Page 62 of Her Devil

“Well, shit.” I sigh, dropping back into the chair.

At what point I stood, I don’t know. The entire table seems to draw breath at the same time.

They’ve just removed him and all trace of him, and we never even saw, didn’t notice. And it’s not like there are a lot of points in the day we aren’t here. There’s always someone milling around doing something, even in the early hours of the morning.

“Do we get a reason, an explanation?” Oliver asks. “Was there a challenge we didn’t know about?”

The cook, who’s clearly more important than we gave him credit for, shakes his head, going back into the kitchen and leaving us to it, now he’s delivered the news and we believe it.

Nothing in here is as it seems, and with the rug pulled out from beneath us, we sit at the table, picking at the food that’s been made for us. Another one is gone. We’re down to eight.

Nobody makes conversation, the mood sombre as the doorbell rings, two heavy knocks following. I look at Jacob, and he looks at me; I guess that means answers aren’t as far away as we thought.

He’s the closest, so he gets up and heads to the front door, returning with a masked guy and his two security. He takes a seat at the head of the table, and I can’t help but wonder why he’s masked, the other guys weren’t, and it grates.

“What was the point of blood oaths if you’re still going to hide?” I ask, the question tumbling out before I can catch it.

Not that questioning The Sect is the smartest move, and it certainly didn’t work out well for George. But then, he was throwing some kind of man-tantrum at the time, and I’m not. The question is reasonable, even if the timing could be better.

“Hiding?” he asks with the tilt of his head, the gold shimmering in the overhead light giving him a much more menacing feel than it had the other night.

“That’s what the masks are for, isn’t it? Concealing your identity,” Jacob muses, finishing my thought.

“And yet, more than one of my brothers has shared theirs with you all.”

“But not you…” I continue.

“Thisis for your protection, not mine,” he replies flippantly. “And that is not why I’m here.”

Of course it isn’t.

“I imagine you have questions regarding Mr. DeLuca.”

“Did we miss a challenge?” Wyatt asks quickly.

“This entire enterprise is a challenge.”

Helpful.

“What did he do, or not do?” Oliver asks.

“Two drinks, clear up after the event, and look after your angels.” He counts them off on his fingers. “One strike. Two strikes. Three strikes and you’re out.”

The silence stretches out as we ponder his words.

“To be fair, clearing up on crutches would have been tricky,” Jasper comments.

“Did he offer? Or make any attempt at all?” he asks, looking from one person to the next as we shake our heads. “No, I didn’t think so. Those that remain at the end of this will be a team. You’ll have each other’s backs. And if you’re not even willing toofferto pull your weight at this point, how can you be expected to be relied upon when it counts?”

I mean, when he puts it like that…

His shrewd blue eyes travel over each of us, taking in the awkward mood at the table and the mostly uneaten food. He knows this has upset us all, he can read the room.

“I have something to show you,” he declares, standing from the table.

Silently, we follow—it’s not like anyone was eating anyway—as we make our way through the hallway and into the changing room. He presses a button high on the wall, one I’ve never noticed before as one of the panels moves, a staircase coming into view.

We follow him down the stairs, whispers of what might be down there covering the sound of our steps echoing off the concrete as we descend into the darkness. He pulls a cord I didn’t even see, strip lights flickering before bursting forth into life.

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