A metal ladder is propped against the pit wall before me. The air is colder. What? Do they want me to die of hypothermia and exposure?
The second I turn around, I meet the same sight as when I first bumped into them in the woods. The five-asshole formation to prevent me from even thinking of running.
“Vincent.”
Vinny or Tats—I haven’t decided which—steps toward me, following Raphael’s command. He levels me with his broodygaze. “You can either go down on your own and risk falling and ripping your stitches.”
“Or?” I glare.
“You be a good girl while I carry you down and make sure you don’t fall or get injured. Choice is yours, Girly.” He stuffs his hands in his hoodie pockets again.
I open my mouth, almost ready to tell them to go fuck themselves, but my legs are ready to crumble. My vision is still hazy from whatever they gave me earlier. Everything hurts.
“If I survive the night?” I lock eyes with Raphael.
“We take you back to the cabin. Bath, warm meal, and a real bed—all for you.”
I look over the edge again, my bones chilling when I find nothing but darkness. Is it 50 feet down? 100? More?
“And if I get out on my own?” I turn back.
Rory chuckles deeply while Vincent snorts.
“If you manage to get out,” Raphael continues, his voice patient, almost amused, “you won’t have to go far to find us. The cavern’s just beyond. In addition to the hot bath, a warm meal, and a real bed, we will also spend the entire next day serving you and meeting any needs and desires you may have.”
That must be the whole Kinship rewards thing. And I fully intend to reap those rewards, especially a full day of worship. But after what I went through, I expect a little more.
“Five days,” I bargain. “For Level Five.”
Jude stiffens but with a faint smirk while Seth lifts his brows, eyes wide at my challenge. But I keep my focus on Raphael because they will always obey his final word.
After what seems like an eternity of silence with my heartbeat pounding in my ears, Raphael nods. “Five days.”
Vincent carriesme down the ladder like I weigh nothing. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t taunt. He never does. Just the steady inhale and exhale of his breath, and his muscles bulging as we descend.
The deeper we go, the colder it gets. The damp air clings to my skin, thick with the scent of earth and something else, something old. The walls loom around us, uneven dirt packed between jagged stone, stretching down into darkness.
My body is wrecked, my stitches pulling with every jostle, but I refuse to let them hear a sound from me. I focus on the softness of Vincent’s hoodie against my cheek, the steady rhythm of his breath. I tell myself I don’t feel safe in his arms. I tell myself I don’t care that he’s careful with me.
I hate how it’s a lie.
But I feel safest with Jude. Seth would be second, but he’s too much of a chameleon for my taste. Vincent’s right in the middle. I still don’t know what to make of him…or how he treats me.
Rory is easy. Fucking hate the socio and his monster dick, but we’re like two firestorms feeding on each other. He is the most fun to taunt.
And Raphael? Fuck, he scares the shit out of me. He’s unreadable. And way too beautiful with his Peaky Blinders-scripted suit and long, dark hair that I could spend hours combing my fingers through. But he’s the deadliest—able to snuff out my life in an instant. No reservations, no hesitations, no heart. It’s why I must challenge him most, test my boundaries, and show my teeth, claiming whatever power I can.
My breath catches when we arrive on the ground. It’s cold and damp, a vast cavernous hollow in the mine. When Vincent lowers me to the ground, he holds onto me like he’s making sure I can stand.
I hear a couple cracks before a subtle glow spreads around me from several multicolored plastic sticks, the kind filled with fluorescent dye.
Vincent tosses them on the ground before withdrawing a few other uncracked ones and handing them to me. “In the morning, bury them. Don’t tell the others.”
I cover my chest with my arms, putting on a brave face even though I’m scared shitless. “Are-are there rats down here?”
He shrugs, his face shrouded in shadows. “We’ve got traps set up. But they’re more afraid of you than you are of them. Common myth. They don’t attack unless they feel cornered. Here…” He fishes in his seemingly boundless hoodie pockets and hands me a small bottle. “It’s peppermint oil. It should?—”
“I know what it does,” I interrupt, my spine prickling because I could kick all their asses in plant trivia.
