“Cain,” Lucian growls in warning.
Cain.I mentally take note.
“Prez, if you’re going to insist on keeping this pet, then we need to know she hasn’t got family out there looking for her,” the one sitting opposite Lucian says.
Lucian sighs and nods. “Very well, Silas.”
Silas.
I try to make a mental note to learn their names. They always say that if you can speak to your killer on a personal level, they’re less likely to kill you. If I canremember all their names, then if—or when—one of them comes to kill me, maybe calling them by their name will appeal to their sympathetic nature.
If they have one.
“Evelynn, please tell us about your childhood,” Lucian encourages me.
Not wanting to annoy the one person here who doesn’t entirely hate my presence, I nod.
“I was dumped on the church steps at three months old. Nuns raised me.”
One of them scoffs in disbelief. I can’t help it. I’m defensive about my personal life. My eyes narrow on him.
“There were a couple of sisters who cared for me. I’m sure one or two are still alive, should you wish to go and clarify my story,” I say through gritted teeth.
“The day I step foot in a church is the day I commit suicide,” one of them mutters. He has weird things hanging around his neck.
“Hex,” Lucian snaps, giving him a stern look.
My brow furrows. Satanists? Devil worshipers? It would make sense in this dark, cold place. It’s almost like a crypt in here. And the markings, and what that other guy said; the one who died.
“I’m not religious,” I blurt out, in case they think Iam and decide to sacrifice me to whatever god they worship.
A few of them smirk, fighting back smiles. My cheeks heat.
“I mean, just because I was raised by nuns, I’m not religious,” I clarify quickly.
“Name of the orphanage,” one of them asks. He has dirty-blonde hair and eyes an odd shade of green, flecked with gold. I glance at his patch. All those hours of watching Sons of Anarchy have finally paid off.
Echo.
“It wasn’t an orphanage,” I clarify. “It was just a church. The mother house.”
“Why weren’t you ever put in an orphanage and up for adoption?” Lucian asks.
I shrug. “I was just raised that way. When I asked why I didn’t have parents like the other kids, I was told I was blessed. That God had chosen a different path for me. Personally, I just think a lot of nuns were secretly broody and wanted a pet or a kid to look after.” I shrug again. “Not like they can ever have any of their own, is it?”
Echo flips open his notebook. “Name of the convent?”
That little shard of confidence I thought I’d lost nudges back into place. More curiosity than anything.
“If this is so important, why didn’t you ask me this stuff when you had me drugged and cuffed to the chair?” I ask.
“Because we didn’t expect you to be here still,” the one who helped me when I cut my hand on the glass says coldly.
Talon.
In other words, they expected me to be dead by now. And yet here I am, still breathing, sitting with them at the table.
Why?
