Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
Laurel
We’re only three steps into the tunnel when Sam speaks, her tone cautious, like she’s trying not to set me off. “I know you’re upset—”
“Upset? Seriously?” I whirl on her, my heart pounding. “Did you not just see what he did back there?”
“What I saw,” she replies evenly, “was a leader doing his job.”
I gasp, stunned. “That’s Carrson’s job? Torture? And you’re just…okay with that?”
She doesn’t flinch. “Richardson knew what he was doing. He knew the risks. You can’t break The Order’s rules and think you’ll get away with it. We’re not a turn-the-other-cheek kind of organization.”
I shake my head, trying to steady the tremble in my hands.
“Yeah, I got that message loud and clear.” Instinctively, my hand goes to my pinkie finger.
The one Samantha broke. The one that still twinges sometimes, that healed a little crooked.
I got a broken finger. Richardson got a broken arm.
How many body parts, how many people, does this place have to break before I finally understand how dangerous it is?
I pick up my pace, wanting to be out of this tunnel, but Sam’s hand lands on my arm, stopping me.
In the glow of the flashlight, her face is shadowed.
“Have you ever heard of Maxson?” she asks.
“Who?” I blink, thrown.
“He was the leader before Carrson, during our freshman year,” she says. “A good fighter. That’s how he kept his spot. But he was soft. Wanted to be everyone’s friend. Didn’t like confrontation, not really.”
She inhales deeply, like the memory still chokes her. “Under his rule, the skimming, the embezzling started. Money disappeared. First in the betting ring. Then the housing fund. Drugs we never approved started circulating in the halls. Girls were attacked. There were overdoses. Coverups.”
I stare at her. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about what happens when there’s no one strong enough to say no more.
” Her gaze sharpens. “Carrson didn’t just step in when he defeated Maxson, he cleaned up the mess.
Restored order and, yeah, sometimes that means someone bleeds, but it also means people stop thinking they can get away with murder. ”
“He’s not saving people,” I whisper. “He’s scaring them, intimidating them.”
Sam’s expression doesn’t change. “Sometimes fear is the only thing that works. Carrson is just one piece of it. He’s holding this town together. But The Order?” Her voice drops low. “The Order holds the world together.”
I stare at her, stunned. “Do you hear yourself? What you’re saying is madness. This isn’t normal,” I insist, needing her to understand. “None of it is.” I tried to tell the same thing to Carrson, but he didn’t listen. Maybe I can convince Sam. There has to be at least one sane person in this place.
“Yes,” she sighs, like she’s explaining something obvious to a child. “It is. This has been going on since the beginning of time. Leaders rise. They rule. Society endures. Behind it all is The Order.”
She steps closer, her voice gaining momentum, growing more fervent. “Everyone benefits from the illusion of stability. The belief that no one will murder you in your sleep. That the flimsy lock on your front door will keep you safe. That help will come when you call.”
She pauses, her eyes glinting in the darkness. “All of that only works because of this. The dirty work The Order does behind the scenes. You’re just now getting a glimpse of the bloody mechanics beneath the surface. The things that have to happen to keep everyone safe and happy.”
She pauses, then adds, almost reverently, “Peace has a price. The Order pays it.”
I stare at her. Disbelieving. Horrified.
“Wait—” I lift a hand. “You’re seriously trying to tell me that The Order, a secret, or not-so-secret society, is the only thing keeping the world from falling apart? That the line between chaos and civilization is a bunch of men in tailored suits with blood-stained hands?”
Sam doesn’t blink.
“And to keep that control,” I go on, “they break the law. They hurt people. Do terrible, criminal things, but it’s fine, it’s justified because it’s for some mysterious higher purpose? That’s what you’re saying?”
She nods once. Calm. Certain. “They’re going to build a perfect world. That’s what they tell us. It’s what Carrson and I grew up with. It’s what we believe.”
I don’t bother telling her that I suspect Carrson doesn’t believe quite as deeply as she does.
Instead, I grab her wrist and tug her forward, setting us back in motion.
We walk in silence for a few beats, our footsteps hollow thuds on the stone floor.
Flatly, I say, “I’ll tell you what I believe. I think you’ve been drinking the Kool-Aid.” I glance over at her. “I think they put it in your bottle and fed it to you since you were a baby. Flooded your brain with lies until you couldn’t tell their voice from your own.”
She doesn’t respond, so I press on, my voice sharper now.
“Explain this, if The Order wants a perfect world, why do they let the men bond three women? Have you ever stopped to consider how off the numbers are? That means there are three times more sisters than brothers.”
I lean closer, making sure every word lands.
“In the real world, male and female births are nearly even. But in your world, the scales are completely tipped. Where are all the baby boys?” I pause to let the question settle.
“Are they adopting them out? Manipulating genetics? Sending them down the river to die?”
Still nothing. Just the sound of her footsteps beside mine.
“Where’s your father, Sam? Your real father? Your birth father?”
I don’t wait for an answer.
“Don’t you ever wonder about him?” My voice softens, but there’s no kindness in it. “What about Carrson’s mother? Where is she? Does he have her eyes? Her hair?”
For the first time, Samantha doesn’t speak. Her mouth turns down, and a flicker of doubt flashes across her face.
We reach the white door that leads back to Rosewood Hall.
I’m eager to get through it. To escape the tunnel. To escape everything, what I just saw, what Sam said, The Order, even Carrson.
I push open the door, and we step into the blinding sunlight of the kitchen.
Abbie is there. Waiting. Tears pour down her face.
“Where have you been?” she cries.
Samantha rushes toward her. “Abbie, what’s wrong?”
“It’s Staci,” Abbie sobs. “She’s dead.”