I gasp at his words first, but then his hand moves to my neck eliciting another. The heat of his palm buries me. He doesn’t squeeze, only splays his fingers wide enough to make my heart stutter. Then, his thumb shifts back and forth over my fluttering pulse. My knees wobble, and I nearly sink at his delicate touch.
“You barely know me …” I say.Though I’m afraid that’s not true.
He rips his hand away and shoves them both into his suit pockets. He turns his back to me, the muscles in his shoulder blades pulling and flexing as he paces. “And would you want to get to know me? To be with a man like me?”
My lips part, but he continues.
“Of course not. You’re in college, have hopes and dreams, and I … no matter how much I want to, I can’t leave this life. If tonight proved anything, it’s that I’ve already failed.”
I cling to that. He’s in so much pain, and I can’t fathom what set him off. “What happened?”
Spinning, he turns to me, eyes softening. It’s like he’s finally noticed I’m in my silk pajamas—shorts and a cami with tiny black cherries decorating the cream-colored set. Goose bumps prickle my arms, and I rub at them, lingering on my tattoo. He stares.
For several seconds he’s silent. Doesn’t utter a single word, just stands there, and I’m worried he won’t answer me. Maybe that’s asking too much of him. This society is a secret of course. Selfishly I want the information, but also … something is bothering him, weighted him down with a burden that oddly I wish I could take away.
This man is contradictory—he’s quiet, his love for comics and superheroes enduring, yet he’s hardened by life, or maybe his role as a congressman in a society so perverse and corrupt it eats away at him. How can I help him? How can I temper the wickedness consuming him?
When I look up, he’s in front of me again. He twirls a curl of my hair around his finger. “The Severing. It’s a ceremony for members who are rising to leadership. My grandfather. He’s now one of the Eight.”
I shake my head. From what I’ve heard, Henry DuPont is a Graves wannabe. “I’m so sorry.”
He snorts. “I wish it were me.”
“What? Why?” Who’d want to lead this degenerate group of men?
“To destroy it. From the inside.”
I blink. “And the girls? The GHB?”
“I needed them to trust me because to go through the Severing you need an Offering.”
I shake my head. “I-I don’t understand.”
“The Severing is an act required to enter the Eight. You have to cut yourself free from every loyalty that exists beyond EV. It isn’t metaphorical, but literal. Members of the Eight select someone that’s irreplaceable to the initiate,” he says quietly, eyes dark. “Someone they love. Someone they don’t want to give up to the society.”
The words settle over me like a suffocating fog, and I can taste the truth in them. It makes me sick, and tears stream down my face—how could someone do that to someone they love? My knees finally give out and I sit on the bed, hands trembling against the duvet.
“They rarely go back to their lives, Thea.” His voice stays even, almost detached. “Most of them are cut off—dismissed by the member who Severed himself. After that, they’re folded into EV.” He pauses, jaw tightening. “The Eight don’t keep their Offerings. Not usually. They can’t stand to look at them once it’s done, so they send them off to other chapters in other cities. Doesn’t matter where. There have been a few exceptions. Men who kept their Offering close. But mostly, when you’re Offered, you don’t go free again. And they chose my mother.” He grinds out his words.
“Slade …” I reach for him.
“Stop saying my name like that! I don’t deserve your pity. Neither does she. She dumped me with my grandfather. She left me with him to chase her dreams and live a life on the road with my junkie father. She didn’t want the life of a politician, and whocould blame her? But she didn’t want me either. So, she left me with him. He adopted me when I was eight, and I was a DuPont under his wing from then on.
“Henry DuPont doesn’t believe in kindness, to him that’s a weakness. I was taught the art of deception, how to be sharp and untouchable. He handed me money before I knew what it could buy. Gave me women like they were favors. Pushed drugs like they were candy. When I was bullied in school for my love of comics, he said it would ‘toughen me up.’ There was no room to dream. I was to become a politician—end of discussion. So, when I tell you I’m not good, it’s not me being modest. It’s because I was taught to be what I’ve become. My only escape was my comic books. It was how I learned I wanted to do good as congressman. I’d planned to. I wanted to spearhead a literacy program for the children of Chicago. Then on the night of election, I was introduced to Echelon Vanguard, and my life hasn’t been the same. My methods might not make sense to you because you’re beautiful and moral, but I know the best way to cleanse the rot inside is to plant myself there.”
NowIwant to throw something. How could the person who was tasked with raising him, with loving him, fail him so epically? Who would Slade DuPont be if his grandfather hadn’t engineered and manipulated his life?
I stand, moving to look up at him. I wrap both arms around his neck and press up on my toes. My lips find his, and tentatively I brush them there. They are rough, and I can taste the salt of sweat on his upper lip. He groans, his hands pressing into my back and dragging me closer. I don’t care what he says … he’s always found a way to do good by me and, in his own way, the other girls. He can’t think he’s alone in this.
My lips part, and I allow his eager tongue to dip inside. His hand snaps up to the back of my neck, and suddenly I’m not in control anymore. He is. His mouth crushes against mine,knocking the air from my lungs. It’s all-consuming and my body sags into him. He devours me, nipping at my bottom lip as he pushes us back into the bookshelves of his beloved comics.
My breath hitches as he angles my face with a firm grip. Then his fingers are in my hair, tangling and fisting as his mouth breaks from mine only to latch onto my jaw, then neck. My head falls back, and I let out a whimper. Is this happening? Or to steal his words … what’s happening? His glasses bump against my skin, and the scraping sensation has me spiraling.
I reach to remove them, but he snags my wrist, pinning it above me. “Don’t.” He nips at my neck. “They stay on. I don’t want to miss a single expression you make.”
My mind is fuzzy. I can’t think, can’t breathe. I sway with the sharp pull of his mouth on mine as he ravages me. It’s rough and desperate, and?—
There’s a knock on the open door, and when I glance over, Edmond is standing there, dressed in his butler’s suit. I yank up the strap of my cami and try to shove away from the bookshelf. What time is it?
