“Does it work?” I asked, nodding toward the man scribbling down letters.
Jayne’s smile was teasing, elusive. “Tell her your favorite quote, Arch,” she purred, rubbing her husband’s arm.
He exhaled slowly, sipping his glass of amber liquor. “Millionaires don’t use astrology. Billionaires do.”
“J.P. Morgan,” Wes finished for him. “Allegedly.” Something stormy passed through his eyes.
“He said that?” I asked, not quite believing them.
Wes shrugged. “A famous astrologer claimed he did.”
“I believe it,” Archer said. “Believing in the seemingly impossible is medicine for the soul.”
One of the men uncuffed the woman from the cross, and she collapsed into his arms. Her forehead beaded with sweat, an exhausted smile on her face. Another man planted a kiss on her temple as if in reverence.
“I hope you both are hungry,” Jayne said before gesturing toward the door and leading us out of the room.
Hector was by the door, talking in a low tone with another man. His face showed clear irritation, and with Wes still hovering close to me, it seemed clear why.
“What is your problem?” I hissed at Wes.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
I snorted. Yeah, I bet his list of problems was as long as my list of enemies.
“I can handle myself. You don’t have to act like some macho kink guardian. I’m not so naive and helpless.”
Wes was back to being infuriatingly unreadable, the easygoing humor of our first encounters evaporating like it never existed at all.
“Have you considered that perhaps I too wanted to see what was behind the red curtain?”
At the insinuation I was dreaming up his interest in me entirely, I clamped my mouth shut. He was making me feel confused in a place that was already dangerously disorienting, and that was never a good sign with men.
“Well, I hope your curiosity was quelled. Enjoy the rest of your night peeking behind curtains,” I snapped.
I sped up to get away from him. My irritation with Wes had perhaps landed me in even greater danger. Before I knew how it had happened, I was seated at the grand dining room table. Kingston’s nude sub was serving us slices of rare beef with asparagus and artful splatters of sauce and garnish, her ass as bright red as the blood pooling on my plate.
On one side of me was Archer, on the other side, Jayne.
A foot brushed mine underneath the table, and they both looked at each other at the same time.
Then, their gazes fell to me.
8
NOVA
“Before you dig in, I’d like to make a brief toast,” Jayne announced. She stood from the table and placed a hand on my shoulder, her touch soft and warm.
Flames danced wildly from the pillar candles, and soft, ambient music drifted through the room as the attendees fell silent.
“We live in a world of diminishing earnestness. Technological and cultural advancements have created so much good and yet inflict so much suffering. We can no longer believe what we see on our screens. The people on our feeds are paid to speak—if they are trulypeopleat all. Inflammatory content is manufactured. Digital realities have been flooded with AI pretending to be flesh and soul. Faces blur together; bodies are increasingly seen as a liability.”
I looked up at Jayne, helplessly captivated by the enticing spell of her melodic voice.
“Authenticity. That’s the only currency we have left that means anything at all. I may not be able to believe what I see on my phone ever again, but I can always believe what I see with myown eyes, in the real world, immersed in a community of people I adore.”
I watched Maisy lift a hand to her heart from across the table, brows drawing close as her eyes teemed with emotion.
