Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 167204 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 557(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167204 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 557(@300wpm)
This place is positively gothic. The room we’re in has a vaulted ceiling that seems almost dome shaped. The architecture is insane, with ornate columns that curve toward the center at the top where they all meet at the base of an enormous chandelier. It’s made of wrought-iron and lit by candles. It’s hanging so high up, I have no idea how they light them, but it feels like the place a demented phantom would have, and that’s the least appropriate thought to have right now, but…
This is the coolest place I’ve ever seen.
I stare, my eyes wide and my jaw open, at the rest of my surroundings. I suppose it’s the wrong thing to do, but I can’t help it. There’s a second floor that overlooks this great area and the table I’m lying on. It’s an oval table with eight chairs placed around it.
And the columns surrounding the sitting area. My god, each one has intricate carvings and statues carved out around them.
“This place is magnificent,” I say reverently.
If there was an opera house in hell, this is what it would look like.
I’m still in awe when I turn my gaze to Hex.
He cocks his head, seemingly surprised by my reverence. “Not scary?”
I shake my head. “No. Magnificent.”
“Do you know where we are?” he asks.
I shake my head again.
“Do you know who we are?”
An instinct niggles at me, and since mine aren’t the sharpest and they typically only let me know there’s trouble when I’m already in it…
I realize I should be more careful.
My surroundings are gorgeous and distracting, and I wish I could come back with a camera and photograph every inch of this darkly grand place, but I need to remember these aren’t just Killian’s friends. They’re men who individually chose to join a secret society that may or may not have a prerequisite of having murdered someone. They’re heavily invested in covering their own asses, and if they have reason to believe Killian has told me more than I should know… well, they probably won’t appreciate that very much.
I shake my head slightly to clear it, but I’ve taken too long to answer, I guess, because Hex grabs my arms and pins them to the table.
“Rope.”
The masked man in leather gloves joins Hex at the head of the table, and I swallow when he loops the rope around my wrist and knots it.
“Is this necessary?” I ask Hex.
“I believe I asked you a question, Brynn. And I’m waiting for an answer.”
I lick my lips. “I know who some of you are. You’re Hex, or Ripley if it’s Halloween, I guess. I recognized Shane’s cologne, so I know he carried me in. Um… I think Silvan is here.”
“And?”
“I don’t know the last one,” I say softly, as the man in question walks around to tie my other wrist.
“What else do you know about us?” Hex asks idly.
“Not much,” I answer.
“No?” I can tell he’s insincere by his tone, but my entire body stiffens when he touches me.
Now that my hands and legs are bound and I’m secured to this table much more tightly than I was in the Rho Kappa house, I’m realizing how helpless he wanted me.
I’m realizing it because he wants me to. He trails his fingers down the inside of my arms, starting at the sensitive skin on my wrist. It’s a light, lover’s caress, meant to be tantalizing if he were my lover.
But meant to be something else entirely since he isn’t.
My hackles rise. The threat has been received.
I lick my lips. “I don’t know anything about you, Hex. Literally nothing. I think I know less about you than anyone.” Stumbling for words, I search for something helpful. “I know you’re Killian’s friend. I know you’re all Killian’s friends. And I have a feeling he wouldn’t love his friends kidnapping me in the middle of the night and tying me to a table in just a nightgown, so… this is a bit weird.”
He trails his finger down my neck, and my body tenses up until it hurts.
“Please stop touching me,” I blurt.
“No,” he answers simply, sounding bored. “Now,” he says, dragging a finger across my collarbone. “I’ll ask one more time, and this time I’d like an honest answer.”
Before he has to, I interrupt. “I don’t know anything.” The urgency grows as his finger dips lower. “Please,” I say, pulling uselessly at my bound hands. “I don’t know—”
“Do you know where I was last night?” he asks.
“No.”
“Do you have any guesses as to what I was doing?”
I swallow. “No.”
“Would you swear to that on your life?”
I hesitate, but then I say, “Yes.”
I think it’s what he wants me to say, but I’m a bit confused. He knows I saw him in the hallway last night, but I think he’s interrogating me to see what I’ll tell others, not because he legitimately doesn’t know what I saw.