A/N: When you get this far into a story, you kind of get to know the readers who review, and you look forward to their thoughts with every update. With each new chapter, a handful of unfamiliar names appear, and you feel good knowing that new readers are finding and enjoying the story. Once in a while, a new reader starts reading straight through, but actually pauses after each chapter and takes the time to share a couple words before clicking 'next'. It probably sounds like no big deal, but it is a REALLY big deal. This has happened to me a few times in recent months. You know who you are. Thank you. This extra long chapter is for you.
When Mr. Cullen finally returned to collect his charge, Bella was tuning her surroundings out just to remain sane. There were more than a dozen girls in the day room and adjoining rooms, bathing, fixing their hair, dressing for the evening poker party. Some were giggling and chasing each other around like girls at a slumber party. Others were going through the motions, eyes vacant and limbs as lethargic as zombies. Through it all, Zafrina was a stoic force, politely responding to the others girls' requests for assistance with their hair, throwing a few stitches into a torn seam or touching up chipped nail polish.
Bella lept to her feet when she saw Masen enter the room. She hoped it looked like panicked obedience rather than the reality; that she was eager to escape the surreal atmosphere of the dayroom. She felt Jane's misty blue eyes on her as she followed Masen from the room.
That was one lead worth following up on. Knowing Jane's approximate age and the existence of a fraternal twin were key to identifying two more victims of the Volturi's trafficking activities. She was creating a list in her head of all the details she needed to share with Masen as soon as she had another opportunity. But first, they had to make it through another Volturi gathering.
If she had doubted the extent of their room's soundproofing, it was amply clear when Masen unlocked and opened the door. A horn-heavy symphony was playing so loudly through the entertainment system that conversation was impossible, yet she had barely heard the muffled thump of the tympani through the thick oak door.
Masen had already chosen her outfit for the night and laid it out across the bed. As she changed, Bella discovered a slip of paper hidden in the folds of the cocktail dress.
Possible ears, but no eyes. BB 1,2,3 in play. Watch your step.
Bella found herself breathing more easily than she had in days. Masen had completed his sweep of the room and found no evidence of video surveillance. Audio monitoring was easier to hide and much harder to detect, the most likely places being the ventilation, lighting or entertainment center. He had placed three cameras of their own: Big Brother 1, 2 and 3. Based on the expectation that the Volturi could access their room at any time during their stay, perhaps even plant cameras after they were comfortable and complacent, Masen had hidden their own devices in suboptimal locations. They didn't need to collect intelligence in their own room, they just needed to ascertain if anyone else was attempting to do so. Bella scanned the room quickly with her eyes, trying to guess where, at ground level, Masen would have chosen to install cameras.
The first one was almost certainly beneath the bed frame, facing the door. The angle wasn't ideal, but the motion-activated device would record anyone entering the room and alert Masen via his phone. As for the second and third cameras, she was hard-pressed to choose spots that would offer adequate cover for the camera and power supply, while still giving them a useful vantage point. Watch your step. . . Well, she would do as she was told. She didn't want to put one of her stiletto heels through a camera lens. Masen would probably mock her for it the moment they were alone and unmonitored.
The loud music made sense now. Masen had been prepared for this from the start, loading Edward Cullen's playlist with composers known for their concussive sound, playing music uncomfortably loud in the car and in their hotel suite at The Breakers, blending layers of anti-surveillance tactics into his cover identity's personality before they had even left D.C. The depth of his forethought and planning was humbling her all over again.
Bella felt hopeful for the first time since they had arrived in this hellhole. She felt proud of how seamlessly they had transitioned, too. Just as she had hoped, Marie was able to ask questions and learn details that Edward Cullen never could. The millionaire and the slave. . . they had the Volturi in an invisible pincer maneuver, and with the right timing, they could sever the head from the body, taking the entire organization down.
When Masen beckoned to her, leash in hand, she didn't hesitate to join him, holding her hair aside so that he could fasten the leash to her head of the snake. They were supposed to meet him that evening. She couldn't wait to match a face to the name. She couldn't wait to identify the monster that took pleasure in destroying boys and girls for profit. It was time for them to build the case that would defang the beast once and for all and make Mr. Volturi pay for his abhorrent crimes.
The party was held in the room that Aro referred to as the library, although there was far more space devoted to artwork than books. An eclectic collection of sofas and loveseats were scattered throughout the room, each one a work of art itself. Tuxedo-clad waiter made the rounds proffering fancy finger foods and champagne on silver platters. Bella took the glass and plate that Masen thrust into her hands, nibbling at the food as he exchanged greetings with the other guests in Edward Cullen's cold, condescending voice.
Bella recognized almost every man and slave girl present. A bartender was busy in the corner, filling half a dozen tumblers with ice, rum and coke for Royce King's crew. By their posture and voices Bella could see they were sober again, but their leader seemed intent on remedying that situation.
"Youth really is wasted on the young," an older gentleman said morosely, appearing at her elbow.
"Yes, sir," she replied dutifully.
"You disagree?" he asked with a curious smile on his thin lips.
Bella shrugged. Marie didn't offer her opinions. She agreed. She obeyed. That was her role.
"Ah, well. We all play our part. They are the drunken buffoons. On the other hand, your master there," he continued, nodding toward Mr. Cullen's stiff back and shoulders, "he is the master of control and self-discipline. I am the too-tolerant grandfather figure, and you, my dear, you are the dormouse. Nobody thinks they want a dormouse until they meet one. They are such timid, delicate, lovely little creatures." The man sighed and shook his head.
Bella raised her eyes and really looked at him, made bolder by his gentle air and casual conversation. The man was quite tall, with narrow, slightly stooped shoulders and long limbs. He had thick black hair, a youthful trait that seemed at odds with his lined and weathered face.
His faded brown eyes met hers, and he smiled kindly. "Pardon me, I am Marcus. You must be Marie. Young Aro has told me all about you. I must say, it would be an honor to accept you into my flock of darling little chicks."
Bella's face froze, a half-formed smile shivering on the brink of collapse. This. . . this grandfatherly man was Mr. Volturi? Impossible! He didn't seem at all like a villain. He was as out of place in that room as she was! Her shock must have registered on her face, because Marcus gave her a small nod of acknowledgement and shambled over to greet another knot of guests.
Feeling dizzy and weak, Bella sat abruptly on the nearest seat, a leather-clad ottoman. Masen's eyes darted to her for a fraction of a second, but he didn't interrupt his delivery of a particularly self-congratulatory anecdote that he was sharing with Michael Newton and three other male guests. Bella finished her champagne in three burning gulps, then worked to make herself as invisible as possible.
Fresh food and drinks continued to pour through the double doors, and the Volturi guests rapidly spiraled into the now-familiar circus of loud voices and ribald behavior. James was leaning against a bookcase, a champagne flute in one hand and Mary Alice's battered leash in the other. He was dressed in a clean, but ill-fitting tuxedo. The girl who knelt at his feet was wearing a tight sheath dress that only accented her emaciated state.
Bella wished that they were closer so she could listen to the conversation and get a better idea of Alice's condition. She set her empty plate and glass onto the closest table and took two small steps before she ran out of slack in the leash. If only Masen could read her mind, she could tell him take her closer to her target.
She needn't have bothered. James didn't wait long to confront Mr. Cullen again. He ambled across the room, his destination made obvious by the way he glared at the newcomer.
"Still feeding your bitch more than she deserves, I see. Do you share everything with her?" James taunted, sidling up to the small group with a sneer.
"Only that which amuses me," the taller man responded, slipping back into his narrative with barely a pause.
"Maybe we have more in common than I first thought," James cut in again. "We both invest in our own entertainment." With an indolent flick of his wrist, the slaver tossed a tightly-wrapped plastic bundle onto a cocktail table. He opened his wallet and pulled out a dollar bill and a rusty razor blade. "The big difference between us is that I'm actually generous. I share for the good of the many." His altruistic words came out more like a challenge or a threat.
One of Royce's lackeys saw the plastic-wrapped bundle and let out a whoop of excitement. He rushed over as James unwrapped and poured out a pile of white powder. James used the old blade to cut away a sizable portion, scraping it into a thick line. Bella cringed as the blade screeched across the table, flakes of rust and varnish intermixing with the drug.
"Whadya say, Mr. Cullen? Take the first line on the house?"
Bella looked at Masen with alarm. How was he going to handle what amounted to a frat house dare? Drunken men were crowding round, cheering and shouting, offering to take the first share if he passed.
Mr. Cullen's mask of indifference was unaffected. He raised one eyebrow and smirked. "I am no more inclined to be a guinea pig in your chemistry experiment than I am to visit your tailor. I'll pass." He turned his back on James and resumed talking.
James' lips turned white, then blood rushed to his face as his anger grew. "Oh, well excuse me. I didn't realize that your body was such a temple. Manicures and colonics, huh? But you can't simply chill out and have fun with the boys. I'm not sure I trust a man who can't ev-"
Mr. Cullen spun back around, the hatred and disdain in his eyes silencing his antagonist. "Yes, I take care of myself. It's a damn sight harder to operate a business from a box in the ground than from where I stand. Snorting Borax and baking soda doesn't really fit into that equation, does it? Even so, I take pleasure in a great many things. You yammer on and on about sharing your cheap shit as if we should all praise your magnanimous nature. You are a worm and a cretin. But I'll let it slide. Again. In fact, I'll go so far as to share with you. You could use a little education about the finer things in life."
Masen reached into his jacket and pulled out a suede pouch. He swept the pile of heavily cut cocaine aside, flinging a cloud of white powder across the pants of the closest men. With an impatient huff, he blew the table clean and unrolled the supple leather. Inside was an engraved silver vial, about one inch in diameter and six inches tall. He unscrewed the top and poured out a small amount of fine powder. Bella stepped closer. Her jaw dropped. It was actually tinged pink, a characteristic of certain high-quality Peruvian cocaine associated with the kerosene used during the extraction process. Would he really snort cocaine to keep his cover intact?
Remembering her role, Bella inched aside as other men moved closer. Her partner, moving with the same swift assurance that he demonstrated while loading a gun or tying a knot, produced a small, flat-edged tool and cut away two much smaller portions. Then he opened his money clip and pulled out a crisp one hundred dollar bill, expertly rolled it into a narrow straw and held it against his right nostril.
"What? You're not gonna share with your pampered little whore?" James scoffed.
Poised with his head and shoulders over the table, Mr. Cullen raised both eyebrows. "Don't be silly. I may as well use Almas as bait. Waste not, want not."
With that, he briskly inhaled the first line. He stood up tall, and with his eyes closed and head tilted back, seemed to revel in the rush as the drug was swiftly absorbed through the thin lining of his nostril and sinuses. Bella was terrified of how it would affect him, but thoroughly relieved that he had excluded her from the demonstration. She added a few more marks to the 'Agent Masen's quick-thinking score sheet' she kept in her head.
"Mmmmmnnnn," he groaned, a sound that projected intense pleasure and a surge of masculine energy.
The crowd was silent, their eyes greedily flicking between the man and his stash. When Edward finally opened his eyes again, the pupils were so large that they almost completely swallowed the green of his irises. His nostrils flared as he sucked in another breath. Then he smiled, a small twist of his lips at the corners, a devilish invitation for James to take his counter-challenge or shut the fuck up.
For a moment Bella believed that James' pride would win out, but the addict's attention drifted unerringly back to the thin line of powder. With a sneer of his own, James used his own battered bill to snort up the second dose, stood up suddenly, then staggered back a step into the arms of a laughing onlooker.
When they saw how immediate and intense the high was, they started clamoring for a turn. Edward emptied the rest of the tube onto the table, returned the tube and cutter to their pouch, tucked it into his jacket and handed the rolled bill to the man on his left. Then, as cool and controlled as if he hadn't just ingested a couple hundred milligrams of cocaine, he turned back to the shell-shocked men behind him and continued with his story.
Bella looked around the room, taking note of other people's reactions. Zafrina has a look of disgust on her face as she watched the rabble falling into a bumbling line. Aro was standing near the entrance, conversing with a tall, thickly built man, presumably a senior guard. As he spoke, his eyes were constantly moving, measuring and assessing the crowd, just as Bella was. She looked away quickly, next settling on Marcus Volturi. The old man sat in a wide armchair, a thick, leather-bound book open across his lap. He looked as if he was completely oblivious to the pissing match that had just taken place twenty feet from where he sat.
Victoria was hanging back, the fingertips of her right hand tapping fitfully at her lower lip. Her eyes were trained on the dwindling pile, hungry and desperate. Bella felt an unwelcome surge of pity for the hard-hearted woman. How much had her addictions controlled her decision to accept the Volturi's invitation? And how much of her hostility was driven by her survival instincts? They were questions that she didn't have the luxury to explore. Victoria had already identified Marie as a threat. She wouldn't find any willing assistance from that quarter.
Bella's musings were interrupted by another loud cheer as the doors opened, admitting two more guests. He stomach dropped when she recognized Delancy and Gibbs. Delancy looked around the room, quickly finding his client and Bella. Bella busied herself with examining the intricately woven carpet as the pair joined Masen's circle, loudly congratulating him on his newly accepted offer. Well, that was another part of the plan moving forward more smoothly than they could have hoped.
Aro allowed the party to continue on in the same vein for another twenty minutes before he climbed up onto the seat of a chair and clapped his hands loudly.
"Boys, boys, gather around. Gather around. Closer. . . Closer. Ooh! Not that close," he giggled as one of Royce's buddies stumbled drunkenly against his legs. "It's time to ante up! We have two tables tonight. If you want to sit at the grown up table, show me the money! Ten big ones to play with our illustrious host, Mr. Marcus Volturi. Actually, while I have your attention, please give a big round of applause to thank him for bringing us all together tonight!"
Aro led the cheering, bouncing on the chair and clapping his hands. Bella had to look away to stop herself from smiling at the absurd, childish image he presented. Marcus slipped a bookmark between the pages of his tome and stood, accepting the cheers with a raised hand and a couple of nods.
"So, who is going to bring me some moolah?" Aro continued when the noise settled, beckoning with both hands, his long, narrow fingers curling and uncurling like tentacles.
Edward Cullen was the first to respond, pulling a bank-wrapped stack of bills from his pocket and tossing it to Aro. Four other men followed suit, including Michael, Royce and, surprisingly, James. Bella wondered where he found the money. By all appearances, James couldn't compete with the other men in looks, style or intelligence, but he was here in the mansion, had his own girl, and was throwing cash and drugs around like he had plenty of both to spare.
"Is that all? Well. . . Fine, then. Who's sitting at the kiddie table? Just one grand to play. Come on, boys. Let's make it fun. . ." Aro looked around expectantly, but nobody else seemed willing to step forward. "Aw, phooey. Well, the rest of you boys do what you like. We're going to catch us some Texans and hold-em tight! Yee-haw! You know what they say, everything's bigger in Texas!" he chortled.
"Shut up, you flamer!" one of Royce's buddies called out, before being shoved into a corner and hushed by his friends.
Bella looked back at Aro, expecting him to look angry. Instead, he was doubled over, giggling. He suddenly popped back up, stuck out his tongue, then turned his back on the frat boys. There was a roar of surprise when he dropped his pants a few inches to show the tops of his ass cheeks and wiggled his hips suggestively. She shot a surprised look at Masen, but he was watching the juvenile exchange with an amused look on his face.
Marcus trundled through the chaos, unflinching, and settled regally into a seat at the large, felt-covered table immediately to the left of the dealer. The other players trickled over, still distracted by Aro's antics. Michael lowered his heavy frame into the seat beside Marcus, giving the older gentleman a respectful nod before pulling his pile of chips closer. Royce took the next seat, followed by James, then a red-haired man with long sideburns, wearing a blue seersucker suit over a pale green shirt that stood out from the dark colors worn by the rest of the guests. Bella noticed a faint Irish accent as he introduced himself around the table as Sean Allen. Masen took the final seat to the right of the dealer, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat.
Realizing that the game was set to begin, Aro jogged after them. He deposited the pile of cash in front of the dealer and patted him on the shoulder. The stern-faced man was in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a beak-like nose. He gave a terse nod of thanks then gestured for Mr. Volturi to place the small blind. Michael followed with the big blind, and dealing commenced.
Aro found a chair nearby, and Jane appeared beside him almost instantly, silently clambering into his lap, her face hidden by the fall of her short blond hair. He gently stroked the back of her head where it rested under his chin, and leaned back with a small smile.
Bella let out a surprised squeak when Masen tugged on her leash and pulled her across his own lap. His arms held her too tightly, crushing her against his chest. Up close, she could feel the tension in his muscles. She could see the way his eyes quivered and darted about, the cocaine still constricting his blood vessels and making his heart thud against her shoulder. Was he keeping her close because he was struggling with the effects of the drug, or because she had done something risky? Was she acting too independent? Did she need to skulk and sulk more? What would Marie do if forced to sit on her owner's lap while he played high-stakes poker?
There wasn't anything in the playbook for this. She didn't even know the rules of the game. She couldn't do anything to help him win, but she could observe the other players, and from where she sat, she could watch Aro and Jane. Bella sunk back against his hard shoulder and looked around the table, biting her lip and scratching at her upper arm as if she was allergic to the intensity of the game.
Off to her right, Aro was watching the first round of bidding from beneath lowered eyelids. He exchanged a few questions and answers through his comm device and continued stroking Jane's head and shoulders. Bella was struck again by the image of Jane as an oversized cat, cool and disinterested toward everyone other than her preferred human. And, like a cat, she seemed to have a calming effect on the flamboyant affectations of the Volturi major domo.
For the first several hands, Bella just took it all in, trying to remember the rankings of the different winning poker hands, trying to keep track of the order of play, the betting and the ways the different players responded to the cards they were dealt. Masen folded early in the first game, before the river round in the second, and lost with three jacks against Royce King's full house in the third game.
Most of the other guests had taken up posts around the table to watch the chips changing hands, but as the players hunkered down for a long night, some of the other men approached Aro to check in before leaving the room with one of the girls. Gibbs and Delancy stuck around longer than most, but Delancy seemed to get more and more antsy the longer the night dragged on. He kept turning to his friend, nudging and cajoling the younger man incessantly. Bella saw William Gibbs finally agree in a slurred voice, blushing and laughing as Delancy dragged him around the table by his collar.
They went up to Aro together, and Bella strained to hear what they were saying over the cheers and taunts that flew around the table. Masen had folded yet again. His chips were dwindling quickly. He was down to half of what he had started the night with. Royce was leading, his cocky smile just growing bigger as James spat out his disgust at Mr. Cullen's most recent 'cowardly' move.
Aro called Zafrina over, and Bella turned her head back to see what was happening. Zafrina held her chin high as she got up from her chair. Her braids swung around her broad shoulders, the beaded ends clinking together. Her red-orange dress wrapped flame-like around her throat, breasts and powerful thighs, but left her stomach bare, showing off her tightly-muscled abdomen. She was every inch the Amazonian princess.
Delancy's eyes were bright and greedy as he watched her approach, and Bella had a sick feeling inside. After giving Zafrina some carefully-worded instructions, Aro waved the two men and the captive from the room with an admonishment to 'have fun, but not too much fun', gesturing hurriedly for one of the silent guards near the door to follow them.
Zafrina looked back just as she reached the door, catching Bella's gaze. There was something determined and hard in her look, something indomitable and proud about the way her eyes flashed as they locked with Bella's. With a certainty she could not explain, Bella knew that something terrible was going to happen tonight. She remembered the feeling of sick dread she had experienced the first time she realized what sort of man Malcolm Delancy really was. A coward and a sadist. . . a deadly combination for any woman under his power.
Bella shivered, the feeling of impending doom sending prickles of fear like tiny frozen barbs down her spine. Masen's hand closed over her knee, warning her to be still. With a burning in her throat and tears in her eyes, she turned her attention back to the game.
Finally it was Edward Cullen's turn to lead the bets. He dropped fifty dollars of chips on the table for the small blind and waited for his two cards. Just as he had done with every previous hand, he took one look at his cards, placed them face down on the table and left them there for the rest of the round. Every other player, excepting Mr. Volturi, checked their cards periodically, as if to verify they hadn't magically turned into something better as the dealer laid out the community cards.
Masen's character played with an otherworldly calm, as if he didn't care whether he won or lost. And maybe he didn't, Bella mused. After all, it wasn't his money. Masen was investing ten thousand dollars of federal money to sit at the same table as a master criminal and learn as much about the man as he could. The government had been known to pay a lot more for a lot less.
Bella sensed a sort of hum around both Sean Allen and James. Masen had been dealt the two and five of spades. The flop turned up a three of diamonds and the king and queen of spades. With two face cards of the same suit on the table, everyone seemed to sit a little straighter. The audience leaned in a little closer.
Masen checked on the next round of bidding, only throwing enough chips on the table to stay in the game after James raised the bid another two hundred dollars. The turn produced an ace of clubs, and everyone seemed to hold their breath, waiting for Masen's bid. He flipped a five hundred dollar chip between his fingers, but he did it so casually that nobody could tell if he was actually considering betting it, or just fidgeting mindlessly as he considered his odds. Bella wondered who else at the table held two spades in their hand. With one community card left, he had a one in four chance of a flush. Or maybe someone was holding a ten or a jack. . . or both.
The hands thus far had been pretty anticlimactic, with Royce taking this biggest pot of the night on a full house. Now, both Sean and James were driving the bids higher with every round, and the winner stood to take more than three grand with a single hand. Masen set the chip back in his stack and tossed a one hundred dollar chip on the felt before him, looking past the dealer to Mr. Volturi. The man tilted his head an inch to the left before folding.
The crowd sighed and waited for Michael's move. He pushed another hundred onto the mat, but he didn't look confident about it. Royce immediately raised it to five hundred, garnering a whoop and applause from the men who had clustered behind his chair. James belligerently raised it another five hundred, sending the crowd into a frenzy. A few seconds later, Sean raised it to $2000 and Michael turned a little gray. He had lost more than he had won, and was floating at eight thousand. The business manager-turner gambler looked across to Edward Cullen, evidently basing his response on Edward's reaction.
Normally at this point, Mr. Cullen folded, letting the big three duke it out for the pot. This time, he looked slowly around the table then carefully counted out two thousand, four hundred in chips, bringing his total bid to $2,500. Silence. Most players would have watched the others carefully, waiting to see who took the bait and who folded. Edward Cullen just turned his attention to the girl in his lap, running his hands into her hair and pulling her face against his for a bruising kiss.
Bella's mind was racing as she told her body to stiffen and lean away from the unwanted demonstration of sexual dominance. Was Masen throwing money away on purpose? Did he really want to risk half of his remaining chips on a 25% chance? There was blood rushing in her ears and burning her scalp as she tried to understand Masen's game.
When he released her and looked up at the table, Michael and Royce had folded, leaving James, Sean and Edward in the game. The dealer turned the river card, and the room seemed to deflate. A four of hearts. That eliminated the flush. Bella ran back through what little she knew of cards, trying to guess what cards the other two could have to spur the bidding frenzy.
Mr. Cullen's final bid was a measly $500. After his recent show of confidence, the audience grumbled and whispered. Bella saw Marcus smile slowly, and she wondered what he was thinking. Jessica stood behind Michael, massaging his shoulders as he looked around the table. Royce was leaning back with his hands clasped behind his head, obviously waiting to see who would pass him as the leader.
And James. . . he was shaking, his eyes fixated on the offending card. He folded with trembling hands and called for a whiskey, straight up.
Sean looked at Edward with a cold and searching stare. He could call, raise or fold. His fingers floated over his chips, brushing the clay disks as if asking them to decide which ones would join the pot. Finally, he tossed $500 onto the felt and turned his cards face up. A pair of aces gave him three-of-a-kind.
When Mr. Cullen didn't respond immediately, a slow smile formed on his lips, his teeth, yellow and crooked, peeking out from between them. Edward's expression never changed as he flipped over his cards, and Bella finally realized that he had been betting, not on the short odds of a flush, but on the longer odds of a straight. Ace, two, three, four, five. The room hung on an inhalation of air, then burst into applause as the dealer pushed more than $10,000 of chips in front the winner.
Then he grinned, teeth straight, white and feral.
In the commotion, Bella almost missed the way Aro's face turned white as he held one hand flat against his earpiece. He hastily pushed Jane aside and ran for the door, opening it just as William Gibbs staggered against the door frame, his white shirt soaked in blood.
"Help! She cut me bad! And she stabbed Malcolm, stabbed him right through the throat. The psycho bitch killed Malcolm!" William gasped, then collapsed.
Oh darn, Malcolm Delancy is dead. Raise your hand if you only wish I had killed him off sooner!
For the curious: Yes, I did google cocaine multiple times. I wonder what Big Brother thinks of that. And Almas is a brand of white beluga caviar that runs at over $1,000/lb. Just because Masen despises caviar, it doesn't mean he doesn't know his shit. *winks*