Page 66 of Twisted Truths

“Did your sugar mama give you anything else you can sell?”

Bastion shakes his head.

“Well, find another one then. Fast.”

He nods.

“I’ll see if I can think of something one of us can do,” I add. We’ve spent a lot of my paycheck on Bastion flying back and forth every week. No matter, it’s not going to cover a fraction of what we owe.

His disappointment is obvious, but he doesn’t say anything further.

“I have to travel with Obsidian for work again this coming week, so I won’t be able to meet you next Saturday.” It’s a lie. This Saturday is another Ritual Room meeting, but I can’t tell him that.

God, I feel as if I’m lying to everyone I love, and I hate it.

Bastion eyes me suspiciously but accepts my excuse. “Fine, I’ll see you in two weeks.”

“Okay, take care of yourself.” I give him another hug.

“Be careful, Ari. Remember, those people aren’t like us.” He squeezes me before letting go.

I used to think that, believed my dad when he told us that. But now I realize they’re just as broken as the rest of us.

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

ARIANA

It’s the night of the Ritual Room, and I’m way less nervous than the first time I walked down these stairs. The theme for tonight is Secret Agent Affair. Obsidian is dressed in a classic tuxedo and looks as devilishly handsome as ever. I’m wearing my hair down off to one side in a Hollywood wave and an off-the-shoulder teal gown with a sweetheart neckline. The dress is adorned with sequins that increase the farther down on the dress you go, and I feel like a princess.

Well, a naughty princess once Obsidian passed over the gold mask I was to wear. It even has snakes woven throughout. When I asked him why my mask wasn’t black or red or white like everyone else there, he explained that the colors have significance. White is for people who just want to watch and not partake in any activities themselves. Black is for people who are down for anything—they don’t need to give consent for each and every act. The mask itself is the consent. And the red is for people in the middle who want to participate but want to know what they’re getting into and then give their consent. According to him, I only need a gold mask because none of the other colors matter since I’m his. And I agree, he’s mine.

He holds my hand and helps me down the steps that lead to the Ritual Room. My dress goes to my ankles tonight, so navigating the old stairs is tricky.

When I pictured what outfit Obsidian might want to put me in tonight, I pictured something risqué, so I was surprised when he brought this dress to my room. He’d just leaned in, kissed my neck, and told me that sometimes the hottest thing a woman could do was leave things to the imagination.

I smile as he leads me by the hand down the hall and into the main room. It’s bustling with people, some with drinks in their hands. If it weren’t for the masks, it would look like any other high-end party.

“What do we do now?” I lean into Obsidian’s side.

“Mingle. Chat. Whatever we want, really.”

The innuendo in his words makes my nipples pebble beneath my gown.

“Sid.”

His name being called has us turning to see who it is. I know immediately that it’s one of his brothers based on the mask he’s wearing. It’s like Obsidian’s—gold—except this one is a lion. I remember what he told me about the tattoos and surmise that this is Rapsody’s husband, Kol.

“Hey.” Obsidian shakes his brother’s hand with a smile. “Kol, I want you to meet Ariana.”

Kol turns to me, and I see the makings of a small smile on his face. “It’s good to finally meet you. You can’t let this one hide you all the time.”

“I’m equally to blame.” I smile. “It’s good to meet you. I had the pleasure of spending some time with your wife. She’s wonderful.”

His smile grows and jealousy kicks in with the thought of having Obsidian look like that when someone mentions me. “She is.”

“Where is Rapsody?” Obsidian asks.

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