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OAKLEY
Makingmywayoutinto the living room on Saturday morning is like stepping out into the land of the dead. Zade sits on the couch, staring out the window. His face is cut up and bruised, and I can’t even begin to understand how much pain he must be in. But what he’s feeling is nothing compared to what Sawyer must be going through.
Easton, on the other hand, has been holed up in Zade’s home gym, unable to form a single sentence. No one has heard from Dalton or Sawyer since they left. Apparently, the key to working out your frustrations isn’t filthy, wild sex after all. Someone should have told me.
An icepack rests on the coffee table in front of Zade, and I let out a sigh. It’s the third time I’ve had to replace it, and not once has he thought to actually pick it up and put it on his face. I can’t stand Zade at the best of times, but watching him stand back and allow Sawyer to beat the shit out of him wasn’t easy. There was something vulnerable about it. Something raw and honest.
He was very clearly punishing himself for the role he had to play last night. Sentencing his best friend’s father to death like that couldn’t have been easy, and there was clearly a struggle between duty and what he felt was right. But as I’ve heard so much lately, the traditions and rituals of Empire are blah, blah, blah. Does anyone even care about their ridiculous traditions? Fucking snooze fest if you ask me.
Though I can’t lie, I’m intrigued by the idea of all these traditions. Sounds kinda like witchcraft to me. Every time their rituals are brought up, I can’t help but listen a little closer while imagining Bonnie Bennett fromThe Vampire Dairiesperforming some fucked-up type of old magic. Something tells me I’m a little off, though. In reality, it’s probably just a bunch of old men chanting in a circle. I just wish I knew what this ritual is that Zade has to perform to claim his leadership. All I know is that it’s got something to do with me, and so far, anything in this fucked-up organization that’s had my name attached to it hasn’t been good.
Letting out a sigh, I get up and stride across to Zade before scooping up the melted ice pack and really trying not to roll my eyes. Despite being well into their twenties, some men just refuse to mature. “I’m going to order something to eat. Do you want anything?” I ask, hesitant to try talking to him after my daring escape yesterday. At some point, I suppose I owe him a thank you for saving my life, but I doubt he’s in the mood to hear it today.
“Mmm,” he grunts, not lifting his gaze away from the window.
Not having the energy to try and force a better response out of him, I turn on my heel and stalk toward the home gym, wondering what the hell these guys did with their lives before spending every minute of every hour babysitting me. I’m almost certain Dalton, Sawyer, and Easton don’t actually live here. Not that I’ve specifically seen anything to suggest they don’t, but it just makes sense.
Moving into the doorway of the gym, I catch Easton’s gaze across the room. “Hungry?”
All I get is a brief shake of his head, but hey, it’s a shitload better than the response from Zade. At least I can say I tried. If they die of hunger in the next few hours, it’s not on me.
Making my way back out to the main living area, I cut through the kitchen to the phone hidden in the butler’s pantry and dial the number for room service—a number I’m becoming all too familiar with. “Concierge desk,” says my favorite voice in the building.
“Benny,” I cheer. “Me again.”
“Ahh, Miss Quinn,” he says. “Didn’t I just get you a bacon cheeseburger for breakfast? You couldn’t possibly be hungry again.”
“What can I say, Benny? Adrian’s food is just that good.”
He chuckles and I grin, knowing my flattery will get me anywhere I want to go with the concierge of the fancy DeVil Hotel. Knowing how it bugs Zade when I make friends with the staff, I quickly put in my order and wait patiently at the table as though I were actually eating at the five-star restaurant.
A knock sounds at the door ten minutes later, and my gaze slowly rolls toward Zade on the couch. “You gonna get that?” I question, not prepared for the onslaught of death glares I get every other time I’ve tried to open the door, followed by the lecture reminding me how stupid I am for blindly opening the door when there’s a target on my head.
Zade doesn’t respond, and I let out a huff, getting up and hurrying to the door before making a point of glancing through the peephole. Recognizing the bellboy, I open the door and reach for the tray in his hands. “Miss Quinn,” he says with a polite nod.
I glance up and meet his eyes, more than prepared to return a friendly smile, only this time there’s a tightness in the set of his jaw and his gaze is filled with nervousness. Anxiety wafts off him like a bad smell, and I hold his stare a little longer, both our hands gripping the tray. “Everything okay?” I ask.
He forces his smile to become more genuine. “Oh yes,” he says. “Everything is wonderful. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
My brows furrow and I watch as he quickly scurries away, something he usually never does. Most of the time I struggle to get him out of the penthouse, especially when Zade is around. He always wants to talk, constantly searching for Zade’s approval, but today is different.
Not wanting to get caught out in the open for too long, I pull the door closed and head back to the dining table, setting the tray down. I reach in, grab my Diet Coke, and quickly take a sip before opening the lid off my lunch. My back stiffens as I gape down at the black Empire envelope that stares back at me, the glossy E shining against the black paper.
Nervousness rattles me, and I pick up the envelope, flipping it over to check if there’s anything on the back. It’s bare, but I hold it up anyway. “Hey, check this out,” I say, realizing exactly what the bellboy was nervous about.
Getting no response from Zade, I peek over my shoulder at him only to find he’s not actually there. Feeling like an idiot for talking to myself, I glance over the envelope again, wishing just the sight of it didn’t make me feel sick.
Needing to know what's inside, I flip it over and break the seal. I find a calling card, exactly the same as the one I first found in my apartment, and let it fall to the table before fishing out a note.
It’s folded in half and I quickly open it to find black smudged ink scrawled across the paper.
One cannot flourish in the power of Empire without first giving his soul.
A sacrifice to be made, an innocent life to be lost.
In sixty suns and sixty moons, he shall sacrifice an innocent in the hour before dawn.
Her still beating heart carved from her body, he shall offer it to the sacred fortress.
