Sicko(30)
“And may I ask who is who?” I say, testing his patience.
James shakes his head, pulling down a dark, private road and stopping outside a large wired gate. Dark spikes stretch up to the heavens in pointed gothic spikes, but the thick shrubs and trees hide any view from seeing farther in. Before he drew his window down to speak into a small white voice box, he pins me with dominant eyes. “No. It’s all private. You have to understand this, Jade. To be invited to L’artisaniant is a high honor. Only the most influential people in the world are selected to join.”
I ponder over his words, chewing on my bottom lip. “So this is your first time?”
James’ lips curve and I watch as the wrinkles around his mouth crinkle beneath the pressure. I’ve thought about the reason as to why he did what he did to me and why he’s doing this to me—multiple times—and all I can think is it comes down to what he introduced to me after scarring my ankle all those years ago. The scar is small and naked to the human eye unless you’re looking for it, but the invisible scarring it has left on my heart is enough to make up for it. What I walked into. I’m thankful that I haven’t been back in a couple months, but he has made it clear that another gathering is happening and it’s happening sooner than I thought, which can only mean one thing.
New meat.
“Yes. You’ll be wearing a mask in here.” He takes two leather cases out from his side door and hands one to me. “Put it on now and keep it on at all times. Do you understand?” He opens his box and slides his over his face. It wraps around his face like a second skin, stopping above his lips.
When I take mine out of the box, I’m not at all surprised to see that it’s leather. Not what he usually has me wear, but still leather.
“I can’t imagine what they might want with you,” I whisper, and before I can choke back the words and swallow them back down my throat, they’re already out there in the open, being inhaled by my enemy. I busy myself with fixing my mask onto my face as he turns, hitting the button to wind his window down. He either didn’t hear me or I will pay for it later. There’s never an in between with him.
“Every time your thighs clench for another man, you will know it was me who put that hunger there. I tore your innocence open.” James was a vicious bastard, but he was a bastard that not even I could win against. Not ever. There’s no point saving the doomed, because the doomed don’t know how to exist without the curse that they’ve been under once they’ve been there for too long.
The gates split open with a squeak and he presses his foot on the pedal to drive us forward. Dimming the headlights, we continue down the long cobblestone driveway at a slow speed. My stomach is twisting in knots and my heart is beating too fast.
I swipe my sweaty palms down my thighs as we roll to a stop. The driveway curves in a full circle, with dark wood steps leading to the main door. The house is modern and executive with glass panes at the front and a single wooden door. It’s probably the most interesting house I have ever seen. Not a single speck of color, or nail of wood. It’s all glass. A solitary man stands at the front of the door, dressed in full military attire, with an AK strapped to his side.
Straightening my shoulders, I tilt my head. “Is this usual?”
When I climb out of the car and James comes to the other side of me, his arm hooks in mine. “Yes. What happens behind these doors make it necessary.”
“And what is it that happens behind these doors?” I ask, intrigue eating away at my thoughts. “Just to prepare myself.”
James doesn’t answer, he merely directs us to the front of the house. He does this a lot. He will either answer me or ignore me, both sides of that tend to grate on my nerves.
The man at the door is older, with a shaved head and angry, unsettled eyes. He reminds me of who Royce is right now, filled with uncertainty that swims beneath the surface of pretty blue eyes.
“Go ahead.” He steps aside after James takes back his hand. Just as I’m about to follow James through the wood doors, a heavy hand is planted against my chest, pausing my movements.
I gaze down at it. “Excuse me?” I want to tell him to get his paws off my tits, but figure that will get me yet another gag-worthy love fest once I’m alone with James again, and there’s only so much I can take when it comes to it.
“The girls need to be branded,” the officer—Nomad—says. Nomad? Is that his name? Why can’t I be ho-ing in college like Sloane? I stop the thoughts treading their angry feet through my brain.
“What brand?”
James’ jaw tenses a few times. “Is it necessary for her? She’s only my plus one.” James unbuttons his jacket, coming closer to military dude. Interesting. It’s not every day he has to throw weight to get what he wants.
“Afraid so. The rules are quite clear that no one is to set foot inside L’artisaniant without the mark.”
“The what?” I panic, my eyes flying between the two of them.
James grabs my hand and turns, lifts my arm in the air. “Beside the armpit. I don’t have all night.”
Military man pulls out what looks like a tiny stamp. It has crusted gold plating over the handle and cursive writing that I can’t read over the tip. Fire ripples over my skin and turns all of my nerves to ash as he releases me. I gaze down to see a burn mark now fresh beneath my arm. It’s small, maybe the size of a nickel, but the intricate lines that swish into what looks like a scribble is well pressed into my flesh.