Chapter 27

I ’m not a nail biter, but in the last few days, I’ve chewed my nails to the wick while locked up in this claustrophobic bedroom. A single bed sits tucked away in the corner, a plain desk is pushed against the boarded-up window, and there’s an adjacent bathroom with a toilet and a shower. I’m ready to start peeling wallpaper soon if they don’t let me out or at least give me some information about Darian.

I woke up in here with my wrist cuffed to the metal bedframe. A young guy dressed in a Motley Crue T-shirt and gray shorts, with wiry chestnut hair and a small shaving scar on his chin, placed a plate of food on the nightstand and a glass of water. I asked him a million questions while rattling the cuff, but he said nothing and walked out. The same pattern continued for two more days. Last night, the handcuff was removed, so now I can pace the room.

What if Darian is dead? He was bleeding profusely when they dragged him out. I chew my thumbnail, ignoring the stinging pain of having already bitten it too short. Maybe Darian’s injury looked worse than it was. I’ve never seen anyone get shot with a crossbow before.

My thoughts grind to a halt when the door opens, and Lauren steps inside.

She leans against it and studies me from head to toe, almost like I’m an insect she wants to squash, one she’s had enough of. The distaste in her gaze surprises me, but before I can read into it, she scans the room. A leather skirt hugs her curves, showcasing her long, toned legs, and her tank top shows ample skin. She’s tied her hair up in a high pony, which sways behind her now that she walks deeper into the small room and eyes the untouched food on the plate. “Not hungry?”

I’m too worried about Darian to eat. Just the thought of what might have happened to him knots my stomach. “Where’s Darian?”

“Have you learned nothing?” she asks, walking past me. “You need to forget about him.”

“Is he okay?”

She spins on her tall heels, studying me. “Darian is none of your concern. The Antichrist is.”

“Please,” I plead as my nerves run amuck all over again. “Just tell me if he’s okay.”

Her lips twitch, but she schools her expression quickly. “Darian is alive, for now. He was unconscious for a while but is awake and ready for interrogation.”

“Interrogation?” My blood runs cold. I’ve been a part of the Antichrist for long enough to know exactly how they extract information from captured Exodus members, and it’s not pretty. Sometimes, they blabber almost right away, but others are more loyal, and they’re the ones you have to break to get to the kernel.

I shudder as I recall the harrowing screams echoing from the cellar throughout the years. Sometimes, they captured Exodus members on Reckoning night and kept them alive for months. Though the soundproofing is decent, it’s not perfect.

“What are they doing to him?” I ask carefully as Lauren comes up behind me.

Her chest presses against my back, and she puts her mouth on my ear. “He’s tied to a chair in a closet in the dark.”

They left him in a closet?

My chest constricts, and I spin around. “Anything but that. You know what happened to him.”

A cold smile touches her lips. “Why do you think we locked him in there? Torturing him the good old-fashioned way would never work, but this will break him wide open.”

“You can’t do this! He’s terrified of closets.”

“No,” she says, inching closer. “He’s terrified of the memories associated with them.”

“Please,” I beg, my stomach churning.

She can’t do this to him. He’ll break beyond repair. I saw the look in his eyes in the cellar when he spoke to his vision of my father. The way he looked at me when I told him my father was dead. He thought he was there. He genuinely doesn’t remember parts of his past, and forcing him to relive the night they murdered his mother is beyond cruel. It’s evil.

“Please,” I repeat. “Don’t hurt him like this. Don’t force him to remember the fear and helplessness of that night. There’s got to be another way.”

She sighs like she’s tired of me. “See, this is why you need to stay locked in here. It’s a shame, you know. You could be out there fighting with us. Instead, you’re trapped in a cage for your own good until you come to your senses.” She tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Darian never loved you. You were a bargaining chip—a way to get back at the Bishop, like a big juicy ‘fuck you.’”

“You’re lying,” I bite out, moving away from her touch.

“Am I?” she asks as her hand drops. “Maybe I’m the only one who pays attention around here and doesn’t follow blindly.” She digs her finger into her temple. “I actually think for myself, and do you know what I found out by sticking around and listening to that old lady you worship so much?”

“Leave Greta out of this!” My voice is a low growl.

“You always thought too highly of that old hag. Where has she been all these months, huh? She sure took her fucking time rescuing us. Do you think she couldn’t get to you? No…” Her chuckle is bitter. “She wanted Darian to fall in love with you so the Antichrist could use him in this war. She waited and let us rot.”

I look away, my chest clenching uncomfortably. “You’ve never liked her.”

“She’s not a fucking angel, Cecilia, and this is war. Maybe Darian treated you well, but my time as a Pawn was not a fairytale filled with roses. I was repeatedly raped and beaten. No one came for me. Why? So that Darian could have sufficient time to fall head over heels for the perfect Cecilia van der Meer, the greatest tool this rebel group has ever recruited.”

I gasp, blood freezing in my veins as she smirks.

“What? Did you seriously think they didn’t know who you were when you sought them out, broken and hurt after your mother’s fatal car crash, with nowhere else to go? Of course, they knew. Maybe they even killed your mother to force you into our fold? Ever thought of that?”

Tears prick and burn as I avert my gaze. “Stop it…”

“You’ve got to admit, it makes for a compelling plot twist. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. Let’s get back to the topic at hand. I stuck around today and heard Greta tell your precious husband that she knew you were promised to the Bishop’s son. Come on, Cecilia, think about it. Can’t you see the puzzle pieces falling into place? The van der Meers were like royalty in the Exodus before their great fall, and you were going to birth the next heir and continue the prestigious bloodline.”

I shake my head as the first tear falls. “I don’t want to hear this. You’re being cruel.”

“Cruel?” She laughs disbelievingly. “I’m being honest, unlike everyone fucking else. And do you know what else?” she asks as she walks to the door.

I’m too broken to look at her, my thoughts spinning in a million directions. It can’t be true that the Antichrist orchestrated all of this. If Lauren is right and they knew who I was, it would mean they willingly sent their own members to their deaths, Lauren included, on Reckoning night because they knew I would walk right into Darian’s path. “Sacrifice a few for the greater goal.”

I feel sick.

But not as sick as when Lauren says, “You were right about one thing, Cecilia. Darian does have a big cock, and he fucks like a beast.”

I surge forward, but it’s too late; the door is already closed, and I bang my fists on it as I shout, “You fucking bitch!” I kick it, too, for good measure. “I should have known you wanted to get your fucking hands on him.”

Spinning around, I storm over to the bed and rip off the mattress. The plate of food is next. I toss it against the wall, and the plate splinters on impact. Peas and potatoes fly everywhere, but seeing the destruction does little to wrangle my fury. I’m so sick and tired of being a pawn on someone else’s playing board. It’s been the same fucking story my whole life, from the moment I was conceived, and it never stopped.

I collapse in the middle of the floor. Did my husband sleep with Lauren? Why would he do that? Why would she do that? I always thought we were friends. No, she’s lying. Darian is injured. Why would he fuck her when he’s injured?

Why wouldn’t he?

I force that intrusive thought far, far down as I rest my head on my knees. Now isn’t the time to wallow in self-pity. I need to get out of here somehow. I’m no good to anyone locked up.

But maybe this is exactly where they need me. If I’m such a big asset to them—and they knew who I was all along—why wouldn’t they want me where they can keep an eye on me? It makes perfect sense. They know I’m valuable to the Bishop. He’s incredibly difficult to get close to because of his high position within the society, so it wouldn’t surprise me if they tipped him off in the hopes of drawing him out. But he’s not the only one who’ll come for us. Sinclair, too. There’s no way he’ll let anyone kidnap Darian without raining hell on the Antichrist.

“Oh my god,” I whisper as the seriousness of the situation dawns on me. “I need to put an end to this.”

You have to get creative when you have no weapons at your disposal. While using my femininity to manipulate a barely legal boy to let me out repulses me, it’s not like I have any other choice unless I want Sinclair and the Exodus to kill the people I’ve lived with for years. These people are my friends, but so are Darian, Sinclair, and even his psycho son, Elijah. I’m stuck in the middle, fighting a war I no longer care for.

I don’t care how my father died or what happened to him. Not anymore. It won’t change anything to seek revenge. He’ll still be dead and will have still murdered Darian’s family.

My father is the reason Darian is struggling. He’s why my husband spent time hidden away in an institution for parts of his teenage years, battling against his demons.

How can I feel anything but disgust toward my own father for doing that to him? I’m tired. I’m just so tired of living in the past and letting rage pave the way for my future—a future that can only lead to death and destruction.

But how do we beat the Exodus? How do we stop a powerful secret society from hosting more Reckoning nights? I can’t just walk away, either. I have a responsibility. Whether I want to accept it or not, my legacy is tied to the Exodus, and sticking my head in the sand isn’t the answer. I’ve already spent years running, and look where that got me—right back here.

If it weren’t for the Exodus’s sickening rituals, my family would be alive. Darian’s family would be alive, and he wouldn’t have witnessed his mother being raped and his father murdered before his eyes as a young boy. Every member of the Antichrist wouldn’t have suffered at the hands of powerful men at the top of society. Our loved ones would still be alive. The problem is, I no longer know who to trust. I’m a pawn on both sides of the fence.

Fuck, I’m a mess, and I don’t know what to do.

The door opens to reveal the young man, who enters the room and scans the mess. I’m still seated on the floor, staring up at him, wondering if I have it in me to seduce him. The key must be in his pocket. Maybe I can fish it out if I straddle his lap.

Or I may need to harden my heart and do what needs to be done. I’ve seen how he looks at me, his eyes lingering on my body in my nightdress. It’s unflattering, but he seems to like what he sees, so maybe I can use that to my advantage.

“I’m sorry,” I say, looking sheepish and nibbling on my bottom lip. “I’ll help you clean up.”

He raises a brow in surprise but says nothing. In fact, he hasn’t uttered a word since day one. He just…stares.

“I didn’t mean to make such a mess. I was upset.” I climb to my feet. “Being locked up does that to a person.” Hesitating, I fix my eyes on him. “You must be new here. I haven’t seen you before.”

He makes a grunting sound, then disappears out the door again. I deflate, thinking I lost before I even tried, but then he’s back with a sweeping brush and a bucket of soapy water.

He won’t let me help, ordering me with silent puffs to sit on the bed after he puts the mattress back in place and starts to sweep. I watch him for a moment, trying and failing to ignore the guilt swirling in my gut. This guy seems nice, unlike Lauren. He’s shy, keeping his eyes averted as much as possible, though every now and then I catch him watching me.

I can’t do it.

I can’t use this man for my own selfish reasons, but then I remember what Lauren said about my husband’s cock, and a burst of anger rushes through me again. Leaning back on my elbows, I spread my legs, feeling the nightdress ride up my bare thighs.

The man pauses, growing as still and silent as the night. His throat jumps, and he averts his gaze just as quickly. Then he continues sweeping, a crimson hue coloring his cheeks.

I can’t steal the key if he’s over there. Somehow, I need to coax him closer.

“You’re handsome,” I say, the skirt shifting higher as I reach down to drag my fingers up my thighs. “You seem shy. I don’t bite.”

He’s blushing even harder now. “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

My brows fly up at the sound of his low, raspy voice, and he quickly averts his gaze before he turns around, but I jump off the bed. “Wait!”

Pausing with his back to me, he stays still. I can’t tell if he’s breathing or not.

“What’s your name?”

“Thomas.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Thomas.”

Turning over his shoulder, his eyes lock on mine for the briefest of seconds before he walks out, leaving me strangely affected by the encounter. I frown, about to sit back down, when something occurs to me. I never heard the lock click.

I run to the door and sneak into the quiet hallway with my back pressed to the wall. As I peek around the nearest corner, my bare feet padding on the floor, it dawns on me that I have no clue what I’m doing, and no plan. But it doesn’t matter. I need to find Darian.