Page 84 of Make Me Lie (Rich Demons of Darkwood 1)

"This is Aurora," he announced to them.

"Dale and Shirly Layton," the couple answered blankly.

I frowned, wondering why those names sounded familiar and thinking they were a bit old-fashioned for two college aged people.

Cain didn't wait for small talk. He pulled me away immediately before I could say anything.

"David Penniweather," was how the next guy introduced himself. Something was trying to knock at my brain, another hint of familiarity, but I just couldn't place it.

"Clarissa Adams," a woman said, and goosebumps sprang up on my skin. An image of a beautiful brunette who'd abused her children filled my head. The Demon cut that one's head off when he was finished, a departure from his M.O. that had him spiraling for weeks.

But that was just a coincidence...right?

"Jasmine Able," the next woman said, and I visibly flinched, thinking of the particularly messy death that The Demon's Jasmine Able had endured.

The game they were playing became very clear.

I tried to yank my arm away from Cain, but he held it fast. "We aren't done with the introductions yet," he purred.

“We’re done,” I snapped, not wanting to make a scene but seconds away from trying to break his face.

Their voices all came at once then, the whole room of masked strangers circling me as they called out the names of all The Demon’s victims, many that I’d seen meet their demise. The voices swirled around, and it felt like I was going mad. I’d tried so fucking hard to forget. The faces I saw in my dreams were enough, but I couldn’t forget the names either. He’d shown me their licenses, told me of their crimes. And the terrible part was I never could be sure if it was the truth or if he’d created an alternate storyline to push me along the path he wanted for me.

Either way, their names felt like they’d been carved into my mind with a knife, and this...this I never would have expected. I half expected for Cain to somehow have arranged for all their corpses to be rolled into the room too.

The room felt like it was spinning, my breath was coming out in gasps, like I was losing my grip on reality. I looked at the four of them, looking more like the four horsemen of the apocalypse than boys I’d ever thought I’d known.

I tried to push through the crowd, but they pushed me back towards the center of the room...and there were so many of them. Cruel gazes that I knew would join the other specters that haunted my dreams.

A waiter appeared beside Cain then. He handed him one of the glasses filled with the vibrant, crimson cocktail.

"A toast," Cain called out to the room, and everyone turned, almost in unison, to give him their full attention. "To our guest of honor tonight."

My hand fluttered to my throat. Paxton, Stellan, and Remington were all flanking Cain, a united unit. They all had drinks, and they were all staring at me.

I forced myself to hold my ground. I could read their gazes clearly now. There was a malevolence there that they'd clearly been hiding.

“To the murderer,” Cain said, his voice seeming to echo around the room.

“To the murderer,” the crowd repeated.

Cain reared back, and he tossed his entire glass all over me, the red staining my skin and dress. Before I could even react, Stellan, Pax, and Remington were doing the same. The red liquid splashed all over my face, some of it going down my throat, and I coughed, trying to get it out of my eyes.

I turned and began to run through the crowd, punching and kicking my way through as I fought desperately to get to the exit. As I ran, the crowd threw their drinks all over me. All I could see was a red haze as it splashed in my eyes...and everywhere else. In my desperation, I slipped on some of the spilled drink, falling to the floor.

My body shook as I struggled to get up. And then suddenly Stellan was there. “Where is Sophia?” he asked, shaking me so hard my neck snapped back.

“I don’t know,” I gasped as another cup was poured over my head.

“Where is she!” he roared.

I finally got to my feet and yanked myself away from him. I slapped him across the face before picking up the bottom of my sodden, crimson stained dress and again running towards the door. More drinks splashed against me, and I shrieked when an actual glass hit me on the side of the head.

The journey to the door was probably only fifty yards, but it might as well have been fifty miles for how long it took.

By the time I’d reached that door, I’d been changed, bathed in blood and fire until I wasn’t sure who I was at the end.

I don’t know why I did it, but I took one last look behind me as I ran through the doorway.

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