesting plot.
I take a deep breath, paste a smile on my face, and walk up to the stage.
First set went well. Not my best, but my mind is otherwise occupied tonight.
Jack is milling about nearby. I grab his hand and drag him into my dressing room. Once the door is closed, I grab his shoulders. “So tell me. What have you been told to do once you finish up with your shift tonight?”
Jack swallows, scanning the room.
“Don’t worry, there aren’t any hidden cameras or mics. You can speak freely.”
Though now I’m wondering if that’s actually the case. Rouge told me there were no security cameras in my dressing room, just as there are none in the private suite. But Chet knew Harrison and I had slept together in the private suite the night we met. So I’m taking a big fucking grain of salt with everything she tells me.
But for right now, I need Jack to at least think he can speak freely.
“I was told they’d give me a one-week grace period at the Caterpillar Hotel. By that point I’d have to secure lodging elsewhere and start my new life.”
“So they’re expecting you to stay there tonight.”
“Right. I figured I’d have at least the night after my final shift, since the club stays open so late. The whole week is generous, if I’m being honest.”
“And they told you to stay there tonight?”
“Yeah. I was told the earliest I should check out is tomorrow morning, but that I had a whole week to get my affairs in order.” He crosses his arms. “Most of the waitstaff I’ve seen go have left pretty quickly. I don’t think anyone has ever stayed the whole week.”
I nod, calculating in my head. If they told Jack he could check out tomorrow, then they’re likely planning to do away with him tonight.
At this point, we can assume that every server here in Aces—or any of Rouge’s other clubs—faces the same fate. The same for any patron who crosses my sister. It’s not as if the demand for organs will go down. Every day, people get older and need more complex medical care. Rouge isn’t going to stop unless it stops being profitable for her. She has an unlimited quantity of young, healthy organs at her polished fingertips.
I check my watch. My second set of the night is about to start.
“I’ll keep an eye on you,” I tell Jack. “Stay close.”
He nods and we leave the dressing room together. Soon the patrons are descending on Jack with more drink orders and suggestive comments. I head to the stage. The rest of the musicians are in their places—they’ve taken to staying out of my dressing room ever since Pierce stopped showing up—and I offer them each a weak smile.
Poor Pierce.
Poor everyone.
I’m going to stop Rouge. Even if I get myself killed in the process, I’ll do it. One death to stop a hundred more. If I had listened to Jack that night all those years ago, I could have prevented the loss of countless lives.
I squint. A crossed set of drumsticks rests atop Pierce’s set. That’s odd. He couldn’t have taken the drums home with him, but he would have taken his drumsticks, right?
I hold up a finger to the other members of the band, indicating we’ll get started in just a second. I pick up the drumsticks. Maybe they’re evidence. They’re milky white, and Pierce’s name is engraved in the sides.
But as I handle them, I realize something.
These drumsticks aren’t made of plastic, or wood, or metal.
They’re made of animal—or possibly human—bones.
And as I run my fingers over the engraving, a dark thought spears into my brain.
What if these drumsticks aren’t Pierce’s?
What if they are Pierce?
