Chapter 6 #2
“Zoomer,” I scoffed, ignoring his lazy jab. “Being a millennial isn’t the flex you think it is.”
I jumped when another figure appeared seemingly out of nowhere—the receptionist from before. She barely acknowledged us as she sped through the nave, clipboard to her chest.
“You’re making that face again,” Wes whispered.
“Because she is my enemy.”
Amusement colored his features. He was walking too close to me, like we were together. Or fake-together, like he’d propositioned in the diner.
“I shudder to guess how long your list of enemies is if it’s that easy to make one.”
“I’m comfortable with the length of my list,” I said. “Besides, enemies exist on a spectrum. She lives in a mild category.”
“And where do I fall?”
“I’m still calibrating that. But it’s not looking good for you.”
“Is that so?” His voice was a low hum.
When his fingers grazed mine, he finally took a step away from me, as if it had been an accident to get so close.
He’d joked about the nuns, but what else had he felt about the visual? Did he want to worship or be worshipped? Did he—nope. Enough.
My fingers buzzed from where he’d made contact, and I focused on the awe-inspiring space rather than the flashing red danger sign to my right.
The church was just as breathtaking as it had been last week, but the night made it more hauntingly beautiful, illuminated now by dim lights. We slipped into a hallway and then turned down a new one, the building quickly becoming a maze.
By the time we’d been led inside an opulent drawing room, I was positive I’d never be able to make it out of here with my own sense of direction.
A frightening thought indeed.
Maisy found me instantly, tonight in a slinky purple dress and matching eyeshadow. “Oh my God hiii, I’m so glad you’re here.”
I forced even a fraction of her bubbliness into my voice. “Me too.”
I took in my surroundings, grateful I didn’t look so out of place this time.
Well, maybe if I were comparing outfit price tags and fabric quality, I was still wildly out of place, but oh well.
The room was divided into two sections—one side held a long dining room table, set with plates, cutlery, taper candles, and dark floral arrangements.
The other section was where everyone was mingling, holding glasses of wine or brown liquors, standing or occupying the cluster of seating furniture.
The chandelier above was dimmed, and candles flickered, casting shadows amid the opulence.
When I glanced at Wes, he was scanning the room in a more precise manner, as if looking for someone. Perhaps he was looking for whoever had told him about The Circle. Were they the reason he was suspicious of this place? And who was he meeting at the diner?
Or maybe this was all a ruse, and he really was one of them. Watching me.
Okay, that was way too paranoid of a possibility, surely. I should’ve asked him better questions.
No. He came onto me. Everyone knew it was a predatory tactic to act like the only protector in a group of bad people. Whatever his intentions, they weren’t good. I needed to stay the hell away from him.
Wes walked away without so much as a goodbye.
“Rude,” Maisy whispered, leaning closer.
“Very,” I said. I changed subjects. “What’s up with the nuns?”
“Oh, those are Lord Kingston’s subs. His devotees—or whatever the hell he calls them, I can never remember. They worship him as their God. I think they’re some of this evening’s performers.”
I willed my face to emote normal expressions as she spoke. “Totally,” I said. “Totally, totally.”
“Yes, exactly,” she said. “Total submission. It’s their whole thing. And fun to watch!” She led me further into the room.
“Right, right.” Shit, why couldn’t I stop repeating filler words? Cut it out, I snapped at myself. Lock the fuck in.
“Who’s your new friend, Maisy?” a man in his late forties asked, approaching us with another man of similar age.
They were both average in the looks department but expensive in style, beaming with the kind of entitled confidence only held by wealthy men.
“This is Nova,” Maisy said, her entire demeanor shifting in a blink. Her eyes became hooded, her tone softening, the pace of her words slowing. She was imitating a woman who was turned on. “She attended orientation last week. Nova, this is Hector and Jeffrey.”
I felt their eyes on my skin, perusing, fantasizing. “Nice to meet you,” I lied. With the way Jeffrey peeled his eyes off me first to focus back on Maisy, I assumed he was her sugar daddy.
Hector was slower to meet my eyes. “I believe the pleasure is ours,” he drawled.
“One of the performances is starting,” Maisy said suddenly, clutching my arm. “I’m so excited for you to get your first taste.”
Hector and Jeffrey’s eyes flashed in unison, lips curving as they watched me.
Three nuns filed into the dining area, following their priest. Or rather, their God—Kingston.
Something pulled my attention to the right, where I caught Wes staring at me as if I’d angered him.
His eyes were cold, his body rigid. I swallowed, and my heart sank on pure instinct, a reaction to his intense displeasure.
It took me two long seconds to snap out of it and remember I’d done absolutely nothing wrong.
What the hell was his problem?
I returned my attention to the show.
“Kneel,” Kingston said, so authoritative, my own knees twitched.
The three women knelt in a semi-circle at his feet, heads bowed.
Kingston reached into his black robes and pulled out a knife.