I hold my breath when he enters my personal space and says loud enough for everyone to hear, “Kill him.” Then he’s gone, and I’m left staring at Keith. When he looks up at me, I want to drown in my own shame. I didn’t lie to him—I just didn’t tell him the truth of who I am, either. I never told a soul. They wouldn’t have looked at me the same if they knew I was an Elder’s daughter. A fugitive on the run from the Exodus.
Lifting my head, I scan the gathered members. Empty eyes peer back at me from behind gold and black masks. Gunshots ring out outside the room, but I barely flinch at the sudden sound. Tonight is the devil’s night. Death and mayhem are his love language.
“Miss van der Meer,” Delacroix warns from somewhere behind me. “Last chance.”
Mr. Vanderbilt is watching me from his spot near the doorway. He’s a round old man with a beer gut and a sweaty, bald head. His beady eyes salivate at the thought of torturing my friend to death. It’s that thought that finally kicks me into action. I won’t get a second chance. Death is the only way out.
“Cecilia,” Keith says, momentarily drawing my attention away from the slit in my dress. “It’s okay.”
Two words of forgiveness. A mercy I don’t deserve.
In a swift move, I pull the sharp knife from the holster and slice his throat. It’s an out-of-body experience. Over in seconds. Blood gushes from the gaping wound.
Lauren is screaming behind me, but I barely hear it above the thumping in my ears. Keith gurgles, a river of crimson pooling around my feet, growing larger by the second. I step back out of instinct.
Keith topples over, and silence falls in the room before Lauren breaks it with another anguished, heart-wrenching sob. My chin wobbles, but I manage to keep the tears at bay, even as the bloodied knife trembles in my hand.
Delacroix’s voice sweeps over my skin like a heated breath. “Now, Carlo. Your turn. Join the Exodus or die?”
Miss van der Meer is staring down at the still-bleeding corpse on the ground. The knife in her hand clatters to the floor, and she takes yet another step back. I was insanely curious to see if she had the guts, but I knew deep down that she did. Call it an inkling. A woman like her needs a backbone to claw her way back into our world. And here she is, making her daddy proud.
“Impressive,” I drawl, glancing over my shoulder. “You barely flinched.”
Her eyes snap up. “Shut up,” she snarls. “You sick bastard.”
“Take him away,” I order the Disciples, then return my attention to Carlo. Unlike his stoic leader, the man is shaking in his boots. Pathetic. He would be as useless to the Exodus as a wet rag, but tradition requires offerings. “What’s it going to be?”
He watches Keith’s corpse get dragged out of the room, leaving a mess behind for the cleaners to sort out. They know the drill—remove the blood stains from the wooden flooring or get fired. I arch a brow when he looks at me again.
“I’ll join,” he says, trembling.
“Tsk. Tsk.” I clasp my hands behind my back and stroll casually over to Cecilia. “Not so fast. How familiar are you with our traditions?”
Carlo looks around the room for help, confused.
“You’ve done a poor job of preparing him, Miss van der Meer,” I whisper in her ear on my way past, and then I slowly walk back over to Carlo. “You have to prove yourself worthy.”
“Worthy?” Hope flares in his eyes.
I almost roll mine. If he thinks I’ll ever allow someone as weak as him into our ranks, he’s sorely mistaken. He’d barely be suitable as a Pawn. Not when he’s already proved himself to be a traitor.
“Munro and Legrand!” I bark.
Two of the Pawns step forward, obedient to a fault, and bow, speaking in unison. “Yes, Elder.”
“Fight Mr. Moretti to the death.”
Behind me, Cecilia draws in a sharp breath. A smile plays on my lips, but it disappears just as fast when I focus back on Carlo. “You want to live? Prove it.”
His guard unfastens his restraints while Carlo blubbers nonsense to my non-existent humanity. The guy still hasn’t caught on. While I consider the Exodus beneath me, I still don’t feel a shred of empathy for his cause. Or anyone else’s. The Reckoning is nothing more than an inconvenient event that I must endure for a greater cause, such as unlimited money, power, and revenge.
Cecilia is behind me now, digging her nails into my arm. “Please, stop this.” I shrug her off, but she’s undeterred. “You can stop this, Delacroix.”
I peel her off me, repulsed by the crack in her façade. “Pull yourself together, miss. I detest weakness.”
“You’re a monster,” she hisses behind me, and I whirl on my heel, close enough for our chests to touch with our next inhales.
“You brought them here,” I remind her. “You knew your friends would die tonight, and you gladly sacrificed them for your agenda.”
