She looks past me at the men, and the light in her eyes dims before she smiles again. “I’m fine. I promise. Let’s go inside. I’ll give you a tour.”
Lauren shows me around the grand estate while the men barricade themselves in the office to discuss business. Maids make themselves scarce when we enter rooms. It’s a beautiful home without much heart.
“What’s it like being a Pawn?” I ask as we walk through the rose garden out the back.
Deep in thought, she lets her fingers drift over the fragile petals of a flower. “It could be worse.”
“Worse?”
She shrugs, not looking at me, and then she starts to say something, but my eyes snag on a bruise peeking out from her collar. I shift it aside, horrified when I see the yellow and purple blotches.
“He did this to you?”
Pushing my hand away, she rights her collar to hide it. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Lauren, he beats you.”
She glances at the windows behind us, her throat jumping on a swallow. “Just…let’s talk about something else.”
“No, we’re talking about this.”
Her eyes take on a hard edge. “What did you think would happen, huh? He purchased me on Reckoning night, like an item to be owned. I’m a Pawn, Cecilia. We’re the lowest of the low. Maybe some Pawns are treated with respect, but I’m a whore and an object for his vile sexual perversions.”
Tears swim in my vision as I glance at the estate behind me, but there’s no sign of anyone else. Lauren struggles to meet my gaze, so I pull her to me and hold her tight. “We’ll get you out of this. I promise.”
“I’m in contact with the Antichrist.”
I gasp, releasing her. “You’ve spoken to them?”
She nods and lowers her voice. “They’re planning a rescue mission.”
“They are?”
“Yes. Not just for me, but for you, too.”
My chest tightens when she smiles at me with such hope that I want to look away in shame for feeling these mixed emotions. I should jump for joy at the prospect of being taken away from Darian’s clutches.
“Did they say when?”
“No,” she replies with a shake of her head. “But soon.”
“I don’t know…”
“What don’t you know?” she asks, frowning.
I look away, but she cups my cheeks and says, “Hey, this is good news. They’ll set us free. It’s what we want, right?”
When I fail to respond, the crease between her brows deepens as she presses, “Right?”
Inhaling a shaky breath, I finally nod and take her hand. “Of course.”
But it’s not ‘of course.’
Nothing about this feels right.
