Our Heaven, page 2
“If you could save one of them, only one, who would it be?”
Blood rushes in my ears. Is this a threat? A warning? Are they done and has one of them has failed? Is this an opportunity to save him if I can only pick the right one?
“That’s an interesting question,” I consider, stalling for time and wishing I still had that book in my hand so I could do something other than watch Thomas dissect my every movement.
“Take your time,” he says. “I was expecting it to be tricky when I thought it was just two of them, but four? That’s going to take a minute.”
No shit.
I spent week after week going back and forth once before, never realising that I could have everything I wanted, and now he wants me to choose… again.
“Who did you think I was wrapped up with?” I ask, breaking his gaze and moving around the room, unable to stand still any longer.
“Nicholas Barrett and Wyatt Chambers.”
“You were under the impression that Jacob and Leo are together, then?” I ask, my heels clicking along the solid wood flooring.
“Yes.”
For someone who knows so much, he’s missed something pretty fucking important right there.
“I couldn’t pick one of them,” I admit, refusing to make eye contact. It’s not a lie, but there’s vulnerability in the truth I don’t need him to see.
“Not even if their lives depended on it?” he asks ominously.
“Does it?” I ask, steeling my spine and looking up to catch the gaze that’s already trained on me.
I throw the question out there before I have time to overthink it, the silence weighted with words unsaid as he tilts his head, examining every look, touch, and movement.
“Of course not,” he eventually says, the smile on his face practiced and not in the slightest bit genuine, even around the mask. “I just thought it would be interesting conversation while we waited.”
I nod, making my way to the tray of drinks and selecting one before joining him on the chairs, attempting to work out in my head how best to attempt to explain this to him.
“Do you love your wife?”
“Of course,” he replies without thought.
“And if you had to choose only one part of her to keep, which would it be? She has two arms, two legs. If you could save only one, which would you choose?”
I sip the crisp champagne, knowing this is the only way he’ll understand. They aren’t four people I could ever choose from. They’re one whole for me. There is no which one would I save, because that would be akin to removing a leg or an arm; they’re each a part of the whole.
“That’s an interesting comparison, but I’m not sure it’s quite the same.”
“How so?”
“My wife is more than the sum of her limbs. It’s her heart, her soul, and her mind that connect with mine. Who does your soul connect with? Who does your heart long for? That’s not an arm or a leg, it’s something deeper.”
“It is, and perhaps you’ll never understand, but they’re not just legs and arms on a partner. They’re parts of me, too.”
“So, which one of my limbs could I live without?” he asks, turning to top up his glass as he ponders his reply.
“Or which part of your heart, your soul? The part that brings you joy, the part that soothes your jagged edges? What about your protective instincts or your desire? Maybe you could live without knowing you’re seen and heard, understood, but I couldn’t.”
He nods. “Very interesting.”
Before he gets the opportunity to dissect our relationship any further, someone knocks on the door, waiting for a reply before Aimee and a very drunk Charlotte stumble through the doorway, confusion flickering over Aimee’s face until a relief that really shouldn’t be there, considering the circumstances, takes over. Doesn’t she realise this is more dangerous than we thought?
“Ah, ladies. So kind of you to join us. Why don’t you help yourself to a drink and come sit,” Thomas offers. “I believe Penelope will be along momentarily and then we can begin.”
“Begin what?” Aimee asks, stealing the thought straight from my head as she perches on the edge of the sofa, while Charlotte slumps with a glass in her hand.
“All in due course.” He smiles, filling the quiet with inane questions about their evening as we wait, despite everything in me screaming that this is a dangerous mistake.
Two knocks interrupt us again, then Penelope arrives with a smile that’s much more aware than Charlotte as she looks from me to Aimee and then to Thomas.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she apologises. “Will Stephanie be along soon?”
“No, I’ve got all the Angels I need right here.” Thomas smiles, a dimple popping in one cheek, and I can see Penelope’s walls begin to weaken right in front of my eyes. “Darling, I think we’re ready!” he calls.
My confusion must be evident, as is that of Aimee and Penelope as we look at each other, waiting for something to happen. Just when I think he’s actually lost it and we’re trapped in here with a crazy person, a side door opens, and his wife strides into the room with a silver tray in her hand—a juxtaposition to the dark green of her gown.
If she’s been close enough to hear him call her, then there’s no chance she’s not heard our entire conversation. Her steely gaze flicks to mine briefly before she places the tray on the table beside her husband, smiling, then taking the seat the other side of him.
“So, ladies, as I’m sure you’re aware, there’s a little more to this evening than just bringing in the New Year.” Clearly. “And as the Angels of Pendleton Prep, you’ve been afforded certain luxuries and leniencies that the Devils haven’t,” Thomas says.
“Tonight, we will be ringing the New Year in with a full set of initiates,” his wife says with a smile, her eyes bright and excited.
“I thought you had all the Devils already?” I ask, my confusion clear.
“Oh, we do,” she replies, her gaze flicking to mine.
“As I’m sure you’re all aware, the Devils have been undertaking a series of challenges,” Thomas says as Aimee stiffens beside me. “What you won’t be aware of is the oath they took before they could begin this initiation.”
“And now it’s your turn,” his wife finishes gleefully.
“And why doesn’t Stephanie need to make this declaration?” Penelope asks, folding her hands together in her lap. “She’s an Angel, too.”
Unless Oliver is out, and she’s already gone.
I hate that the thought flickers in my mind, as well as the combination of hope and disgust it triggers, but I have no control over it.
“Her Devil already took his oath, and she’s tied to him now. Their fates are mirrored,” the wife explains, standing and smoothing down the front of her dress. “We will all start this New Year together, linked through blood.” She moves to the tray, lining up four small vials before picking up a long, silver knife.
“Fuck that,” Charlotte slurs. “I’m not letting you slice me open with that thing. You must be insane. You’re the people who broke George’s leg, who made him disappear without a trace. I don’t want linking to or tying to that kind of energy.”
“Charlotte,” Aimee says, turning and reaching out for her hand.
“No, Aims,” Charlotte counters, shrugging her off. “You do what you want, but I’m not here for this.”
“You’re free to leave whenever it suits,” Thomas says far too casually for it to be so simple. “But there are consequences to that.”
“Ooh, you’re going to make me disappear, too,” she goads, waving her fingers in the air.
How much has she drunk… or snorted?
Sure, she’s been upset about George, Tamsin, and everything else that’s happened over the last few months, but she was excited about tonight—about the positive new start to the year. Where the hell did all that go?
“Ryke, can we get your help in here, please?” Thomas calls over his shoulder.
The door his wife entered through opens and closes before a man-mountain that must be part of their security enters quietly.
“This young lady has decided she no longer wishes to participate. Would you please show her on her way?” He gestures to Charlotte as she finishes her glass and hands it to Aimee, practically abandoning it in her lap.
“Come on, Charlotte. You can’t really be willing to walk out now,” Aimee pleads. “After everything we’ve done and been through. What about Harriet? Your Little Sister will miss you.”
“I’m sure you’ll work it out.” Charlotte hiccups, smoothing down her dress. “Good fucking luck, girls. You’re going to need it.”
I don’t know why, but there’s a tingling at the back of my neck. A warning. Thomas and his wife are way too casual about this. If there was a way for us to walk out of this in one piece we’d have known about it a long time ago. We certainly wouldn’t have been presented to the secret society like trophy wives in the making.
Charlotte wobbles on her heels, her pupils blown as she fluffs out her dress and sets off towards the open door and the freedom beyond. She almost makes it too. The security guy Ryke steps forward, seemingly giving her space as he gestures her through, only time seems to slow down, everything happening faster than I thought possible.
He steps in, crowding her back as his arm comes up and across her body, the flash of silver glinting even in the dimmed lighting of the room before he quickly steps back, avoiding the spray of blood that gushes forth as he slits her throat quietly, without any ceremony.
“Noooo!” Aimee yells, dropping the glasses on the floor. Instantly, they shatter, glittering pieces of pain she forgets about as she rushes over while her friend slumps and falls as if in slow motion before our very eyes.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears as I sit in the chair, watching it all unfold, and unable to do anything about it. My stomach sinks as I watch Ryke pick Aimee up before she makes it to Charlotte, and I almost think we’re about to lose another friend—watch someone else we care about be eliminated with nothing more than a discarded word and a swipe of his arm. But he just holds Aimee, not batting an eyelid as she throws herself around, hitting him and yelling, but the deed is done, the reminder set. There’s no way out of this alive.
Penelope and I sit there dumbfounded, mouths open as the blood pools around Charlotte, seeping into the fabric of the rug beneath her as the reality of the situation hits us like a tonne of bricks. No matter what we thought about the situation we were in before, we know categorically now that there’s no going back.
The seconds tick by, turning to minutes as Aimee’s anger subsides, quickly replaced by devastating sobs. Surprisingly, Ryke holds her comfortingly until she stills before placing her on a chair at the side rather than back in the broken glass before collecting the discarded body of our friend and disappearing.
“It’s just a pin prick,” Thomas’s wife says, pressing the top of the blade to the pad of her finger and watching the blood pool. “Nothing to be afraid of.”
TWO
LEO
Music plays and people dance, the excitement of the New Year’s Ball swirling around us like a vortex. It sucks everyone in and allows The Sect to play their games with us uninterrupted. But the more I look, the less I see, and panic begins to set in.
“They’re not here, are they?” I ask, a lump forming in my throat as reality twists like a noose around my neck ever tighter.
Wyatt whispered, “Don’t worry, they’ve got this,” and then Oliver waltzed through the door, and not long after that, Nick did too. No Jacob. And now Ivy’s nowhere to be found. What the hell kind of a joke is tonight to these people?
“I need a fucking smoke,” I grumble under my breath, more than ready to get out of here and get some space, some clarity… something.
And it’s amazing how the need for something I do so infrequently these days is clawing at my insides thanks to the stress. Maybe it’s muscle memory, reaching for a smoke when shit gets tense, I don’t know, but I itch for it, my skin practically vibrating.
“Let’s get some air,” Wyatt says with a nod before gesturing to Nick.
If the crumpled look of despondency on Nick’s face is anything to go by, whatever thoughts are currently cascading around his brain can’t be good. Well, he looks like he just found out his brother is probably dead, and his girlfriend is now missing.
Fuck. He’s not dead. He can’t be.
“I don’t know about you, but as I don’t usually smoke, I didn’t bring any with me,” I say, the words dripping with sarcasm as I push that dreadful thought to one side. “And where the hell would we even go?”
I haven’t seen a single door or exit that isn’t guarded tonight. There’s no just ‘walking out’ happening here.
“It is terrible for your health,” Wyatt says, shoving a barely-with-it Nick towards the side of the room, skirting around the dance floor as unobtrusively as he can manage while I follow.
He pushes through the dining room and an antechamber, plucking a couple of cigars from an open box on the desk before pressing on again and arriving in what looks to be a drawing room. A very occupied drawing room.
“Good evening,” I say, plastering a smile on my face and nodding at one or two of the masked men while Wyatt continues to keep Nick moving, hoping we aren’t drawing much attention to ourselves as I spot where he’s heading.
The crisp evening air billows through the heavy drapes, and when I push through, I realise it’s more than just a window, they are doors, and they’re open.
“I found this earlier on,” Wyatt says quietly as he steps out. “Didn’t think it would be needed, but here we are.”
Looking back over my shoulder, I take in the two dozen or more male members of The Sect. There’s not a skirt, dress, or ruffle in sight as they watch us closely. Wyatt and I may have been able to bluff our way through here—fake it until you make it and all that—but Nick can’t fake shit right now.
Smiling, I push through the curtains, doing my best to pull them closed behind me before stepping away from the doorway and shoving Nick up against the wall, hoping he doesn’t slide to the ground in a crumpled, pathetic heap if I let go.
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” I whisper-yell, getting in his face, because he can’t do this. Not here. Not now. He can’t crumple.
We’re being watched, and any sign of weakness is going to be something they use against us.
“Have you got any matches?” Wyatt asks, seemingly oblivious to what’s going on with Nick right now.
Peeking over my shoulder, I see Wyatt’s unwrapping two cigars without a care in the world. Grabbing the zippo that always lives in my pocket, I hand it over, making sure Nick’s got his weight on his feet before letting him go. The last thing we need is to actually have to carry this fucker back in there.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” I say, accepting the proffered cigar whilst keeping an eye on Nick in my periphery.
“Back at you,” he comments before teaming a plume of smoke up to the heavens. “I like a cigar at special occasions. New Year, for example. There are a couple of good ones in my bag for when we all get back tonight.”
The bitter smoke curls through my lungs. One of us isn’t coming back tonight.
“I spoke with Jacob before we left,” Wyatt says quietly, stepping in closer. “He’s okay. He’s going to be just fine.”
“What?”
You can’t come out with something like that and not follow it up with actual details.
He looks over his shoulder again, eventually deciding the coast is clear before whispering, “I got some info on my way home. He’s okay for now, and it buys us some time.” He pulls his phone out and opens up an app. “And it looks like Ivy is somewhere in the building, so she’s probably fine, too.”
So, he knew this was going to happen? He knew Jacob wouldn’t make it? He couldn’t have done. Except they gave me a choice at the end… maybe we all got one.
“Words, Wyatt,” Nick growls out, no longer leaning despondently against the stone. “You’re going to need to use more of your words than that.”
I’m so engrossed in the insinuation that Jacob was okay that I almost forgot about the man to my side, the one barely holding it together. The man who was almost ready to throw it all in thinking he’d lost the two people who mean the world to him.
Sure, the five of us are a thing now, a unit, but both Jacob and Ivy are different. To Nick, anyway.
“I got a call earlier on. It was some contact of my father who had information about this evening,” Wyatt continues, checking over his shoulder again before pulling the poison through the cigar, tasting and revelling in it, then releasing it into the night air while the two of us wait with bated breath.
“He said there’d be a challenge, that there’s the option to walk away, and that should one fail, the opportunity would be presented for servitude or death.”
“Servitude?”
“That the New Year would be brought in with all members,” he continues without answering. “Even the Angels.”
“So, they’re in a challenge, too?”
“I don’t know any more than you do, but I already had the necklace and bracelets designed and with me. I didn’t want us to have to use them, but it helps to know we could find her if we needed to. I gave one of the bracelets to Jacob before we left, just in case.”
“Necklace? Bracelet?” I ask, not following.
“There’s a tracker in the necklace I gave to Ivy earlier on, and it’s still showing here,” Wyatt explains. “I can’t pinpoint exactly where she is, but she’s alive, and she’s here. If they move, we’ll know.”
The necklace! Of course! And it was around the same time he asked Jacob to join him. Yeah, I thought they were up to something else, I sure as hell would have been, but it makes sense. The shower would cover any conversations they didn’t want overheard.
“So, Jacob’s alive?” Nick clarifies, his yearning tangible as he steps closer. "And Ivy's here somewhere too? They're not… they’re not gone?”
