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Nicole’s eyes gleamed. The round man lifted his hand and snapped the belt like a whip across Cynthia’s back. The Paters applauded. He cracked it again.
The Disciple wrenched Cynthia’s head up. “What do you find in submission?”
She was struggling to suck in air. “Transformation.”
Down she went, but this time, the Disciple took the belt from the man and brought it down himself, hard, over her spine. He did it again, and again, forming a rhythm. Around me, the Paters began to stomp their feet. The man at the piano bent over his instrument, and music soared again, lifting the fine hairs on my arms.
The women in the crowd stood still as statues, watching in silence.
Nicole was wrong. This was real, but it was also a performance. Dramatic, didactic. I recognized the scene.
On center stage, the Disciple wrested Cynthia up by her hair.
“What do you say, daughter?”
She arched her back toward him. “More,” she begged. “Please.”
Is this what I’d looked like?
He struck her again, and without her face smothered, Cynthia’s cry ripped through the room, pain mixed with undeniable pleasure. Blood spotted her back. The stomping and music became cacophony.
The sense of déjà vu was so strong it was almost hallucinatory, like they’d pumped gas through the vents, or I’d taken another midnight-blue pill and stepped back into the past. I couldfeelDon in the room. Any second, the dark-suited men would turn, and they’d be wearing his face—laughing, unable to believe that I was here, that I’d come crawling back for more.
I pressed my fingers into my eyes, so I didn’t see it coming when the Disciple yelled, “Daughters, receive your punishments,” and the room exploded into motion. I opened my eyes as a tall man stepped to Nicole, hand extended. She placed her hand in his, and he whipped her around so her chest pressed flat against the wall.
“Nicole.” I resisted the urge to shout. “What’s happening?”
Her face was calm against the wall. “If one of us gets punished, we all do.” The man behind her fumbled with his belt.
I backed away, sliding over the wall. It was too much, too soon.
“If you wait, a Pater will find you,” Nicole promised, but her next words were drowned by the man who pinned her, his elbow over her shoulder blades.
“Who does your body belong to?” he demanded.
Don’t let them touch you, the dark voice whispered in my head.Only me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not ready.” I peeled myself from the wall before anyone could reach for me.
“Shay,” Nicole called, but I didn’t look back.
I threaded quickly through the chaos as belts slithered from around waists and piano music crashed like waves against the rocks. I sped into the hallway, then down the stairs.Whatever you do, don’t run, I told myself.Don’t draw suspicion.The last thing I needed was the Lieutenant realizing I’d disobeyed him by going to the party.
I forced myself to walk—slowly—but I didn’t know the house and found myself in a strange hallway. I spun and came face to face with a half-open door.
It was a library. Books lined the shelves and crosses hung on the walls, mixed with family portraits. In the nearest, a smiling man had his arm around a blond woman. With them were two young boys, on the cusp of being teenagers. The whole family wore matching white button-downs and tan slacks, posing on a beach somewhere at sunset. The man was the Lieutenant.
I knew I wasn’t supposed to see this glimpse into who the Paters really were, the Lieutenant outside these walls. I took only a second more to study the faces, then lurched from the room and sped down the hall, taking turns until finally I came to the front door. I flung it open and ran.
I looked over my shoulder as I fled, expecting to see a tall, dark figure barreling out of the house, ready to pull me back by the ankles. But there was no one—just the stars, watching dispassionately. I flew down the street and wrenched the car door open, jumping in next to Jamie.
“Jesus!” His face was white as a ghost’s. “Where’d you come from? What happened?”
“Just go,” I said.
“Your arm—”
“Drive!”
