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“Which was?” I ask.
“I told him you could find our mole,” Keon says. “And you did. And now…well, I think you two have some negotiating to do.”
Corvus groans from the ground, and all three of us snap our gazes toward him. He starts to move but Keon flicks his fingers and Corvus jolts again. I cringe; it looks like it hurts.
“Take him down to the basement,” Keon says to the guards. “I’ll be there soon.”
The guards surround Corvus, two of them picking him up by either arm and dragging him away. I feel just a pang of guilt…but it isn’t enough to make me regret my choice. After he lied to me like that, and acted so fucking smug when he told me the truth, he deserves everything he gets.
“Do you need any help here?” one of the guards says, staring right at me.
I give him a sarcastic smile.
“No,” Keon says, “I think Atlas and his bride need to do some…private negotiating.”
Keon gives us a little bow before he leaves…and then we’re alone.
Completely alone, for maybe the first time.
“Turn around and walk toward the house,” Atlas grits out. “And don’t try anything.”
But I’m still a prisoner.
I turn and raise my hands for show, strolling toward the villa. This is the entrance where I first came in, and it will take me to my room, with the open window. I could escape again, I suppose—but what would be the point? Now that I’ve destroyed my connection to Corvus, Atlas is the one who is going to help me get Layla.
And hewillhelp me.
I’ll see to that.
We’re about to cross the threshold when I feel the tug of the Gift on my neck, once again like a collar. My pussy clenches at the sensation, and I curse my traitorous body for still wanting him when he knows my secret now. I wonder what exactly I’m in for—if they’re going to lock me in a basement and torture me, too.
I wonder if they’ll kill Corvus.
“This way,” Atlas says. “To the right.”
I divert to the right, into a different door. The villa is big enough to be a palace, and this area looks like one, with marble columns and lush vines climbing across every inch of the ceiling. A door waits at the end of the hallway, sliding open as we approach.
It must be Atlas’ room. A massive four-post bed sits against the far wall, and a corner desk is off to the left. A holoscreen scrolls on the desk, flickering slightly when we enter. I notice that there are only high, small windows along the back wall, exposed stone bricks lining it.
It’s secure.
Safe.
A prison…or a panic room.
“Wrists,” Atlas says.
I glance over my shoulder to find him almost touching me, looming large.
“Behind you,” he hisses.
I do as I’m told, putting my hands behind my back. A moment later, a horrible shock bursts through me as his knuckles brush my arm—then I feel magnetic cuffs lock into place. These aren’t anything like the leather manacles in Atlas’ sex dungeon—these are law enforcement style, meant to keep me from escaping.
Yep, this is a prison.
“Sit,” he says, shoving a chair toward me from his desk. I do it, my wrists lodged uncomfortably behind my back. Still, I don’t complain, staying sullen and silent as he stalks around me.
“So,” he says. “You’re First Wave.”
