Page 29 of Deadfall

I sifted through my cards. “That obvious, huh?”

Angel smirked. “This island isn’t most people’s first choice of assignment. And, it’s certainly no vacation—although Brooks tries to paint it like one.”

“I read the brief about the forest—”

“That’s not even the half of it—”

“This island is cursed,” Marcello interrupted.

Angel pinched the bridge of his nose. “You gotta lead up to that, man.”

Marcello frowned at his cards, while a dark look tugged at his lower lip in an almost pout. I looked between the two men.

“Cursed? The brief definitely didn’t mention that,” I said dryly.

Marcello huffed scornfully. “It’s worse than whatever that bullshit says.”

“You’re a horrible storyteller,” Angel shook his head. “This estate has been in the brothers’ family for centuries—” He squinted at me. “You do know who the brothers are right?”

I nodded. We’d learned recently that the organization we’d been calling ”The Faceless” was actually three brothers—Albatron, Octavius and Basilion. Together they ran the underworld and controlled a whole bunch of different industries.

Angel continued. “Good, well, Octavius gifted the island to Mahoney—” He waved his hand like it didn’t matter why. “Beautiful piece of property. There are caves all over the cliffs and over two-hundred acres of forested land. Not to mention it’s super private being out in the middle of fucking nowhere—”

“What are you? A fucking realtor? Are you trying to sell it to him?” Marcello grumbled. “This entire place is fucking creepy as shit.”

Angel fired off another glare at Marcello but ignored his comments. “There are stories of the early pirate battles happening right off-shore. And then later, this place was used for some really fucked up science experiments.”

“Experiments?”

“Yeah, like black site type stuff,” Angel said. “This place has a very dark history—”

“Basically, there are a lot of ghosts,” Marcello said.

“Fucking hell, man! What did I say? Let me tell the story!” Angel looked at me in exasperation. “Anyway, they’d bury the bodies in the forest, or dump them off the cliffs. A lot of guards here have stories—ask Brooks, he’ll tell you some truly terrifying ones. I’m serious, man, I wasn’t into this sort of stuff, but the stories he has will make you want to sleep with your light on like you’re fucking twelve.”

“Twelve?” Marcello scoffed. “I stopped sleeping with a nightlight on as soon as I was out of diapers.”

“Have you seen anything?” I asked, intrigued despite myself.

Angel shook his head. “Nah. And, I really hope I don’t. This place is scary enough without the ghost stories. You either come here to work, or to be exploited, and if you’re one of the few who’s ever invited here, you better hope you leave in one piece.”

“So, what does all that have to do with her?” G asked.

Angel shrugged. “Well, she’s certainly not here working. Mahoney must be exploiting her for something—”

“He’s never done this to his girls before,” Marcello interjected flatly. “The Menagerie women are trained off-site. By the time they get here, they know what’s expected of them. This is different.”

No one spoke after those ominous words besides the occasional word or two about the card game. There was an odd tension in the room, like a collective breath holding, and I felt like someone was watching me. I didn’t know if it was because I caught Angel staring at me a few times, or if it was someone on the other side of the cameras, but the feeling persisted. The weather didn’t help with the general foreboding either. As it worsened, the electric lanterns flickered and the wind howled through the barred window.

“Looks like it’s getting worse out there,” Angel commented rather unnecessarily.

I was so attuned with G’s moods, I could practically feel the irritation that emanated from him. A storm meant a delay and neither of us welcomed that news.

“I need a smoke,” G grumbled.

He stepped just outside under the overhang that sheltered the entrance from the elements. I heard the lighter and saw the flash of an ember as his cigarette caught. I hated that he was smoking so much. I hated seeing him this stressed in general. The last decade had not been easy, and lately when I looked at him I saw only darkness and a steady eroding of his sanity.

Marcello said this island had ghosts, well, so did we. Each crash of thunder and howl of the wind grated on my nerves, and I frowned down at the cards in my hand. I had to keep it together—for G, for Emersyn, and for the hope I somehow still carried that one day, we could put the past behind us for good.