That bullet-in-the-chamber-of-a-six-shot-revolver example I used about chance is eerily tangible here. There’s no gun pointed at me. Just a grim cathedral with dingy white siding and stained-glass stories. The headquarters for a group that I may have been hired to take down. No big deal.
“My soul might be lost, but I’m not quite ready to relinquish it here.”
Axel huffs a subdued chuckle. “No one gets your soul, darling. Other than me.”
Every breath of the crisp air is an assault on my lungs, and despite it being winter, there’s not an alluring first-snow aroma, like what Axel provides. This is fish and caramel, sulfur and treachery. The scents of subterfuge.
And death.
We changed on the plane. Axel had brought some of my clothes, so under my wool overcoat, I’m in a professional black jumpsuit with strappy Versace heels. I tagged them fightableshoes when I selected them earlier, but here, on the slick walkway with the amber streetlights casting a warning glow, I’m questioning my fashion choice.
As we trudge toward the front steps, I give one more seed of worry credence. “Is there a contingency plan, if they claim I didn’t do enough or I’m too much of a risk?”
Axel scans the street, his eyes drifting up and down before falling upon our destination and guiding me forward. “My brothers have been alerted and are nearby with my security team. Jax will be here.” He grimaces as my brows pinch at the mention of Jax being here when he’s so protective of him, so he addresses that before finishing. “Jax has KORT access, so sometimes, he attends the meetings. Rena and the babies are somewhere safe. There are two chairs we consider family—Ivy and Wells—so it shouldn’t be an issue. But if there is even a subtle threat or accusation against you, we’ll go to war.”
He said a lot of reassuring things on the plane, but not that.
I halt my steps, careful not to let the sparkly sheen on the ground drag me under. “Do they ever perform executions here?”
Without answering, he tows me onward, until I plant those glamorous ice picks and demand a response.
“Let me rephrase that because I know you aren’t ignoring me. If someone is deemed an enemy of KORT, do they use this ominous parish to neutralize them?”
He heaves a regretful sigh. “At times, but not tonight. You aren’t an enemy of KORT. I told you I had this handled.”
I’m not satisfied and not budging. “Are the chairs always notified if that’s planned?”
“Yes … provided they’re in good standing.” He threads our fingers and ushers me up the stairs, without expanding on his current status. “We’re late. There is nothing more important than keeping you safe, so trust me.”
I do trust him, but my sixth sense has my hackles rising. “Axel—”
The squeak of him opening the massive peaked wooden door interrupts my objection. He’s not interested in hearing anything, and while I’m capable of handling myself, his all-powerful, in-control, kinglike veneer is comforting in this scenario.
When we strut inside, Axel acts like he owns this abandoned chapel, just as he would anywhere else. So, I go with it, allowing the clap of our shoes, echoing off the grand ceilings and mixing with the whispered chants of spirits, to be a reception I embrace rather than fear.
We pass Gage on the way. He casts Axel a look I can’t interpret and offers me a wink. However this turns out, I count myself lucky to be on his good side. I’m guessing my life experience would be considered dabbling in darkness next to his barbaric résumé.
In a flash, Jax meets us with the sanctuary door open and a cryptic warning. “Don’t react.”
Choosing to ignore the chill that ices my gut, I simply nod, and he palms my head. That chill is compounded by the fragrance of repentance and atonement—frankincense and myrrh, aged woods, candlewax, and the musty remembrance of lifted prayers. The empty vessel containing it is creepy, to say the least. And suddenly reminiscent of a morgue.
The three of us traipse inside, where the KORT chairs greet us from a half-moon table. Ivy and Wells sit with two other gentlemen. Liam and Ty are here, too, standing behind the table with two men who I assume are the seconds-in-command to the other positions. Jax saunters that way to join them while Axel ushers me to an empty chair, stationed by the pews and about twenty feet from an occupied one.
It all happens so fast, but when familiar green eyes fasten to mine, my breath hitches, and Axel’s fingers curl around my hip bone with the slightest flinch.
Don’t react.
As I take my seat, I can’t help myself. I widen my eyes with the universal question,What are you doing here?
He shakes his head and looks past me, which has all my muscles coiling.
“Are you going to join us, Axel?” the oldest gentleman at the table asks.
Like the devoted husband he is, Axel squeezes my shoulder. “Thanks, Jared. I’ll stay by my wife for this one.”
He’ll stay with me because he wasn’t expecting any of this. Our conversation out front slams into me, and a million plans flit through my mind.
“Very well.” The older guy peers my way, deliberating something. “Good evening, Zara. I’m Jared Austen, the leader of The Order, which is a society of high-level professionals.” He swings his hand toward the other gentleman I don’t know. “This is Payne Logan, our financial institution representative. And you’ve met Wells and Ivy. Wells handles data mining. And Ivy’s domain is politics. Thank you for joining us tonight. I understand you’ve been busy since your honeymoon.”
