26. Jael
Bad Things - Summer Kennedy
T he words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking out any breath I have left. I go from frozen in place, so shocked I can’t breathe, to bursting with movement.
“You’re working for him!” I scream, shaking my head. “You brought me here so he could take me back!”
I spin on my heel and dash for the door.
Bront? beats me there. His giant strides quickly bridge the gap between us so that I’m crossing the threshold and he’s already within reach to snatch me back.
“Don’t put your hands on me!” I scream into the otherwise silent office.
He’s hooked an arm around my stomach and dragged me away from the door. I kick my feet and scratch at his forearms as the air locks inside my lungs and the room tilts.
I’m lightheaded, yelling at him to release me.
Dr. Wolford, my therapist—the man who kept me trapped in the hospital for years—is the father of the man who has been stalking me all along.
The mere thought makes me sick to my stomach. It makes me feel like I’m losing my mind all over again.
It’s all been some conspiracy against me. Some well-coordinated, well-organized effort to keep me down and make me suffer.
“How could you?” I cry out, tears watering my eyes. “How could you do this to me!?”
Bront? slams the office door shut and tosses me onto one of Dr. Wolford’s chairs like I’m a doll he’s sick of playing with. I land with limbs draped over the chair, my whole body violently shaking from the emotion that pours out of me.
“This whole time you knew who I was—you knew your father was my doctor! You led me here. You wanted me to be in their clutches again. He sent you, didn’t he? He sent you to come get me!”
Bront? doesn’t deny a single word.
He steps toward me, standing over the chair like the terrifying, hulking mass of muscle that he is. His breathing’s deepened like mine, coming out in ragged drags of air. He stares down at me like I’m some species he doesn’t understand.
More tears roll free. My skin’s hot and flushed, yet I’m shaking. I’m sick with disgust and confusion at the betrayal.
“You’ve been working with him the whole time,” I yell, then a wild laugh bursts out of me. “I should’ve known. I should’ve known ! This was never about you helping me find my sister! You were never on my side. You were just leading me back to him… to them…”
My head throbs, deprived of proper oxygen. But it doesn’t even matter anymore as I blearily gaze up at Bront? and hurl accusation after accusation.
“You want me locked up again. You want me to suffer!”
Smack!
Bront? grabs hold of my throat and slaps me across the face. A tap that doesn’t hurt beyond the sudden prickle on my cheek, but that’s enough to make me go still.
Stun me into silence.
“No,” he growls simply. “Never.”
I gulp down air, hiccuping through my tears. “I’m right.”
“You. Are. Wrong.”
I twist desperately in the chair, jerking my head free and glaring some more at him. I’m tempted to give into the madness that’s calling my name, the manic urges that scream at me to attack him and hurt him anyway I can.
He must sense this. I see it in his eyes.
Yet he doesn’t budge. He hovers over the chair and returns my glare, as if waiting for my next move.
“I trusted you,” I whisper feebly.
“Jael.”
He speaks my name like it’s enough to communicate everything he wants to say. It tells me all I need to know.
Maybe it does.
“I want nothing to do with you,” I mumble, turning my head away. “Just do it already… just call him… take me back.”
“No,” he answers, then he grips my chin to turn my head back toward him. “You want to find your sister. You want to make the people who hurt her—and you—suffer. I will make it happen.”
“But… your father… why wouldn’t?—?”
“I detest him,” he grunts. “I want him to pay.”
I stiffen, studying him more closely. “You’re… you’re telling the truth.”
He nods. “We will do it together.”
His words unravel me the way my suspicions of him did. Except instead of making me cry and shake and spiral into hysterics, it knocks down my defenses and makes me acutely aware of how exhausted I am.
I’ve been alone for so long that the idea of having someone else… feels so immediately comforting.
My breath shudders out of me, along with my murky thoughts on Dr. Wolford and the endless confusion he’s made me feel over the years. Constantly making me question reality. Always making me doubt myself while he…
Does this mean Bront? knows?
I can’t even begin to process anything else as I lean forward and press my cheek against the solid wall of muscle that’s Bront?’s stomach. His arms close around me, holding me in place. He’s an anchor even as I sit in the armchair on solid ground. He’s the one thing that’s holding me together, keeping me sane.
My eyes flutter closed as exhaustion finally drags me under.
The man Bront? visited is named Nolan Ramsey, and he not only grew up with him, but he’s a prominent member of the Midnight Society.
All information I discover the next morning as Bront? and I wake up and get ready for the day. It’s discovered through my usual means of thinking up questions to ask and Bront? confirming them with head gestures and short, one or two word answers.
“Okay,” I say slowly, tying up the laces of my boots, “so you’re loaded. You grew up with a silver spoon in your mouth.”
Bront?’s in the middle of doing the same, standing broad and tall and shirtless as he slides his large feet into his combat boots. He pauses long enough to shoot me a look that’s almost scolding.
“What?” I ask innocently. “If you went to Easton Preparatory School for Adolescent Men, you were most definitely loaded. I knew Doc Wolford had some money, but I had no idea he had it like that!”
“What does it matter?” he asks.
I give a shrug. “Trust me, when you come from one of the poorest neighborhoods in the city, it matters. But you don’t… strike me as someone from a wealthy family.”
I watch him as he reaches for the minotaur mask he finally took off last night. It was a night of firsts between us—the first time he consoled me, the first time he slept while I did, and the first time he took off his mask and boots and got comfortable.
He’s even been speaking more. Still sparingly compared to the average person, but it’s a marked difference.
I’ve been rolling with it, refraining from pointing it out in case it’d make him self-conscious. While Bront? seems to understand me in ways most people don’t, I’ve begun to understand things about him too.
He’s a loner. An outcast.
He’s spent much of his life in the shadows, never really a part of society. It’s made him reclusive and hesitant for interaction. He hides behind the mask and lurks.
“Your accident… did it happen at the academy?” I ask.
Bront? pauses with the mask in his hands and his uneven eyes meet mine. I return his silent stare, marveling at how I could have ever considered him hideous.
He has dozens of scars. He has features that have been permanently dislodged or damaged. But the more I’m around him, the more my attraction grows. The more I appreciate the uniqueness of his face, scars and all.
He nods at last, answering what I’ve already figured out.
“You know, you don’t have to wear it around me. I… I actually prefer it when you don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because…” I shrug again, wrapping my arms around the front of my knees. “Because there’s nothing to be ashamed of, Bront?. The scars are a part of you and I like looking at them.”
The arm holding the mask drops to his side. “The accident happened when I was fourteen.”
“Oh.” My voice dims, sadness taking root. “Does that mean you’ve been in hiding ever since?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s how you know that man—Nolan Ramsey.”
“And Kaden Raskova.”
I grimace. “My sister’s alleged boyfriend. Tell me this—is he really a serial killer?”
Bront? pauses a moment, then says, “Yes.”
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “My sister’s… she’s…”
“No. She’s alive.”
“Then how… how are we going to find her?”
“The Midnight Society. Tonight.”
“Thanks to Nolan? He’s going to get us an invite to the party?”
“We will have access to the party.”
It’s all Bront? tells me as he finishes sliding on his minotaur mask and then grabs the duffle bag and other supplies we’ve brought with us. I pop to my feet and join him at the door, ready to embark on the next chapter of this mission we’ve set out on together.
Secrets linger in the air at the Winchester Hotel as I put my formal server uniform on and follow the other trail of servers into the kitchen.
If you’d asked me how Bront? and I would be infiltrating the Midnight Society, I never would’ve guessed it would be like this.
I’ve been hired on by a catering company to be a server for tonight’s event while Bront? will be security. As it turns out, Nolan pulled the strings to make both of these moves happen. I’ve asked little to no questions.
My mind’s on my sister as a tray of champagne flutes is pushed toward me and I’m told to work the floor.
The Midnight Society’s masquerade is in full swing.
Gold-trimmed columns stretch toward the vaulted ceilings and diamond chandeliers cast a soft, flickering glow over polished marble floors.
The guests move in fluid circles, their laughter low and their chatter hushed. They’re a sea of opulence, draped in flowing ball gowns and sharp tuxedos. Masks conceal their identities, though they all seem to recognize each other.
I move among them like the outsider that I am. A nobody in a crisp black uniform and white button-up shirt, my silver tray balanced on the palm of my hand.
They might not notice me, but I see each and every one of them. I scan the masked faces as I pass through, searching for the slightest clue hinting at my sister. Her name on someone’s lips or even the sound of her beautiful music.
These people could be responsible for what happened to her. If my sister was dating Kaden Raskova and this society considered him a member.
I’ve studied his face too—I have it memorized in case I should come across him tonight. He should dread the moment he ever comes in contact with me…
“You,” a man murmurs out of nowhere. His voice is gravelly with age, yet sharp with suspicion. He reaches out to grab my free wrist and pull me a step back. “You look familiar.”
Piercing blue eyes glare at me from behind a mask, belonging to an older man with neatly combed white hair.
His grip tightens on my wrist. “I know you. You performed in that show.”
My throat thickens as I try to swallow. “Sir, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I’m here to serve refreshments. Would you like one?”
Before he can respond, a woman—elegant and poised in an emerald-green gown and shawl—steps between us and swats the man on the shoulder.
“Harold, stop harassing the servers.” She raises her sparse white brows. “Now.”
His grip loosens. I pull back immediately, the tray shaky in my grasp.
“But she looks so familiar. I’ve seen her somewhere, June,” he insists. “She looks just like that girl from the show months ago.”
“You’ve had one too many to drink… as usual. She’s nothing but the help.”
The haughty woman seizes her husband by the arm and drags him away without even a glance at me. As she said, I’m just the help.
But I’m more stuck on the man named Harold recognizing me. Was it my face he found familiar or my sister’s?
I hurry to slip back into the crowd out of hope I’ll disappear. Harold or his wife, June, won’t be able to accost me a second time, insisting they recognize me from some show.
To distract myself, I scan the guests for any sign of Imani Makune, the girl who’s been claiming she’s my best friend’s sister. Nolan Ramsey had mentioned she’d been invited by Francesco Gigante (the same man who had been talking to my sister on Cyber Fans), but as I look around, I don’t see her. She’s nowhere to be found.
I’m so busy searching for her that it takes me a moment to feel his gaze on me. Out of a crowded room of at least a hundred people, Bront?’s watchful stare makes me stop in my tracks. My feet come to a slow halt as the tray wobbles in my hand.
He’s across the atrium, standing in the all-black uniform security wears. He’s been permitted to dawn a sleek mask that covers the upper portion of his mangled face. An exception Nolan must’ve negotiated on his behalf.
No words are needed between us for me to understand what he’s communicating.
Our silent language has proven useful in moments like this, where we’re surrounded by others.
I give a nod and then set my tray of champagne down on a credenza display of fresh calla lilies and nerines. A few masked guests nearby gasp in scandal, clutching at their chests as if insulted I would dump the champagne tray off by their precious flower display. They’re ignored as I rush off to meet Bront? near an entrance to a hall.
He leads me down the dimly lit passageway as sounds from the masquerade party fade into the background. Once he reaches a door, he grabs me by the wrist and pulls me inside with him.
I don’t bother resisting.
I let him guide me into the shadowy room that seems to be some sort of private lounge for guests.
“We’re leaving,” he says, turning to face me.
“Leaving? But the party’s not over.”
“I have spoken to the society council. Raskova won’t be showing up tonight. He’s been invited to the annual event.”
“Annual event? Then my sister will be with him. What’s that going to be?”
“The Midnight Games.”