Page 8 of Adored By Them
“Please, please,” Pope continues to beg.
Troy sets the shears down on the tool bench closest to Pope.The move is a threat, showing Pope just how close he is to losing a finger.Troy catches my gaze and cocks his head toward an adjoining room in invitation.
He isn’t on board with torture, never has been.Truth is, I was hoping to get a confession before it came to this.
“He didn’t do it,” Troy says in a low voice.
Caleb follows us in.“He absolutely did.I talked to a guy who saw him wave another car past the church.”
“What guy?”Troy asks.
Caleb shrugs.“I canvassed the area, spoke with anyone who could be a witness.”
“Did he say what the car looked like?”I ask.“Why do we think it belonged to the Vorsongs?”
“He didn’t say.”Caleb frowns.“I guess the witness could’ve been wrong, but I don’t know why a stranger would point to Pope if Pope wasn’t guilty.”
I lean back, shoot a glance over at Troy.He shakes his head, because he doesn’t know, either.
We don’t know anything.Not one fucking thing.
And Danica’s out there, alone.
“Keep Pope here,” I say to Caleb.“We might want to talk to him later.Troy, let’s go.”
“Where?”Troy starts forward.
I wish I knew.
* * *
Danica
I wake up to voices outside my room.My neck aches like a bitch because of how my head was tilted while I slept.
I’m still in my wedding gown.Still with my hands tied.Still in this ugly-ass, uncomfortable chair.
Only now there’s a second chair.It sits empty.It looks fancier than mine—black-stained wood engraved with swirling designs, black velvet upholstery, and black jewels lining the armrests.It’s gaudy and horrific.I think it came straight off theAcademy of Ghostsset.
The door is open a crack, and I see someone moving just beyond it.Dead Eyes is out there with someone else.
“She would make the perfect tableau.”Dead Eyes’s voice.I’d know that chilling, dull tone anywhere.
“That’s not what she’s here for.”
Dead Eyes scoffs.“You are always trying to rein in my artistic vigor, Allen.I should ask Tate.”
“Tate would say the same.Don’t turn her into art, Uriel.”
He saidTate…Tate Vorsong?The guy who grabbed me on the dance floor at Vice?Who threatened my friends?I fucking hate that guy.Figures one of his disgusting buddies would have me tied up like this.
Dead Eyes—Uriel, I guess—lets out a sigh.“Her light hair would make a striking image with the Saint Francis cross.But I will wait.”
“You better.”The other man, Allen, pauses.“She’s too valuable a bargaining chip.If you need tomake art, find someone else.It would be best if you could wait a while before any new art projects, though.”
“Why?”Uriel’s question is flat, emotionless.His tone is impossible to read.
“The cops think some other guy did your art?—”
