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“Very well, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

Gun still trained on her, I guide her toward the driver’s seat of my truck, and settle into the passenger seat, beside her. Clearing her throat, she holds out her hand toward me.

“May I have the key?”

“It’s a push start.”

“Right.” The trembling in her hands, when she pushes the button to start the engine, tells me she’s nervous. Afraid.

Good.

She should be fully aware how little her life is worth to me right now. Throwing the truck into drive, she idles along through the parking lot and out onto the highway. South.

“Where are we headed?” I ask.

“If I tell you, you’ll kill me.”

“Yes.”

“If it’s all the same to you, then, I’d rather not say.”

“I could easily get the information I want in other ways.”

“You could. But timing is important.”

“How so?”

“Midsummer.” Sitting forward, she peers up at the sky. “There’s going to be a full moon tonight.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means you don’t have the time to torture me for the information. I will hold out as long as it takes.”

“As long as it takes for what?”

“The ceremony to begin. The Ritual of Sire and Sacrifice that we celebrate every year at this time.”

Likely the sick ritual I watched on the video saved to the chip a while back.

Rolling waves of rage move through me like a tidal wave at the thought of someone hurting Céleste that way, and I have to will myself not to accidentally pull the trigger in my hand.

“I need you to answer my next question very carefully, Jude. Has anyone touched Céleste?”

“Well … c’mon, Thierry, of course they’ve touched her.”

Raising my gun, I aim at her head, my free hand ready to grip the steering wheel when her brain explodes all over the driver side window.

Her eyes widen, glancing between me and the road. “Not like that! I can assure you. Not like that. Ceremony won’t take place for a couple more hours. She’s fine.”

“If you’re lying to me, if someone hurts her, I’ll spend the next seventy-two hours showing you my level of expertise at keeping someone alive during excruciating torture.”

“I’m not lying. She’s alive and well.” A glance toward me, and Jude nods at my gun. “You don’t need to keep that on me. I planned to take you there, anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my belief that women are far less cruel than men.”

“And what does that have to do with this?”