Chapter 20
ELLIE
Aria forces me to mingle for the next hour, though no one musters the nerve to talk to me. It could be because she convinced the majority of the people here that I’m some mythical goddess reincarnated.
Or it could be because of the three hulking bodyguards surrounding me, refusing to leave my side for even a second.
I can’t blame my guys. I would do the exact same thing if our situations were reversed. As it is, I’m grateful I don’t have to make small talk with a bunch of sadistic murderers.
Masked face after masked face turns in my direction, and I can’t help but wonder who’s hiding behind the mask. How many of these people are politicians? Celebrities? Cops? Judges? How many are normal, everyday men and women?
How many believe in Cassia and the doctrine The Divine One continually spews?
How many are simply here to torture, kill, and rape?
I imagine a lot don’t believe in this so-called religion. They’re using the Paragons of Prosperity as a front for their illicit activities.
My mind drifts to the judge we murdered—the judge who bought me. Revulsion slithers through me, dark and caustic, and an involuntary shudder shakes my body. Some people… Some people are just too sick and twisted to live. I never imagined I would have that thought, but here we are.
Once you venture into hell, once you see the devil’s face, you begin to see the truth in things.
Demons deserve to die.
And the devil?
She deserves worse than that.
The Divine One steps in front of me, exhibiting a grace and agility that made it impossible for me to discern her gender or identity until she removed her mask.
“I think it’s about time you four head out,” Aria tells me, her mechanical voice scraping at my skin like the rusted edge of a blood-coated blade.
Dominic tenses, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Why’s that?” Somehow, he was able to pick up on something in her tone that the rest of us missed. It’s why he’s the unofficial second-in-command of our ragtag group, stepping into the leadership role when Landon is indisposed.
“There are…things happening tonight. Things that you four are not ready to see,” Aria answers, and I’m momentarily surprised she granted us an honest answer.
Then her words sink in, and my stomach drops to my feet.
“What things?” I ask.
Aria doesn’t answer, and it’s unnerving, to say the least. I can’t read her expression with that damn mask on, so I have no idea what she’s feeling.
Is she amused? Upset? Angry? I don’t believe she’s any of the above, if I’m being honest. She’s completely impassive, stating this like it’s a fact of life.
The woman truly is dead inside.
The ominous silence between us grows teeth and claws that manage to penetrate the haze I’m in, swiping through my crowded thoughts in one fatal slash of talons.
“What do you plan to do tonight?” I can barely speak through the tightening in my throat.
“A chosen few will follow me to a separate room, where the festivities will continue,” she says, still in that detached, mechanical voice.
They’re going to kill people.
Innocent people.
That one thought reverberates through me like a thousand poppers being thrown to the ground, exploding simultaneously.
I remember the caged fight I watched.
The macabre art show.
What is it going to be this time?
Indecision wars in my chest with my all-encompassing fear, but I find myself blurting out, “I want to come.”
Beckett turns to stare at me incredulously. “You want to what now?”
I don’t answer him, keeping my attention trained on Aria. She’s wearing a mask; I’m not.
But right now, I feel as if I am.
Keep your expression blank, Ellie.
Keep it blank.
“I thought you wanted me to take over for you,” I tell her, infusing my words with as much sass as I’m capable of.
As much confidence. She’ll never give in to me if she sees me as weak and cowering.
To drive the matter home, I add, “I’m not the same girl you first met.
I’ve killed since then. And I’ll kill again if it means keeping the people I love safe. ”
She continues to study me from beneath the confines of her mask. I feel like a butterfly pinned between two slides and shoved underneath a microscope. I’ve never felt so tiny or insignificant before—simply a blip on this world.
Aria nods, the barest dip of her chin. “Come on.”
She turns and moves toward a far door, leaving the party behind.
Dominic sidles up beside me. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“No idea,” I answer honestly. “I guess you could say I’m winging it.”
Zane fist pumps the air and then throws his arm around me, pulling me into his side. “That’s my girl.”
Warmth blossoms in my chest at his praise, and I snuggle into him, breathing in his dark chocolate scent.
“I love you. You know that, right?” I whisper, keeping the words between us.
Zane stares down at me, and his luminescent brown eyes carry more warmth and adoration than I thought possible. They practically set my skin on fire.
“I love you, princesa. With my heart, body, soul, and penis.”
I stumble over my feet. “Your penis? Seriously?”
Zane nods. “It’s just as important as the other three.”
“You don’t have a romantic bone in your body,” Beckett retorts, shaking his head with feigned sadness.
“Are you saying that Ellie doesn’t own your penis?” Zane arches a haughty brow at him.
Beckett rolls his multicolored eyes. “Of course she does. I would just say it more…romantically.”
“How?” Dom deadpans. “She owns your lovemaking stick?”
Beckett nods, as if Dom proved his point somehow, then stares pointedly at Zane. “See? Even Dom knows how to be romantic.”
“Lovemaking stick is romantic?” Zane sounds incredulous.
“Very,” Beckett says.
“Agreed,” adds Dominic.
I say nothing, though I find myself biting down on my lower lip to keep from laughing.
But all amusement fades as we step out of the ballroom—leaving behind the whispers, giggles, and muffled conversations of the guests—and head down a dark hallway.
Aria’s waiting for us at the end of it.
She doesn’t say anything as we finally catch up and descend a steep staircase, entering what appears to be a basement.
I want to say it’s even more elegant and beautiful than the ballroom. Everything is painted in chromatic shades of white and gold, with fancy glass vases adorning the perimeter and paintings hanging overhead. The door we step through slams behind us and locks with an audible click.
Fear crawls over me like ants, but I force myself to stand tall, to not cower.
In the center of the room are over twenty masked faces, and they all turn when we approach.
The Divine One steps in front of me, expertly commanding attention. “Welcome, esteemed guests. We have an exciting night of entertainment planned for you.”
On cue, a back door opens, and half a dozen servants enter, all wearing nondescript masks and robes.
I still don’t know who these people are and why they’re here.
Are they victims, like the naked men and women upstairs?
Are they here willingly, enticed by the money the Paragons of Prosperity are no doubt offering?
Either way, I can’t help but feel a white-hot, blistering rage as I watch them walk from person to person, holding out a tray.
On the tray are knives.
Beautiful knives, with intricate hilts inlaid with gemstones and glimmering tips.
When one of the servants reaches the four of us, Dominic begins to decline, but I wordlessly shake my head and grab a knife. I have no idea what Aria has in store, but I have a feeling we’re going to need a weapon to survive tonight. He stares at me in disbelief before grabbing one as well.
“No thanks,” Zane tells the servant. He reaches into the waistband of his pants and pulls out his favorite bedazzled dagger.
I have no idea how he snuck it in, and I’m afraid to ask.
There are only so many places on his body he could hide it.
Maybe Beckett’s right. Maybe he shoved it up his—nope.
Not thinking about that. “I have my own.” He turns toward me and waggles his eyebrows. “It’s my lovemaking stick.”
Beckett facepalms himself—fortunately not with the hand holding his own knife.
“Why does Ellie seem turned on by that?” Dominic whispers, though I don’t know if he’s speaking to himself, to Beckett, or to Zane.
“Because she’s just as twisted as we are.” Zane pulls me closer to him and kisses the side of my head. “My beautiful, twisted psycho.”
The servants finish handing out the knives before disappearing out the door they entered from.
“The rules of today’s game are simple.” The Divine One’s voice is soft, almost lyrical, lilted with that weird mechanical undertone from the voice converter beneath her mask.
“There are fifty of you.” She pauses, considers, then corrects herself.
“Fifty-four.” She casts me and the guys a pointed look, which we ignore.
“There will be five little lambs. Behind me”—she steps aside to reveal a darkened hallway—“are a series of halls that lead to dead ends and random rooms. The lambs will have a five-minute head start. You will all have an hour to find the lambs.” She waits, allowing her words to sink in, to feed the sick, insidious excitement already in the air.
“And when you find them, you’ll slaughter them. ”
Laughter ripples through the gathered members, and I feel physically sick to my stomach.
Fuck.
I knew this was going to be bad, but to actively be a part of it?
I find myself speaking before I can think better of it, taking one step forward and drawing every eye toward me. “What happens if the lambs survive?”
The laughter fades like a giant candle being snuffed out, until the room is still. Silent. Eerily so.
“Excuse me?” The Divine One cants her head to the side as she studies me.
“You said that we’ll have an hour to hunt down the lambs.” I swallow around the razor blades in my throat. “What happens if the lambs survive?”
“Then I guess we’ll have no choice but to let the lambs go.”
Am I mistaken, or does it sound like Aria is smiling? No. That’s impossible. You can’t detect emotions when she uses that voice modulator.
Would she really do that?
Free them?
I don’t know if she’s telling the truth—I don’t believe she is—but it doesn’t matter. Somehow, some way, we’ll save these people.
“Bring out the lambs!” The Divine One waves a hand toward the door, and it opens once more, five people being marched inside. Two women and three men, though they aren’t the ones I saw upstairs in the ballroom. Like them, they’re naked, their gaunt bodies on display for all to see.
One of the girls can’t be more than a few years older than me.
She attempts feebly to hide her naked body from prying eyes.
Tears streak her cheeks as she tries to turn away, to make herself as small and unassuming as possible.
The second woman simply stands there with her hands on her hips, strong and confident, appearing unaffected by everything transpiring.
But I can see the fear in her eyes.
The way her lips twitch.
One of the men stares straight ahead, his expression deadened, while another sobs and pleas for us to let him go.
And the fifth…
Horror catapults through me, and my heart makes a mad dash up my throat, trying to escape.
The fifth isn’t looking at the crowd but directly at me, his eyes pained.
I know him.
Senator Reece Whipers.