Page 46 of Keep Me

“Pretty much. The city couldn’t afford to buy the property and develop it, and no one wants to buy back the buildings in a deserted part of town.” Roan’s arm sways next to him as we walk down the empty sidewalk. It swings toward me like he’s reaching for my hand. He then shoves it in his pocket. Does he want to hold my hand? Do I want to hold his?

Placing his hand on my leg earlier was the scariest thing he’s ever done to me. Above pinning me to the kitchen island. Above carrying me hanging upside down up a ladder. Above choking me while he fucked me and called it a prayer. All of those situations elicited fear for the present, but touching me so casually intimate elicits fear for the future.

Each time the sexual tension grows too much and we snap, it’s magical. I can write it off as an experience. I glance at his hand in his pocket. Holding hands, though, is mundane, too accurate of a glance into what life could be like after this job. A life that isn’t possible.

I’d rather save myself the pain.

We approach a grand bank with granite steps leading up to regal classical columns. A figure in a long, olive-colored coat walks out from behind one of them. I startle at their sudden appearance and the big hood obscuring their entire face. Roan automatically steps in front of me, positioning his body between me and the person. They’re wearing ratty sweatpants, and their boots are scuffed and worn.

“We’re here for the priestess.” Roan’s tone is commanding, and the person stands taller, revealing the bottom half of their face. A neatly trimmed beard is nothing like what I expected given the state of his clothes.

“Have you already paid?”

“She hasn’t given us her price yet,” Roan responds tensely.

The man snickers and offers a mocking, “Have a good night.” He opens the big wood-and-brass front door. “Welcome to the Temple.”

Roan wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me protectively to his side as we enter. Two masked men meet us, the exaggerated smile and frown on the tragedy and comedy masks they wear grim and creepy. Unlike the man out front, these two are obviously security, based on the bulletproof vests and guns on display.

Roan pushes me behind him and holds his arms out at his sides as one of them approaches, swinging his rifle behind his back. He waves a metal detector around Roan in a T-shaped pattern. He steps to the side to let the guard scan me. Roan watches like a coiled snake ready to react in a split second while the man’s hands hover over me.

Once cleared, the man gives his partner a nod to open the second set of doors for us. Instantly, the sound of a roaring crowd slams into us. The former bank floor has been cleared out, and in its place are a thrumming crowd and elevated stage with two men grappling. The stage is enclosed with a giant metal cage that’s attached to the ceiling by a thick chain.

“That’s her, the Oracle,” Roan shouts, trying to be heard over the crowd, and points to a woman dressed in a drapey silk…toga? She’s perched above the crowd on what looks like a lifeguard chair made of gold and decorated like a throne.

“Are you going to tell me who she is now?”

He pulls me farther from the crowd so he can talk. “The Oracle, a priestess who delivers prophecies.” I look up at the woman in purple, and I guess if this underground fight club is a temple, she would be the priestess.

But I know there’s more to this than a delusional MMA fan. “And what does she really do?”

He glances to each side before leaning closer, then says in a near whisper, “For the right price, she’ll find anything—an organ, a safe house, a whore, or…” He stands up. “Information.”

“On the Warden,” I say, nodding.

“Stay close to me.” He sweeps up my hand and starts weaving in and out of the throng of people, leading us toward the priestess. I try to fight the feeling of instant safety and comfort his hand wrapped around mine brings, both sweet and bitter.

There are three rows of men surrounding her, all in tactical pants and what looks like a Roman breastplate painted a matte black. “What the fuck,” I say under my breath.

There’s a huge uproar from the spectators. One of the fighters stands, spitting blood, and raises his hands in victory. His opponent is face down. I can’t tell from here if he’s breathing or not. The cage begins to lift with the sound of groaning metal. The loser is dragged away by his arms as the winner skips down the steps of the stage, pounding on his chest.

Roan turns to one of the priestess’s guards and says something into his ear while handing him a stack of cash. The guard speaks into an earpiece.

“I thought you didn’t know the price?” I ask.

His eyes slide to mine. “That’s just for the audience.”

The priestess descends from her throne, and half the men guarding her now fall into position to surround her while she walks to the back of the bank. The man Roan paid gestures to us, and we are escorted behind her entourage.

“Listen.” Roan drapes his arm over my shoulder in what looks like a casual gesture, but I can feel the tension in his muscles. His voice is low and serious as speaks, barely moving his lips. “She has a reputation for demanding insane prices. Don’t agree to anything right away.”

A nervous energy crackles in my chest as we are led through the entryway of the old safety-deposit-box room. The door is thick metal, like a vault’s. Roan’s jaw is set tight as he studiously observes and takes in the situation.

The Oracle folds her arms across her chest while facing us, her men flanking her. She exudes power as she lifts her chin. “I was expecting your brother.”

Roan’s face lights up with a charming smile, but his voice is cold and flat. “Sorry to disappoint.”

She waves a hand, her long fingernails painted an obsidian black. Her sharp green eyes latch onto mine. “I’ll survive. Now, you’re here for information on the Warden, correct?”

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