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“Yeah,” I said in a strained voice, resisting the urge to reach down and cup my nuts protectively.

“I was utterly appalled when Holt told me. Outraged. That we welcomed them into the bosom of our family for so many years, when they are capable of such…” Corey waved a hand, searching for the most dramatic word. “Malevolence.”

“They’re thieving assholes,” I muttered, picturing my jeans being torn apart so they could get the zipper and… what? I still didn’t know why they’d wanted my fucking zipper.

“The incident won’t be coming up today,” Corey told me primly. “Rafe has expressed his desire for it not to be discussed. Poor boy. Maybe I should offer him some therapy sessions too. Let him work through it. Process it in a healthy manner.”

I didn’t know Rafe all that well, but I was pretty sure he’d hate that as much as Crossbody and I were going to hate whatever Corey had in store for us.

Dan sat down on my other side eating a jelly donut, and Corey immediately leaned across my lap to squeeze his knee meaningfully.

“Dan, please let Rafe know that I’m here for him,” he murmured, then sat back and placed a hand over his chest. “Frankly, I feel partially responsible. When Holt asked for my opinion about hiring Frank and Beans all those years ago, I gave my enthusiastic assent. I saw promise, but I failed to see the… insidious darkness lurking just beneath the surface.”

As he shuddered dramatically, Dan and I shared a quick look.

“Um, thanks,” he said hesitantly. “But Rafe’s fine. He’s good.”

I was pretty sure Dan and I were more traumatised by what had happened at that house than Rafe was from being mugged by them.

“He’s putting on a brave front,” Corey insisted, leaning back in to grasp Dan’s arm and give it a little shake, sending jelly from his donut splatting onto the floor.

“I don’t think he is,” Dan said in mild alarm. “He’d tell me if it was bothering him.”

Corey sighed, leaning back. “I do wish he was coming today.”

“He’d hate it,” Dan said flatly. “Like, fuckin’ hate it hate it.”

“And why do you think that is?” Corey asked in what I assumed was meant to be a thoughtful, professorial tone. I sighed, getting a hint of what to expect next week.

“Okay, folks.” Holt’s voice saved Dan from having to think of an answer, which he looked pretty nervous about, and I glanced up to see that almost all the seats were filled.

All of the wrestlers aside from Crossbody and Brian were here. So was Larkin, although he just looked eager to hear all the gossip rather than haunted by anything Frank and Beans had done. Even Paxton, our camera operator, was here. And Tommy the maintenance guy, as well as Frances the janitor and Harriet who worked the bar.

“So much pain,” Corey murmured throatily beside me. “So much suffering. Whose lives did these… unscrupulous marauders not adversely touch among us?”

“Not Crossbody’s, obviously,” I couldn’t help but mutter, slouching lower in my seat. “Seeing as he’s not here.”

“Our High Lord is a very private person,” Corey said in a hushed voice. “Even if he did have stories to tell, he wouldn’t tell them here. I’m always trying to get him to open up more.”

What did that mean? Had Crossbody been through some bad stuff? What bad stuff? And why did I suddenly care?

No, wait, I didn’t. I didn’t care. It wasn’t as though I suddenly liked him as a person, just because I’d spent an entire night having the best sex of my life with him.

They were separate things. Totally unrelated.

“I want to reassure all of you,” Holt was saying, “that this is a safe space. This is just somewhere for you to… share any feelings you might have about our former colleagues, Frank and Beans.”

Dan tensed up beside me. Corey sighed in disappointment and shook his head, dramatically covering his eyes. Paxton actually shuddered in horror, as if just hearing their names was affecting him.

“They were certainly… a challenge to work with,” Holt said. “A very unique pair. Fucking amazing performers, don’t get me wrong, but possibly not the most pleasant folks to work with. So let’s talk about that. Would anyone like to start?”

“I’ll start,” Paxton said instantly, shooting up out of his chair. “They used to sneak under the seats during the shows and try to tie off sections of my smoke tendrils with hair bands. Like they were trying to… steal actual bits of me? It freaked me the fuck out. When I confronted them, Frank just said they wanted to see if it would be like someone tying an elastic band around their finger until the finger fell off or something.” He shuddered. “What the fuck?”

Tommy the maintenance guy patted his back as Paxton sat back down, protectively gathering up the smoke tendrils emerging from under his shirt and stroking them soothingly.

Holt cleared his throat, looking mildly ill. “Right. Well, that was… unsettling. Anyone else?”

Harriet, who worked behind the bar, spoke up. “I once caught them trying to sneak pieces of cut-up hotdogs into all the booze.”