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Other girls?
The binds keeping my anger caged came unraveled, and a growl crawled up my throat.
“My apologies, sir.”
This man thought I was angry that Anniston had escaped. He had no idea I was three seconds from breaking every finger that touched her.
He opened the door in front of me with the hand that wasn’t gripping Anniston’s arm. “You may join the others. I’ll make sure this one is taken care of.” His voice dripped with malice, like he was excited about whatever he had planned.
I wasn’t going anywhere without her.
The man yanked her arm, making her stumble and fall against him. She shoved off his chest, then looked up at me with conviction in her eyes. I knew that look. She was about to run. And I would be the guy staying behind to fuck this dude up until I was sure she got away. But he opened another door, then pushed her through it before she had the chance. I lunged forward, shoving him out of the way. As I reached for the door to keep it from closing, the man grabbed my hood and yanked me back. The door slammed shut.
“This is not your door.”
I jerked away from him, then opened the door he’d forced her through to find nothing but two twin beds with wooden crosses over each of them and a large painting of the Virgin Mary in between them. Creepy. As. Fuck.
Where the fuck did she go?
The man’s voice uttered at my back. “You want the girl, go through your door.”
Dread settled in my chest.
What the fuck have you gotten yourself into this time, Little Rebel?
And how the fuck was I supposed to get her out of it?
I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. There was only one way to find out.
I had to walk through my door—after I slammed this motherfucker against the wall, then broke his fucking nose. And then I took his hand in mine and cracked his knuckles until his fingers broke. “You shouldn’t touch things that don’t belong to you,” I said, “Your mother would be so disappointed in your manners.” Andthen, I walked through my door.
As soon as I was inside, the door closed behind me, echoing a heavythudin the open cathedral. The walls and ceilings were all white, trimmed in gold. Massive chandeliers trimmed in the same gold hung in a line down the center of the room. Stained glass windows and hand-painted murals portrayed images of various saints and angels. Other saints were carved into white stone sculptures and placed along the walls. This was a place for mercy and grace, where people fell to their knees in surrender, where the virtuous sought redemption from evil.
Ironic that this was where the wicked chose to bathe in it.
Whatever virtue this place held was shrouded in malevolence now.
Twelve hours ago, someone stood in this same spot, staring up at the painted likeness of Jesus, overcome with peace. Now the undercurrent of depravity surrounded me like a living, breathing thing.
On the opposite side of the room, a man wearing the same red cloak stood with his hands clasped together in front of him. This one wore a black and gold Venetian-style mask to hide his face. “Are you ready?”
I slowly craned my neck to one side, looking him in the eye. “Are you?”
