Chapter 3

T en of us are gathered in the Antichrist’s stronghold, an old large Victorian house on the outskirts of town, which has been my home for the last couple of years.

I’m packing away the blueprints on the dining room table when Lauren sidles up beside me. “You did good. We have a much better idea of the layout.”

I side-eye her as I reach for the folder of information about the Bishop and the Elders who make up the Exodus—all the big players. Beneath them are the Disciples and Pawns.

I want the juicy steak, unlike the others who are happy going after the bottom feeders. Why take out a Pawn when I can aim a lot higher? While the Bishop is as untouchable as the king of England, the Elders don’t have the same ironclad security detail.

“Thanks,” I reply, placing the folder in the bag.

“You’re hiding something,” she says as she rests her hip against the coffee table.

I reach for the zipper. “Why would I be hiding something?”

Lauren watches me closely before crossing her arms and shrugging. “You’ve acted shifty since you got back.”

I hate how perceptive she is. Always has been. We first met years ago through an online forum, and she introduced me to Greta, Keith, Carlo, and the others. That’s how I found like-minded people with a vendetta against the Exodus. While we have different motivations for why we want to cause a dent in the Exodus’s bulletproof armor, we have one thing in common—we’ve all lost someone on Reckoning night. Grief is our uniting force.

“I’m not acting shifty,” I say, cursing the blush creeping up my neck. I’ve not had time to shower yet because things have been busy around here. Every time I move, I smell him on me—a hint of cardamom and tonka bean.

Lauren’s gaze burns into me, and then she puts her hand on mine to stop me from assaulting the bag in my quest to zip it closed. “What really happened when you were gone?”

Why does she have to pry? I’m already suffocating with shame. What does it matter that I let one of the Elders eat me out on his desk? I had no choice but to let it happen. Men like him…they’re Elders for a reason. No one says no to them.

But you enjoyed it.

I squash that voice. “Nothing happened,” I say. “One of the Elders noticed me?—”

Lauren gasps, and my blush deepens. I keep my head lowered. I promised myself I wouldn’t tell anyone, but Lauren can see right through me. “He brought me into his office and…”

“And what? Cecilia? What did he do?” Lauren whispers to stop the others from overhearing.

“We…” I gesticulate impatiently, wishing for her to figure it out by herself so I don’t have to spell it out for her. It’s already awkward enough. “You know…”

Her eyes grow as wide as saucers, and her mouth pops open. Two long seconds pass before she blurts, “No… You didn’t.” A strangled laugh fights its way through her vocal cords.

I finally get the bag zipped up. Thank fuck for the small wins. “I wasn’t in a position to say no.”

“So you did what?” She follows me out of the room. “You had sex with him? An Elder? The Enemy?”

We stop in the hallway, waiting for two guys to walk past. “What was I going to do? Turn him down and risk blowing my cover?”

“You liked it.” A wide smile spreads across her lips, but then it dies. “That was dangerous, Cecilia. He could have killed you on the spot.”

“Well, he didn’t. I’m not dead.” Turning on my heel, I ascend the staircase. Lauren is hot on my heels. I won’t shake her now that she’s curious.

“What if you were followed here?”

“I didn’t blow our cover.”

“Are you sure?”

No, I’m not. Delacroix knew I snuck in, and he was perceptive enough to call me out on my lie when I told him my name. Not even my friends know who I am, and it will stay that way.My parents would turn in their graves if they saw me now, but I’m done spending my life hiding to protect my father’s fortune. I don’t care about my family’s bloodline or their old money. I care about revenge. About doing as much damage as I can to the secret society. No one should have to feel the grief I’ve experienced. My father’s disappearance was swept under the carpet as if he never existed. Never mattered. It’s bullshit. The killer is still out there, breathing.

It ends now.

I pause on the top step. “I’m sure. Don’t worry. I know how to cover my tracks, Lauren.”

She looks unconvinced as she watches me stride to my bedroom and shut myself inside. Once the door is locked, I collect my laptop from the desk and make myself comfortable on the bed. Light rain smatters against the window while the laptop powers up. Restless, I tap my coffin nail against the touchpad.

Memories of Delacroix’s heated eyes invade my thoughts. Pesky, unwelcome thoughts that I wish I could incinerate. I still remember the sensation of his sharp stubble against my bare thighs, which makes me tingle in places I shouldn’t. How can my body betray me like this? It pisses me off. I want him dead, his eyes plucked from his skull. So why am I recalling how it felt when he came all over my ass and back? The sounds he made. And how—despite his threat to kill me—I welcomed his brutality and got off on it. This is one of the men responsible for my father’s disappearance. For all I know, he could be the one behind the attack.

I shake off my racing thoughts. It doesn’t matter. The Exodus needs eliminating. If we kill them all, we will eventually catch my father’s murderer.

My gaze drifts to the rivulets of rain on the glass, but it’s too dark to see outside. Even so, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. A packet of sour laces is wedged between two empty coffee mugs on the bedside. I pick it up, slide out a lace, and bite off a large piece. Christ, that’s why the packet has the word ‘sour’ written in capital letters on the front. I always forget. Do I even like these sweets? Yes, I do, but I also don’t. Much like my sexual encounter with Darian Delacroix today. I liked his tongue on my pussy, yet I also hated every minute of it.

I open the web browser and type in his name. Pictures flood the screen. He even has his own Wikipedia page. Pretentious asshole. It almost hurts to suppress my eye roll, so I don’t even try.

There are lots of photographs of him alongside important society members. Mustached men in expensive suits and their dolled-up-to-the-nines wives. He’s especially close to that womanizer Nathaniel Sinclair, whom I saw earlier today. Further research shows they went to Harvard together. Interesting. Something else that’s interesting—though it absolutely shouldn’t be—is the fact that I can’t find pictures of Delacroix with other women. I don’t know why my heart does a weird little flip. There’s no reason for it.

Closing the lid on my laptop, I bend over the side of the bed to retrieve the duffel bag from underneath. I haul it onto the comforter and unzip it to reveal an arsenal of weapons. Guns and knives of all shapes and sizes.

There’s a knock, and Keith enters, shutting the door behind him. He glances at the bag on my bed and the gun in my hand, and then he slides his hands into his pockets. Keith is in his mid-fifties, with brown, silvery hair on the longer side—he’s forever running a hand through his locks to keep them off his forehead—and hazel eyes laced with the guilt he can’t shake after losing his younger brother to the Reckoning two decades ago. We rarely talk about our personal lives, so I don’t know him that well. From the little I can gather, he grew up with a strong sense of responsibility for his brother, and it broke something inside him when he failed to protect him. Keith is one of the few founding members who fought in previous Reckonings. They started this rebel group and then welcomed me years later with open arms when I sought them out online.

“How do you feel about tomorrow?” he asks, crossing the room and taking a seat at the edge of my bed.

I study the gun in my hand, wondering if Lauren ratted me out. I doubt it. Keith would be fuming if he knew what happened in that office. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

He studies me for a moment and then sighs. “We’ve never attacked the nest directly.”

The “nest” is the word we use for the rented cottage where the party will take place. It’s mandatory for the Exodus members to attend. In other words, it’s a nest, and we plan to smoke it out. I’ve always believed in hitting them where it hurts. Go straight to the source. It’s ballsy enough that they won’t see it coming because they think they’re safe in their little luxury cottage with the best security money can buy while they destroy families and futures.

I gnash my teeth. Keith notices and removes the gun from my hands. Once it’s zipped back inside the bag, he sits so that he’s facing me on the bed. “I’ll tell you what I’ve told the others—you can back out. A lot of people will die tomorrow. Our own men included. No one will blame you if you change your mind.”

“I’m not backing out.”

I’ve waited too fucking long for this.

He stares at me for a moment. “We’re doing something we’ve never done before. Attacking the nest is not only reckless, it’s a suicide mission. Once we enter that building, we’re not getting out alive. You have to be one hundred percent certain before you come with us tomorrow.”

“I’m certain.” There’s a bite to my tone, and he responds with a tightened jaw. Keith took a shine to me early on. Shame he’s like a father figure and thirty years older than me, or I might have explored my sexuality before sending myself into an early grave. “I want revenge as much as you do,” I continue. “It’s all I can think about.”

“I know.” He doesn’t sound happy. “The anger we feel…it’s poison. A miserable existence. We only feel alive again for ten hours every ten years when we can water the seeds of our anger. If I have learned one thing, the relief I feel when I kill one of those entitled motherfuckers is short-lived. Like scratching an itch. But it returns sooner or later, and I’m tired of scratching.”

In the ambient bedside light, his eyes gleam with a rare show of emotion. “I know what I’m walking into tomorrow. I’m fine with it. I’ve spent the last twenty-five years angry, but you’re young, Cecilia. You have your whole life ahead of you. There’s still hope for you.”

“My family is dead because of them. Trust me, there’s no hope for me.”

He reaches out and puts his hand on top of mine. No more words are spoken. With a squeeze, he stands up and walks out.

“Hey, Keith,” I call out as he’s about to exit through the doorway. When he turns, I lift my shoulders. “Tomorrow, we get our revenge.”

He smiles weakly. “Goodnight, Cecilia. Get some rest.”

I don’t sleep. I doubt any of us do. What we’ve waited and planned for is only hours away. I’d lie if I said I’m not nervous, because I am. I want to succeed—I really do—but the odds are stacked against us. Despite this, I knew the risks when I suggested we attack the heart of the Exodus. It’s our best shot. Maybe it’s our only shot. For one night, the members gather beneath the same roof for the party of the decade, bringing offerings, like some sacramental ritual, to the gods of unmeasured wealth and power. It’s not an opportunity that comes around often, so we need to be there instead of intercepting members on their way to the party. We need to be at the heart of it, and if we’re lucky, the Bishop might show.

It’s my turn to get an implant in my neck, so I take a seat at the kitchen table. Lauren, an undergrad nurse, is in charge of the procedure. It’s not something I’m excited about, but we can’t gain entry to the property without a chip in the neck.

Lauren is swabbing my neck when Carlo hands us all our masks to wear tonight. Mine is a cougar. I turn it over in my hand, wondering briefly what Delacroix plans to wear. The Elders will be easy to spot with their gold masks. Ours are black—the color of Pawns—to make us blend easier.

“Not gonna lie, this will hurt like a bitch,” Lauren says, placing the tip of the scalpel at my neck. A sharp pain follows, and I suck in a breath. Luckily, it’s a quick procedure. She lets my hair back down and then pats me on the shoulder, which is my cue that she’s done.

Not all of us are going to the nest tonight. Most of the others are hunting in the traditional sense by attacking members on their way to the event when they’re at their weakest. Months of planning and staking out members have brought us to tonight. Everyone knows their role. We’re as prepared as we’ll ever be.

After tonight, the lucky few survivors will start the process again in preparation for the next Reckoning.

My mood darkens when I allow doubts to sneak in. A part of me knows we’re not the first rebels to attack the Exodus on Reckoning night, and we won’t be the last. This event has historical roots. It’s tradition and a display of wealth, power, and influence. Tonight is when they flaunt their power.

Look what we can do. We can murder your entire bloodline for shits and giggles and make the evidence disappear. We’re above the law.

Returning to my room, I change into the black silk evening gown I bought for this event. It has a slit that stops mid-thigh—perfect for grabbing my weapons in a hurry—and a plunging neckline. I’ll regret my six-inch heels later, but the effect isn’t lost on me as I slide my feet into them now. One glance in the mirror reveals a young heiress to one of the largest fortunes in the country. I belong in their world as much as the other Elders. We’re equals where wealth is concerned, and if they hadn’t killed my parents, I would’ve been a member of the Exodus. Promised to one of their sons.

I’m torn from my thoughts when Lauren whistles in the doorway. She’s dressed to the nines, too, in an emerald gown with a mermaid skirt. “You look smoking hot.”

I turn away from the mirror and unzip the bag of weapons on the bed. “We need to blend in tonight. Unless we dress like royalty, we won’t make it through security.”

Lauren stays silent while I strap knives to my thighs. I’m not going down without a fight. The Exodus won’t know what hit them. “Are you…worried about tonight?” Lauren asks, pushing off the doorway, heels clicking on the floor.

“No,” I reply, checking the safety on my gun. “Greta and Keith have prepared us well. We know what we’re doing.”

“I’ve been thinking,” she says as she comes to stand beside me. “What if the Elder you seduced comes after you tonight?”

“I know he will. He told me as much.”

Her eyes saucer, but I wave her off and reach into the bag to grab her a weapon. She accepts it and parts the slit in her emerald skirt to put the gun in the holster. “Don’t worry,” I reassure. “He doesn’t know we’re attacking their cottage tonight, which means he won’t be there if he was serious about hunting me.”

A slow, knowing smile tugs on her mauve lips. “Mr. Delacroix will be chasing shadows.”