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“He likes to read. Andy, go on. Your brother’s in pain.”
Chris watched in cold dread as Andy moved the tip of the stick close to his open cut.
“Please don’t.”
Andy ignored him and poked inside the cut.
Chris screamed and tried to wriggle away, but Trevor pushed him down, causing the little rocks to dig deeper into his back. “Jesus, calm down. It’s just a little cut.” With his other hand, Trevor pressed down on Chris’s knee, preventing him from moving his leg.
“Let me go!”
“Ignore him,” Trevor told Andy. “He probably has a heat stroke. Take care of him.”
Chris suffered through three more burning pokes before hisconsciousness began to slip away. He couldn’t even bring himself to scream when the stick dug into the cut and remained there, slowly swirling inside his flesh. The blood ran like a river.
Before passing out, Chris’s head slumped to the side. Through the blurriness, he spotted the bottle of water. It wasn’t empty.
11
“I’ll go with you to the club tonight.”
Mickey smiled from the other side of his desk. “Wonderful. How did Anthony take the news?”
Chris ignored the question and asked instead, “When should we leave the office?”
Mickey watched him suspiciously. “At six.”
“Isn’t it a bit early?”
“It is, but there’s a reason.”
“Which is?”
Mickey shook his head. “Leave the planning to me.”
“Don’t leave me in the dark.”
“Stop being so paranoid—it’s unbecoming. Just follow my lead and focus on what we’re trying to achieve—an invitation for both you and Anthony to Fire Island.”
“I don’t think Tobias will go for it. After the way things ended—”
“You’d be surprised how easy it is for obsessive men to forget their common sense.”
“Okay, but Tobias might want him and Anthony to meet at a hotel. It makes more sense than inviting us all the way to Fire Island.”
Mickey nodded. “He might try, but I’ll be there to push back. I also believe that Anthony is special enough to be invited to his house. As I said, you just follow my lead and do everything I say.” He smiled. “You might learn some things.”
*
Being back at the club sparked a storm of conflicting memories and emotions. Before things had gone downhill, there had been nights of wonder and discovery. The sharpest men Chris had ever met were willing—even eager—to speak with him like he belonged. They challenged him and his ways of thinking, their words sharp and unapologetic. At first, he felt outmatched, then, gradually, his confidence grew, and he dared to challenge them back. After all, he had been taught by Robert Mitchell, a man both brilliant and vicious. They had spent countless hours in his private office, where he made Chris study great philosophers and thinkers. Each lesson was followed by an exhausting debate that, more often than not, concluded with punishments if Chris underperformed to Robert’s standards.
“You look like you’re going to an abortion clinic,” Mickey said as they rode up the elevator. “Relax.”
“I don’t want to be here.”
“You do, and that is why you’re nervous. Remember, it wasyourdecision to leave.”
He didn’t like hearing that, whether it was true or not.
