Thursday Murders Club 4 Novels & Stories

He said to me, I tapped the tip of my hat as I started back to the car. I had made my way straight to where he had directed me. There indeed was a club down the area with the inscription: 'CLUB DEHOUSE' The moment I entered, I could see what Jackson had been up and about. It was crowded with more men than women but I tried to blind my eyes to everything they were doing as I sought for the person I needed.

None of them knew the girl beneath the leather, the one who could crack a server’s firewall in under an hour or hunt a man through back alleys like prey. She lifted her glass, the liquid golden under the lights. To freedom, she thought, lips curving around the rim before she drank deep. And across the room, unseen, another glass lifted. Roman Thorne sat in the club’s private lounge, shadows cloaking him like a second skin. He hadn’t planned on being here, his men had insisted after another endless meeting, dragging him into the noise of the night to bleed out stress. He hadn’t wanted the music or the chaos. But something, someone, had caught his eye.

Game on. Three hours later, I was standing in front of the entrance of Spine Dorate Tower. The Thorn Club was on its fortieth floor, and Hunter's office was on the forty-first. My knees wobbled slightly as I passed the revolting doors and walked through the reception hall. The four-inch nude stilettos on my feet were not helping, but at least they made me look good. “I have an appointment with Mr. Thorne,” I told the smiling man at the reception desk.

Everything is always my fault. I'm the queen of bad ideas, and it seems, I've let my curiosity get the better of me, again. My step-sister and her husband own this sex club, the one I'm now entering. I know they aren't here this late in the evening, especially now that they have kids. My dad and his wife frequent this place as customers. Don't ask me how I figured that one out, - eye roll - but they don't come here on Thursday nights. I hope that hasn't changed anyway. The thought of finding them here in a compromising position is just...eww.

She cackled at something he said before they walked up to the cook. “I thought no one is meant to come in after dinner time?” I asked as the two had just walked in casually. “That rule is just a safety precaution because anything is allowed once it's dinner time and you're not here” Phoebe explained but I was still confused. “It means someone can kill you and it's legal as long as you're outside the dinner room at dinner time” Daphne emphasised giving me a warning look and I nodded. “I heard Alicia and her crew killed someone last week” Phoebe shook her head and I froze in my seat.

The term ended on a Thursday, which felt appropriate. Clara had been marking time by Thursdays since the beginning—the first Thursday of the entrance ceremony, the Thursdays of training and garden conversations, the Thursday when Seren had confessed her secret in the library. Thursdays have always been significant. They had been the shape of the week, the marker of progress, the day when something important happened or was about to happen.

Something about his presence felt like an anchor as if as long as he sat there, I wouldn't completely fall apart. My heart was still beating too fast. Finally, he spoke without looking at me. "Are you trying to forget or trying to disappear?" The question was so perfectly accurate I almost laughed. Just almost. Instead, I drained my seventh shot and set the glass down harder than necessary. "Both." He nodded like this made perfect sense. "How's that working out?" "Not great." I gestured for another drink. The bartender hesitated, but the stranger gave him a look that made him pour immediately. "Turns out tequila can't erase the image of your husband fucking your best friend in your bed."

We aren’t top dogs for nothing. Alex though, has been the worst. His constant need to kill has been unbearable. Only a week ago he murdered fourteen people just because he could. Utter Chaos. Granted none of us have slept with any other woman since our proposed engagement to Mr. Moretti’s daughter. I fear if we don’t get it going soon the whole city could be in danger. Soon, we’re pulling up to Club Ambrosia. The big flashy lights flashing as our bouncer stands guard outside the front entrance clipboard in hand. A list of names held securely upon it as a line of people wait to get in.

"You want to kill me? Do it. But do it while looking into my eyes, not like a coward in an alley. Show me the woman I saved is still in there." The tension was a physical cord stretched to the breaking point. The music in the club seemed to fade into a dull roar. Sloane’s finger hooked around the trigger through the fabric of her dress. She saw the pulse jumping in Julian’s neck. He was daring her. He was loving the danger. Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the club burst open. Four men in long overcoats entered. They weren't the Syndicate. They were Russians—the Sokolov crew. And they weren't here to talk.