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Chapter thirty
I spent the entire day underneath the covers, reading one of the books Chandler bought for me. I felt like a child hiding from a monster. If I stayed under the blanket, maybe he wouldn’t see me. After last night, I had no idea what to say to him. I stood outside his door, wondering if those noises he made were for me, then I heard it.Goodnight, Little Rebel.And I knew they were. There had been a palpable shift in the atmosphere over the past few days. Since I learned the truth about why I was here, the tension was different now, more desire, less resentment.
He was ruthless and cruel, like a dark lord with his reign. But at times, the darkness gave way to some light—like the night to the moon—and I saw another side of him. He made me want things I never should have wanted. But the more I tried to run from him, the more he pulled me in. And as strange as it seemed, there was a certain kind of freedom in letting him take control.
I’d just dozed off, when the sound of Chandler’s voice startled me awake.
“There’s a brotherhood at St. Peter’s.”
A brotherhood at St. Peter’s? What did that even mean? Since when was Chandler religious?
Oh my god.TheBrotherhood.
That had to be it. Something was happening with the Brotherhood.
Who was he talking to? It had to be Grey.
I heard the ping of the elevator doors closing. And then, silence.
Chandler left.
He left to go save those girls, and I was lying in a penthouse underneath a down comforter.
My heart sank to my stomach. The need to do something rattled me to the bone. I knew it was bananas. There was nothing I could do to save anyone that Chandler and Grey couldn’t do themselves. But I still had to try. That was technically why I was here, right? To help save them.
I pulled on a pair of leggings to go with the oversized t-shirt I always slept in. I slipped on my shoes, balancing on one leg at a time, while I grabbed Chandler’s credit card off of the dresser. Thank God he hadn’t taken it back since the day he left it with me to buy the dress. If I’d learned anything while in New York City, it was that it was a mortal sin to stiff a cab.
My heart beat violently inside my chest as I hurried down the stairs to the elevator. My legs shook with every step. Sweat beaded on my spine and the back of my neck. Fear wrapped around my ribcage, squeezing the air from my lungs. I was walking into something I didn’t fully understand, but even so, the thrill of doing something right, something good, sent my adrenaline soaring.
It took me three tries, but I finally remembered the elevator code. I hadn’t tried to memorize it, but I did pay closer attention the other day when we came back from The Shops.
The big burly man eyed me but didn’t try to stop me as I hurried out the door. I hailed a cab, then breathlessly slid into the back seat. My pulse thundered in my ears as I slammed the door shut and glanced at the driver in the rearview mirror.
“St. Peter’s,” I said, resolute. “I’ll pay double if you hurry.”
