I remain standing, unsure of how to respond to this strange-as-fuck encounter.
“Ellie’s allergic to pancakes,” Zane says cheerfully, shooting Aria a shit-eating grin. “They make her have the poops.”
None of that’s true, but it makes me bite down on my smile. Trust Zane Lorenzo to alleviate the tension in the air.
“I suppose it’s good that you have an en-suite bathroom.” Aria winks at me, something indecipherable glimmering in her eyes, and I feel a chill rush through me. It isn’t possible that she knows about what happened with Ryker last night, is it? No. The guys checked the entire room for bugs and cameras. There were none. She’s just being a bitch. Or maybe she heard me—which would be humiliating but not as damning as Ryker’s resurrection would be.
“I have coffee in the pot,” Aria continues, turning back to the stove. “You take yours with cream and sugar, don’t you, Ellie?”
Again, I don’t answer. I know without a shadow of doubt that I won’t ingest anything Aria offers me. I don’t believe she’ll poison me—she had plenty of opportunities to kill me last night alone—but who the fuck knows what she’ll do? Give me a hallucinogen? Ecstasy? The guys and I will have to find another way to eat.
Silently, the four of us take our seats around the table, Zane and Beckett bracketing me between them while Dom sits across from me, beside Fischer.
Fischer’s hands tighten around his mug, his knuckles bleaching white, but he still doesn’t look up. Doesn’t even acknowledge us.
With a cheerful hum at odds with her cold, insidious eyes, Aria places a plate of pancakes on the table.
“I hope you five are hungry. I made a lot.” Her smile stretches, bunching up her cheeks in a way that oddly resembles a squirrel collecting acorns. It gives her an almost elfin appearance. An innocent one. Which I know to be a lie. “Now, why don’t we say grace first?” She doesn’t wait for any of us to respond as she slips into the spare seat at the head of the table. She squeezes her eyes shut and folds her hands.
All of us remain alert, staring at her with identical “this bitch is crazy” expressions.
“Cassia, Mother of All, Goddess of our Souls. Blessed be the fruit. Blessed be the name. Blessed be my family, which you have returned to me.” She goes silent, and I wonder if she’s expecting one of us to pipe in. If she is, then she’s in for a rude awakening. “In her heavenly name, we pray. Amen.”
Dom’s upper lip curls. “What the hell was that?”
“You don’t say grace in your household?” Aria asks evenly, using her fork to stab at one of the pancakes. She places it on her plate, then grabs the syrup from in front of Fischer, pouring a generous helping over it.
“You know Cassia isn’t a real goddess,” Beckett cuts in, his British accent even more pronounced in response to his agitation.
“Do I?” She nimbly cuts off a slice and brings it to her lips, chewing delicately.
“If you believed her to be real, why did you claim I was her?” I interrupt.
A secretive smile dances on her lips. “Maybe you are her.”
I snort. “We both know that’s not true.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table, wanting to see her better, to gauge her reaction. “No, you wanted a way to control me, and claiming I was the second coming of your goddess was your way to do just that. But what I want to know iswhy? What’s your end goal? Do you want me to take over? Be your puppet?” Anger heats my neck and cheeks, and I find my hand curling into a fist, my nails embedding themselves in my palm.
Aria continues eating, completely nonplussed by my accusation. “Do you want the truth, Ellie? Would you even believe me if I told you?”
“Try me,” I hiss.
She doesn’t glance up from her food. “Control.”
“So, this is about controlling me,” I surmise.
Harsh laughter escapes her. “No, you dumb child. This is about controllingeveryone.” She finally lowers her fork back to the table and steeples her hands, her eyes lifting to rest on mine. “Belief and faith are tied so intricately together, it’s impossible to differentiate one from the other. You certainly can’t untangle them. My…flock has believed in something for so long, but their faith was wavering. I told them that every murder, every sacrifice, every depraved act was one step closer to their returning to their savior. Their goddess. But some people…some people were skeptical, and they were vocal about it. Take JudgeMurphy Monroe, for example.” A serrated grin stretches her lips. “You remember him, I imagine?”
Images of a chubby man with a receding hairline pop to the forefront of my mind.
He was the first man we killed after I’d been bought.
Something insidious grabs hold of my neck and squeezes.
“My dear friend Murphy was causing discontent among the masses, but I knew he had a…proclivity toward younger women. So, when a pretty brown-haired woman came for sale, I knew he would jump at the chance to purchase her.” Her smile widens as she reaches for her mug of coffee, taking a tiny sip. She leaves behind a bright red lipstick smear that almost resembles blood. “And I also knew you would trace the IP back to him. And that you would kill him.” She lowers the mug back to the table. “Just like you killed the second person who purchased Ellie, and the third, and the fourth?—”
“You fucking played us,” Dom grits out, seeming to be speaking through clenched teeth.
So, she never planned to hand me over to the “buyers.” I don’t know whether to feel relieved or manipulated. Maybe both?
