The Last Housewife (41)

“You’re right.” She lunged around him and pulled me off the wall. “I’m taking her there now. Forgive us.” She hurried me forward.

“Nicole.” The name echoed over the marble. The woman stiffened and turned.

“It’s not your place to command me,” he said. “Watch yourself.”

“Yes, Pater.” She turned and tugged me quicker now, until we were practically running, her heels clipping on the marble. As soon as we were out of sight, she let go of my arm and hissed, “What are you doing?”

“You invited me.” I rasped the words, touching my throat. A column of fire.

“You were supposed to go to the front door. How did you get in? And what did you do to piss off a Pater?”

“What is this? And what’s a Pater? I said stop, but that man ignored me. I would’ve blacked out.”

“I told you this was real.” Nicole paced, hand rising to her bloody mouth. “And not to come unless you were sure.” Her voice was ice. “Do you know what they would have done if I hadn’t shown up?”

“What kind of game is this?” I murmured.

“Not a fucking game.” Her eyes slanted down the hall. “I need to take you to the Lieutenant. He has to approve you, then you have to be initiated. You can’t be here unless you go through him.”

“The man in black?”

“Yes.” Nicole grabbed my arm again. “Get moving. I’m not getting in trouble for you.”

Every instinct told me to flee. “Wait. I need to know more first. The man mentioned a Philosopher. Who is that? Why the masks, the ceremony?”

Her face hardened. “I swear to god, if you’re a cop or a reporter—”

“I’m not,” I said quickly. “I’m just…frightened.”

New footsteps echoed down the hall. Nicole shoved me. “Then leave. They can’t find you breaking the rules.”

I staggered back, self-preservation at war with my mission. Did I leave and let this lead on Laurel slip through my fingers, or stay and face more hands around my throat? “What if I want to come back?”

Nicole had turned to face the coming footsteps, but she glanced back at me. “Give me your name. If they screen you and you pass, I’ll give you one more chance. But if you fuck with me, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Nicole.” It was a cold voice, and close, just around the corner. “Don’t keep me waiting.” All the hairs on my arm rose. Somehow, the voice was familiar.

“Name,” Nicole hissed.

“Shay Deroy.” It flew from me before I could think.

“Then run, Shay.” Nicole twisted back in the direction of the voice. And for once, I listened to the woman trying to save me and sprinted toward the open window.





Chapter Thirteen


“What happened?” Jamie sprang to his feet the moment he saw me, but I swept past him like a hurricane into the hotel room, striding to the windows to rip open the long, sheer curtains. After Fox Lane, I wanted to let in as much night sky as I could, flood the room with air and freedom. I pressed my palms to the window and felt a comforting chill. Outside, the air was turning cool.

Time is looping, and now it’s fall again, the same season you met Don.

“Shay.” Behind me, Jamie shut the door with a heavy thud. I jumped at the noise, spinning to face him. He twisted both locks, then strode to me, just as keyed up as I was. “I found something.”

I blinked in surprise.

“While you were gone, something came in about Dominus Holdings.” He brushed his hair from his forehead, then did it again, like a tic. “My team tracked tax forms. I have a name.”

I took a bracing glance at the stars, so steady and distant. “Tell me.”

“Gregory Ellworth. Does that ring a bell?” His eyes dropped, and I followed his gaze to my hands, which were twisting.

I laced my fingers together. “I’ve never heard it before.”

He frowned. “Hey… What happened?”

It flooded out. I told him everything: sneaking in, the strange ritual circle, the man who choked me, my narrow escape, all the way to turning the corner in the hotel hallway and finding him sitting against the door to my room, in Chucks and a dark jacket, his head back, eyes closed, foot tapping. The only thing I didn’t tell him was that when he saw me and sprung to his feet, it was the first time I’d felt safe all night.

As I spoke, Jamie’s frown deepened. He walked toward me slowly, movements measured, like someone approaching a wild animal. Eventually, he settled on the couch and, when I finished talking, rubbed a hand over his face. “So there’s a secret, super-intense BDSM group hiding out in the Hudson Valley. A bunch of rich people who like having rough sex, invite-only. Why am I not surprised?”

“No.” I stopped in front of Jamie and looked down at him. “The man who choked me didn’t stop when I asked. That’s not supposed to happen in BDSM.”

He swallowed. “Sometimes, people who do that kind of stuff like to play with protest. I’ve, uh, looked into the community before, for a different episode. Sometimes a group will choose another safe word so they can play with saying no. It can be a turn-on.”

“They weren’t playing.” I raised a hand to my throat, and Jamie zeroed in.