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There was a sharp corner in the wall—I darted behind it, out of sight, and peered around the edge. I’d been invited, but every instinct screamed at me to know what was happening before I thrust myself into the middle of it.
The man in black cast his gaze down at the woman and placed a hand on her forehead, palm flat. Then his fingers twisted, rooting in her hair. He drew her head back and her mouth dropped open, eyes blinking at the ceiling.
“The first lesson.” His voice snaked through the room, and he drew the woman’s head back farther. “Take what’s offered to you.”
His gaze swept the circle of men. “Hold it in the palm of your hand, Paters. Fist your fingers in it. Feel her shake. What is that?”
“Power,” hissed the men from behind their masks, and I jumped.
The man in black’s voice rose higher: “What is that, Paters?” The strange word reverberated:Paters Paters Paters.
“Truth,” they boomed. They stomped their feet, shaking the floor, shaking the wall I’d pressed my cheek against.Thiswas what I’d felt above. It was their chanting, the concussive force of their legs vibrating the house. “Truth! Power! Truth! Power!”
The man in black lifted his arms like some dark preacher, and the circle fell silent. His gaze turned once again to the woman who knelt before him. A tremor of fear ran the length of my spine. It was a game, I reminded myself. Some groups were big on them, rituals and playacting. Nevertheless, I wanted his attention off her.
“What are you?” the man asked, his voice now whisper-quiet.
The woman’s eyes met his, full of pleading. I strained to hear her. “I’m nothing.”
“Louder.”
“I’mnothing,” she cried.
His hand slid over her forehead, a priest blessing a sinner. “The only way to grow is to kill the identity that doesn’t serve you.”
“Yes,” she said, voice fervent.
“Youare the only one with the power to give up your control. To seek guidance, a strong hand. You have the power to submit.”
“Yes.” I could see, even from here, the woman’s eyes filling with tears.
“What do you get when you submit?”
“Truth,” she choked. “Power.”
His voice soared. “Tell me, daughters. What do you get, when you fall on your knees?”
The voices of the kneeling women rose to join his, strong and loud. “Truth. Power.”
“Come here.” The man beckoned to the woman. “Show me.”
She crawled to him and lifted shaking hands to his zipper, unzipping and waiting for permission. I pressed my cheek harder into the wall.
The man canted his face to the ceiling. “Let go of your fear. Let go of your ego.”
“No more ego,” said the woman, reaching for him, and that’s when I turned away. The men in suits stomped their feet in rhythm, shaking the house so hard the vibrations touched me, slipped inside, made me part of it against my will.
It’s only a game, it’s only a game.But it was so much like the memories I didn’t want to relive that I was rooted to the floor. The men stomped so loud the noise became a frenzy.
“Paters, take what’s yours,” the man in black shouted. “Take what’s been withheld from you. Pain creates conscience!”
I opened my eyes again to see the men unleashed. They turned to the kneeling women, whose chests rose and fell rapidly, and seized them by the shoulders, the women staggering to their feet. A man whose masked mouth gaped open, frozen in a silent scream, steered a woman to a column and shoved her against it, chest first. His voice cut across the room. “Beg me.”
“Please.” She turned her face, dark hair twisting over her shoulder. “Let me serve you.”
When he spread her legs with a rough knee, she moaned.
I clapped a hand over my mouth. Everywhere, men bent the women over, or pushed them against walls, and the women melted against them like candles. It was too raw, too chaotic, too messy. What was happening here was so unlike the slick sexiness of Tongue-Cut Sparrow, the cool transactional gazes that followed you onto the pounding dance floor. The woman who’d sent me here was right. This felt real.
