Is this another ceremony? If so, will I be next? What will we vow to?
The two Lords step away from her, and the one on the left rips the hood off. My hands shoot to my face to cover my mouth before the gasp can escape. It’s Ashley—Matt’s girlfriend.
My eyes dart around the stage, watching both men take several more steps back and cross their arms across their chests.
The sound of a creaking door fills the room, and I look to my right. My stomach drops when I see it’s Ryat. He’s not dressed in a cloak or mask. He’s in his jeans, T-shirt, and combat boots. He’s filthy, covered in dirt, and his shirt is wet from sweat while digging out back.
Slowly, he climbs the stairs to the second floor, taking his time like he has all night. Ashley sees him and thrashes in the chair. Ryat comes to a stop next to her, and I tense.
What is he doing?
Why would he hurt her? She should not be held responsible for Matt’s actions.
Turning, he walks over to a table in the corner and picks up a knife. I go to tell him to stop but cover my mouth with both of my hands before I can get the words out. He told me to trust him. Maybe he’s just going to scare her.
“Ashley,” he calls out her name, and she whimpers, pulling on her restraints. The duct tape over her mouth keeps her from talking. “I assume you know why you’re here?”
She shakes her head, tears running down her face.
He comes to stand beside her and rips the tape off.
“You sorry son of a bitch!” she screams. “Matt is going to kill you!” She shakes her head back and forth, making her bleach-blond hair slap her in the face.
“It’s funny that you think he gives a fuck about you,” Ryat says, and all the Lords chuckle at that.
She bares her teeth at him. “He loves me more than he’ll ever love that bitch.”
My hands drop from my mouth. She has to be talking about me.
“That must be why he wants her so much.” He nods his head. “To prove to you that he loves you more.” Reaching out, he places the tip of the knife to her cheek, and she turns her head away from it the best she can. “We’re going to play a game,” Ryat tells her. “It’s called confessional. Fitting, huh? I’m going to ask you a question, and every time you refuse to answer or lie, I’m going to cut you open.”
“I won’t tell you shit!” she screams.
“That’s what they all say.” He runs the tip of the blade down her neck below her ear, and blood instantly pours from the wound while the high vaulted ceilings fill with her screeching cry.
“We’ll start with something easy,” Ryat announces. “Did you know that Matt and Blakely were together when you met her at the house of Lords party?”
“Yes,” she spits out.
I sit up straighter. She knew who I was? He had told her about me?
“Yet you still agreed to be his chosen before that night?” Ryat asks, tilting his head to the side.
“He told me all about her. The bitch was obsessed with him.”
My teeth grind at her words, but I’m not sure why I’m surprised. Men like Matt always make it sound like all women want them. I did because that’s who I was allowed to want. If I would have had options, I sure as fuck would have chosen someone else to date.
“She was desperate. A fucking hungry bitch who couldn’t take a hint,” she shouts at him. “You should know, she married the first guy she’s ever fucked.”
I think she was trying to make that an insult to Ryat, but he just smiles down at her—proud of that fact he took my virginity.
My hands fist. I actually felt sorry for her, thought that maybe she didn’t know what kind of man he was, but she knew we were together. Knew that I was a virgin. How much else did Matt tell her? Sitting back in the pew, I cross my arms over my chest, ready to listen to what he’s going to make her confess.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
RYAT
SMILING, I MOVE the knife to her neck, and she leans her head back, her chest rising and falling quickly with each breath. No matter how much of a hard-ass this bitch is trying to play, she’s terrified.
“Moving on,” I say, “Did you know where Blake was when she ran away?” I’m not going to waste much of our time. Gunner and Prickett got the Lords out here for a show, so I’m going to give them one.
“No,” she growls.
I lower the knife, slicing a piece of skin off the top of her shoulder. “That’s a lie.”
She screams, blood flowing down her arm and the chair as the piece of skin sits on the floor by my shoe.