Maybe he was a king. That would explain why there was so much gold. Gold buttons. Gold watch. Gold pin shaped like a little harp. Even his brassy hair and aged skin had an unnatural golden glow.
His eyes moved over Jackie’s body slowly, like a butcher pricing meat. Whatever he saw, he made no expression to show if he was disappointed or pleased. “See that he’s bathed properly.”
“Yes, Chancellor.”
“We’re approaching The Preserve now, Mr. Thorne.”
Henry’s voice ripped Jack from his memories into the present. Tugging his lapels, he cleared his mind and glanced at the familiar Gothic spires and dark stone edifice approaching. “Thank you, Henry.”
The Preserve materialized through morning mist like a fever dream, the architecture on a scale that dwarfed human ambition, creating an exclusive, otherworldly wonderland where the world’s wealthiest adults came to play.
Despite their darker proclivities, Stone, Ash, and Hunter Volkov were men of integrity and great privacy. Their twisted tastes for carnality helped shape The Feast into everything it had become over the last ten years.
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.
