Chapter 3

T he rest of the day drags on, but I'm locked in hyper-focus every fucking minute. Once the sun sets, a clock ticks above my head. I sit on the porch and stare as the big yellow globe turns orange and sinks behind the horizon.

My phone chimes with a text from Adam.

T-1 hour!

Ready or not.

I pull the list from my pocket. After we make an appearance at the party and slide the masks over our faces, Adam and I will head out. The names on the list stare back at me. I've crossed off many already, leaving only the Granger family and the Robertsons.

It's time to put on my murderous attire. I'm not entirely sure why they require us to dress up. I hear the sex is wild there, so it seems like it would be better to wear fewer clothes, not all this extra fabric. I wouldn't know about the sex at the party, though. I was half dead when I was last on the property, and sex was the furthest thing from my mind at the time.

My fitted suit clings to every arm muscle, and a black dress shirt lies beneath the black pinstripe jacket. The collar is crisp and folded. I don't think I've ever looked this nice. Adam told me I couldn't come without my suit jacket, but I plan to take it off before we create joyous mayhem. Fair compromise, I guess.

With a spring to my step, I get into my car and head toward the mountains. I've never gone to the cabin when I wasn't under duress, and I don't even remember the winding roads or the massive trees that shield it. When I see a lake to the right, I know I'm getting close. Even though I was locked behind a curtain of exhaustion and fear, that body of water etched itself into my memory. The cabin sits partially suspended over the lake, which absorbs most of the screaming, leaving behind a peaceful silence.

My hand trembles as the scene from my memory materializes before me. My mind has tried to put that night behind me, but my body still remembers the pain and the hopelessness. It remembers the torture.

Hurt people hurt people. Isn't that the saying? They must have been hurting pretty bad, considering what they did to me. Now I hurt others in the most final form.

I park among a blanket of cars spread along the side of the cabin. From all external accounts, it looks like your average house party on the lake. But I know what waits inside, and when I walk up the cobblestone path to the entrance, breath struggles to escape my tightening throat.

A burly man in a suit meets me at the door. His hand goes up, and he stops me in my tracks. He doesn't say anything as he slides a wand behind me, hovering over the back of my neck. The device chimes and flashes green.

"Mr. Blakely," he says, and lets me inside.

Did they chip me? Does that mean they know where I am at all times? Or does it just tell them where I belong, like a lost fucking pet? Does that mean I'm home?

My hand wraps around the door handle, and I push open the door to a place that doesn't feel like home. I'm met with flashes of gold amid a tidal wave of black. A slim man in a black mask places a black wolf mask in my hands. Pawns—like me—and children of the elders wear black masks. The glinting gold face coverings belong to the elders.

Adam is an elder, and I wonder if he's among the people milling about in the middle of the room.

My attention catches on red ribbons, and, with my gaze, I follow the trail of aerial silk to the ceiling. Men and women twirl within the fabric, their bodies contorting and hanging in ways that seem impossible. I turn and spy a woman hanging upside down from the balcony railing. Her neck is split wide open, and her blood falls to a cascading tower of small glasses.

That could have been me ten years ago. An empty sacrifice for them to drink from.

I look up at the balcony, the second floor giving the gold masks a full view of the main floor. Someone leaps onto my back, his gold bird mask coming to rest beside mine.

"Hey, Knox!" he says, and I know that voice. It's Adam.

I inwardly cringe, but I know better than to show him my disdain. I clear my throat and muster a believable, "Hey!"

Adam struts in front of me, a proud peacock in a sea of suits. Nothing makes a born man feel more on top of the world than the night of the Reckoning. In his mind, I'm sure he's walking on water instead of the hardwoods beneath our feet. He's a god in his head.

He flips the mask over his face. The sharp downturn of the golden beak gives him an ominous look akin to those plague masks from the seventeenth century. "Are you ready for tonight?" he asks.

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

He fists my shirt beneath my jacket and shakes me. It makes me want to sock him in the throat. He's so amped, and I can only assume he's been pre-gaming with something a little more hardcore than the liquor on offer. He verifies this as he steps back, pulls a bag of white powder from his pocket, and snorts a line off his hand.

"Take it easy there," I warn.

"Tonight is the night to do anything we want. Get high, fuck, kill. This place is fucking ours!" he says, his voice rising with every syllable until he's shouting at me. The arteries and veins in his neck strain against his thin skin. This dude's going to have a heart attack if he's not careful. "We are fucking gods, Knox!"

If by gods he means we decide who lives and dies, he's wrong. The names on this list are from the people who act as gods and decide who will be eliminated. If you serve no purpose in their estimation or if you dare to go against them, you end up on the list. Such fragile egos with these people.

Or maybe that's how they've maintained control for so long. Kill all threats to your secrecy. Get rid of any loose ends.

"We're gods tonight!" I say, though I don't feel much like one. I don't feel like I blend in with these people at all. But I'm not about to argue with his blasphemy.

I'll be what I truly am, though, and I'm no god. I'm a fallen angel, just like Lucifer.

"Come drink!" Adam motions me toward the bloody fountain.

We pull glasses from the tier, and I hope he doesn't see the hesitation in my movements. I'm not really into blood like they are. I don't believe it will infuse me with any kind of strength or power, and it doesn't provide good luck or whatever juju they believe in. But I take a swig with Adam because, despite not feeling like I'm part of them, I am part of them. And that means drinking up the sacrifice I almost became.

Full circle.

After I swallow the harsh, sticky, metallic liquid, Adam thrusts a beer against my chest. I gladly pop open the cap and take a sip to wash away the blood coating my mouth, then stare up at the lady above us. She's naked, her tits sagging toward the floor. Her throat hangs open like a gaping mouth, and blood still drips from the wound. She hasn't been dead long.

I wonder who brought this party favor? How many more are there tonight?

Turning to Adam, I raise my beer and take another swig. This woman won't be the only sacrifice. We're required to bring one of our own later.

The girl from this morning flashes into my mind. While I would love to see her again, I don't want to see her tonight. I protected her from the piece of shit who was beating on her, but I won't be able to protect her if Adam sets his sights on her. He likes to break pretty things, and if he sees her, I can almost guarantee he'll want to bring her in.

Hopefully, she's miles out of town by now. If not, she'd better have a very good hiding place.