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We’re safe, for now.
Zane and Beckett are nearby.
We’re safe.
Harvey clears his throat and puts the car back into drive, guiding it toward where I see a group of valets standing.
“I would make sure you leave your weapons in the car.” Harvey’s voice is almost conversational as he puts the car into park once more and steps out of the vehicle. “They have metal detectors.” Then, without another word, he flicks his keys in the direction of a stone-faced man who looks more befitting of a security guard than a valet driver. He’s positively massive, with a shiny bald head, tree trunk-sized arms, and a scowl on his face.
Then I notice the gun holstered on his hip.
Perhaps he’s both.
“I don’t like this, El,” Dom whispers as he reluctantly reaches for first his gun, then his knife. He slides both items beneath the car seat, as if hoping to hide them from view. “At least the trackers are too tiny to be picked up by any detector. But fuck…”
“We don’t have a choice.” I keep my voice just as soft as I drop my bedazzled blade.
Then, without another word, we both slide out of the car.
22
ELLIE
Up close, the mansion is even grander than I gave it credit for. It probably should be on a magazine cover somewhere, instead of hidden away in the middle of nowhere, used for god only knows what.
It appears to be just above five stories tall, and the walls are almost entirely constructed of roughly hewn stone and glass. The glass, however, is tinted, allowing the occupants of the mansion to see out while we’re unable to see in. The roof is a series of flat surfaces at different levels, and the final effect is a mismatched architectural design I’ve never seen before.
For a moment, I simply marvel at the building before me, wondering how something so beautiful can be the home to such cruel and malicious activities.
But then Dom’s hand is on the small of my back, guiding me inside, and those thoughts flee.
Harvey was right. We do step through metal detectors. Three, to be exact. My heart’s pounding so loudly, I’m surprised the entire world doesn’t hear it. The entire time, I keep thinking they’re going to detect the tracker in my dress sleeve, but they never do.
Men and women in form-fitting black shirts and cargo pants line the hallway, their stoic faces fixed straight ahead.
Guards.
But are they to keep people out…or keep people in?
Dom’s fingers intertwine with mine once we reach the last stage of security. I know he can feel how sweaty my palms are, but he doesn’t comment.
Two guards push open large oak doors, and we step into a room plucked straight out of one of my nightmares.
My breath catches in the back of my throat, and only Dom’s hand in mine keeps me upright. I feel adrift, lost, untethered.
Acerbic, bitter fear coats my tongue.
Everywhere I look, I see masks. So many freaking masks.
POP members.
Over one hundred.
“Dom,” I whimper, squeezing his hand tighter, desperately seeking comfort in his touch.
“I know, baby.” He tries to keep his voice calm and soothing, but I can hear the undercurrent of panic he’s unable to bury. I feel like a damn sheep surrounded by hungry, salivating wolves, and any second, one of these predators is going to muster up the courage to pounce?—
“Come.” Harvey’s rough, domineering voice is unmistakable as he shoves between me and Dominic. “The show’s going to begin in a few minutes.”
