Oscar scowled, though Walt thought the expression was there to mask the tiniest bit of regret Oscar felt for his comment. After all, the Grand Master had just put Oscar in a trinity marriage with the two people his brother had fallen madly in love with. “Yeah. Uh. Thanks.”
Juliette didn’t reply but instead pointed at a chair.
Oscar—wisely—took it without comment.
“Great party. This is fun.” Eric took a noisy sip from the signature cocktail he’d brought with him. “Congrats, Oscar. Though I would have given you two wives.”
Langston raised his hand. “It was me who wanted that.”
“Is this going to take long? I want another one of these.” Eric jiggled his glass, the ice clinking noisily.
Walt gave him the side-eye, and then took a discreet half step away from the Viking.
Juliette Adams, whose identity as the Grand Master was a closely guarded secret, turned her cool blue gaze on Walt. He put his hands in the pockets of his pants and smiled. He was very aware of how tenuous his current situation was. He’d had plenty of time on the flights here to think about it.
He wasn’t a member of the Trinity Masters, and yet he knew the Grand Master’s identity, a secret most members did not.
He’d brought a plus-one when the invitation definitely hadn’t included one.
And his plus-one was the leader of a rival secret society, though he wasn’t totally sure if rival was the right word.
Some days he was as dumb as his brothers, and apparently this was one of those days. Hopefully the fact that Langston and Oscar were both in the room meant one of them would draw Juliette’s ire away from him.
His money was on Oscar. The man had a gift for being an asshole.
“I’m surprised to find you here, Eric,” Juliette said. “Apparently, you’re a missing person.”
“I am never missing. I am always precisely where I’m meant to be,” Eric intoned.
Franco snort-laughed. Juliette glared at him.
“It’s a Lord of the Rings reference. It was funny!” Franco grinned at his wife. Devon’s eye seemed to be twitching.
“Why are you here?” Juliette asked Eric. “I thought we discussed this the last time we were together. You’re not allowed in my territory without prior notice and my approval.”
Eric pulled his phone from his pocket, passing his empty glass to Walt, who accepted it while trying to blend into the wall. Eric typed something, then stuck his phone in his pocket.
A second later, the small jeweled clutch Juliette carried pinged.
Juliette didn’t even bother pulling her phone out. When Franco reached for her clutch, she smacked his hand away.
Oscar started to belly laugh. Langston slapped a hand over his brother’s mouth. Walt shoved Eric’s glass toward him.
Eric frowned at Walt. “You know, since you’re my date, shouldn’t you offer to get me a new drink?”
“If you get me killed, I’ll haunt you,” Walt muttered.
“Why. Are. You. Here. Eric?” Juliette repeated.
Eric bowed his head for a moment, and when he raised it, the teasing light was gone from his eyes. The air in the room shifted, and instead of just one powerful authority in the room, it became clear there were two. It was like Eric had put on a cloak made of duty and responsibility.
Devon took a step forward, standing at Juliette’s side. Langston pushed away from the wall, stepping closer to Walt.
“I came because I’m out of leads.” Eric’s voice was low and dark.
Langston caught Walt’s eye, and Walt vividly remembered the story Langston had told him about Eric literally ripping a man’s head off.
“Explain.” Juliette, unlike the men in the room, appeared perfectly calm, unafraid.
“I’m looking for a killer. A serial killer.”
Juliette glanced at Devon briefly. “And you believe this person is on American soil?”
“No. I don’t know where he is, and that’s the fucking problem.” The glass in Eric’s hand cracked. Walt instinctively batted the glass away before it could completely shatter and cut Eric.
“He found me in Bani Walid,” Walt said when the glass fell to the carpeted floor, rolling, ice spilling.
“Libya?” Devon asked, looking at Eric.
“The man I’m hunting dismembers, beheads, or both. There had been some beheadings in Bani Walid. I tracked it down. Wasn’t him.”
“Eric took out an extremist cell that was starting to take hold in the region. He freed the young girls they’d kidnapped.” Everyone looked at Eric again, but this time there was approval in the attention. “He also wanted me to patch the bad guys up so he could keep torturing them.”
“Did you?” Franco asked with interest.
Walt frowned. “No.”
“Why not?” Franco pressed.
“Because I’m not a psychopath?” Walt couldn’t believe he was having this conversation.
“Why are you, single-handedly, looking for a serial killer while also hiding from your own people?” Juliette raised a brow. “I’ve been working with Sophia.”
“Oh. How’s that going?” Eric asked. “Well? Because if so, I’ll make her my ambassador to the Trinity Masters.”
Juliette’s lips twitched in a small smirk. “I have enjoyed it. She dresses better than you, and now that I have another woman to work with, we’ve made great strides in developing a useful relationship between our societies.”
“Ouch.” Eric rubbed his chest. “That hurt.”
Oscar sighed loudly, rising and walking over to stand next to Langston—and closer to the door—making sure everyone knew he was still there and not on his honeymoon.
Juliette didn’t acknowledge the sound. “Let’s cut to the chase. Tell me what the hell is going on here.”
Eric turned away from them all, staring at the wall. Everyone else exchanged glances, and Walt was aware of a horrible sense of fascinated anticipation, like listening to a true crime podcast or watching a train wreck.
“You know we had a traitor within the Masters’ Admiralty. He killed my predecessor. Killed others. But he didn’t do it all himself. He had people—puppets who danced to his tune. He dredged up old enemies and gave them new life. He’s dead, as I’m sure Langston remembers.”
“Vividly,” Langston said.
Eric finally turned back around.
“He’s dead, but killing him only freed the puppets from his strings. We have a religious cult who likes bombs…” Both Oscar and Langston nodded. “…and at least one serial killer.”
“The serial killers were his puppets?” Franco asked.
“Yes. We caught one, who’d kidnapped our people on his orders, back before we knew how deep it ran. But when we were closing in, someone I was close to was murdered.” He whispered her name. “Josephine.” Eric’s hands flexed, turning into tight fists and then relaxing. “He left her head in a fucking basket for us to find.”
“My God,” Langston breathed.
Juliette’s eyes softened briefly. Walt’s chest was tight, his throat closing as he considered what it must feel like to find someone you loved that way. Walt made the mistake of imagining it was Sylvia’s head, or Oscar’s or Langston’s.