“It’s okay,” he says, shrugging. “We’ve all chased pussy.”
“I’m not chasing pussy.”
“No?” Placing his drink down on the bar, he saunters to my desk, retrieves the warthog mask, and inspects it. “Since you’re so set on playing with fire, you should wear this when you fuck her face-first into the dirt tomorrow. Make her choke on a leaf or two. Women dig that nasty stuff.”
He tosses me the mask and walks out, but not before he turns over his shoulder and winks. “Oh, pull her hair. You’ll thank me later.”
My eyes roll again. “It’s a hunt, Sinclair. I’m killing her, not fucking her,” I call out after him. Today was a blip on my radar. I won’t give in to such carnal urges again. Sure, I threatened to fuck her after I chased her down, but I won’t. I’m excited for the hunt. That’s all. Not her taste, sweet moans, or fiery attitude.
Sinclair pops his head back inside with a mischievous smile big enough to earn him a part as Pennywise in the next adaptation of Stephen King’sIT. “If van der Meer is still alive after the Reckoning, your Bugatti La Voiture is mine.”
I wave him off without a second thought. “Deal. Now, find out who let her in. Someone helped her, and I want them brought as sacrifices to the party tomorrow.”
He shakes his head, chuckling. “What do you take me for? A Pawn? I’m out of here. Business to attend to.” Before leaving the room, he taps the doorframe and says, “Hey, Darian?”
“Hmm?” I’m distracted, leafing through paperwork.
“I look forward to taking your Bugatti for a spin the day after tomorrow.”
I flip him off, but he’s already gone.
Ten 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.”
