Page 80 of Cruel Cravings

“Authorities are continuing their investigation into the Midnight Society, a private group made up of society’s elites that conspiracy theorists have long speculated to be real. There is now reason to believe that the society might be connected to the grisly Cleaver murders. Sources speculate that Kaden Raskova met one of his victims at an event thrown by this club, his girlfriend Lyra Hendrix?—”

“She was not his girlfriend!” I blurt out, irritated. My fingers twitch as I reach for the dashboard and twist the knob, flipping stations until I land on something else.

It’s a jazz station, but anything’s better than listening to the media lie about my sister.

My hand returns to the steering wheel, gripping it tighter.

Brontë waits a second and then changes the station back.

“What’re you doing?” I snap, gripping the wheel tighter. Frustration crawls under my skin, heating me up despite the November cold. “I changed it for a reason. I don’t want to listen to this junk.”

He remains composed and nonreactive, like he doesn’t notice I’m about to implode.

“I’m serious. Quit undermining me.” I switch the station back to jazz.

He reverses the change again, twisting the knob until we return to the news report.

“Stop that!”

He inclines his head toward the radio on the dashboard, gesturing for me to listen.

“How many times do I have to tell you they have it wrong? My sister’s not dead! She’s alive. She’s just… she’s in hiding.”

“Shhh,” he hushes.

“Sources suggest that the Cleaver used his high-profile connections within the Midnight Society to disappear,” the radio host goes on. “It could also explain how the serial killer has managed to cover up his murders for so long.”

“The Midnight Society?” I guess aloud, scowling. “Is that what you want me to pay attention to?”

He nods in answer.

I refute him with a shake of my own head. “That’s not a real thing. That was some crap conspiracy theorists came up with. Like the illuminati or whatever.”

“No.”

“Sonowyou speak. You’re telling me the Midnight Society is real? It actually exists?”

“Keep driving.”

It’s enough of a response to clue me into the real answer beingyes.

The Midnight Societyisreal, and as we drive toward Easton, that seems to be where Brontë’s leading me.

But the revelation only opens up more questions.

A chill skates down my spine. I double blink, almost disappearing into my head until I remind myself that I’m driving. I focus on the road ahead as the edges of the city unfurl before us.

It’s been so many hours that we’ve been on the road that a change of scenery is more than welcomed. If only my mind weren’t now clogged with thoughts about how my sister could ever get mixed up with a secret club like the Midnight Society. What would drive her to attend one of their events?

Then I remember her Cyber Fans account, and how she’d been very active interacting with her subscribers on the platform. My thoughts land on men like Francesco Gigante, who seemed so eager to wine and dine her.

“Wait a second…” I mutter. “He had invited her out. One of their last messages.”

A sharp gasp rushes out of me. My gaze swings from the road ahead to Brontë on my right.

“So if her disappearance does have something to do with this secret illuminati-wannabe society, then how are we going to get them to tell us where she is?”

“Drive.”

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