Page 24 of A Devious Arrangement
He stiffens, as if frozen in place.
“Good evening, Lord.” Another hooded figure comes up beside us, bowing low, followed by another and another until it’s impossible for me to continue questioning Volkov without bringing suspicion. I’ll have to keep a close eye on the siblings.
The men can’t rise until I let them. This is exactly why my brothers and I enter through a different entrance. Fuck.
I breathe in through my nose, shoving down the thoughts of Anastasia for later, and turn wordlessly. The Lord’s entrance is only a few steps away, but it’s enough to escape them.Everything about these Order meetings has become stale, but something tells me tonight will be different.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Matthias asks as I walk in, looking no happier than I am to be here.
I shrug, still too focused on the events of tonight to be fully in the moment. “I got distracted.”
Damon claps me over the back of the head. “Well, get undistracted. I want to get this over with. Misty says she has a surprise for me.”
“Oh…what kind of surprise.” I play into it, giving him a playful leer. I’m quick to dodge his second hit.
“You may be my little brother, but don’t for a minute think I won’t kill you for thinking about my wife like that.”
The smile wipes from my face. I wish I didn’t believe him, but I absolutely do. I wouldn’t mess with either of my brothers when it came to their wives. Not that I can blame them. I’d be right there with them if someone fucked with one of my sisters.
“It’s you who has to be quick. You’re the one who runs these fucking things,” Matthias says to Damon.
I barely hear them as I work through the events of tonight. Stasia paid for a distraction, to see her brother before he went into the Vault. Why? What couldn’t she have said to him while they were at the gala? Or was I right, and he was never in there to begin with? There’s something else, more niggling in the back of my mind. Something that’s just out of reach as I go through everything piece by piece. I keep asking myself why over and over. Why couldn’t she have talked to him on her own? Why did she need help?
It’s as if a switch clicks in my head, and my thoughts tumble faster. What if I was right, and he wasn’t at the gala? Did she have to create a distraction to be able to talk to him before the Order meeting? What could be so important that she had to risk getting caught out here. Cell phones don’t work in the Vault, butthey operate fine in the hall. No…I’m asking the wrong question. I don’t have sufficient information to figure out why she’s doing anything.
The real question is…where did she go?
Chapter 9
Anastasia
My heart poundsin my chest loudly enough that I’m scared the men around me will hear as we make our way down the narrow stone stairwell. Their whispered voices echo through the space, drowning out the sounds of my too-hard breaths. There’s a black-robed figure to my back, front, and side as we turn down the spiral step by step. Their silver wolf masks hide their identity, but their voices that I’ve heard my entire life give them away. They’re all relaxed, just another night for them, while I’m teetering on the brink of death on my stilt-like shoes. Thank god I chose my chunkiest heels, or I’d have died twice already.
My lungs contract as I follow the crowd into the cavernous room. It resembles something you’d find in a catacomb, not beneath one of the city’s most elite hotels. I’m not sure why I’m surprised. It’s not as if I didn’t know the building was built over top of the original Order of Saints gathering space, but knowing and seeing are two completely different things.
The walls are a mix of tiles and marble, holding up the low ceiling. The entire area is lit by candles that line the perimeters.
I’m still gawking when someone bumps into my back. “Hurry up.”
I scramble forward and make my way to the left like Nikolai had told me, but his crude hand-drawn map hadn’t prepared me. It’s loud while all of the men take their places. The heads of the families, the Saints in the Order, take their spots in the chairs that line each side of the aisle that leads to a dias, where four chairs stand tall over the space, one slightly ahead of the others.
I count the Saints’ spots until I reach my own. I swallow hard, freezing in place. I didn’t realize I’d be so exposed down here. I’m not sure why, but I’d envisioned dimmed lighting and an almost spooky atmosphere.
“Volkov. What are you doing?” a masked man asks me from the seat beside my family’s. I can’t see his expression, but it’s easy to tell by his tone that he’s surprised by how I’m acting.
Shit.I stand taller, trying to puff out my chest. It feels ridiculous, but it’s better than being caught. I have to walk through the Saints, who are stationed behind their family chairs, and the row of Unsainted kneeling after them. No one looks toward me, all their heads bowed forward. My brother already explained that everything in the Order of Saints follows a strict ranking system, and I’m feigning to be one of the highest-ranked, just below the Lords themselves.
It’s a fairly simple hierarchy. Starting with the Lords, which comprises of the Everette brothers, Damon takes up the top spot. They’re followed by the Saint who represents each family, aka who I’m pretending to be, and then there’s the Unsainted. There are other Saints behind them, their silver masks giving them away, but from their position, it’s clear they aren’t in leadership roles. The only maskless men in the space, bottom in line, hopeful of becoming members, are made up of younger siblings and close cousins whom their relatives hope to bring in.
I pick at my red-painted nails, hidden by the thick black fabric, as we wait in silence. The air grows heavier with each second that passes until the wooden door at the back opens toreveal the three brothers. The Saints stand, bowing deeply, and I copy them. Unable to resist the temptation, I peer up through the slim slits that expose my eyes. Even with their gold masks, denoting them as Lords, it’s easy to tell them apart by the way they hold themselves.
Bash is the first to walk down the aisle, and I can’t look away. Gone is his usual swagger, replaced by a coldness only someone who’s used to power would display. His hood hides his face, the mask only revealing his lips. There’s no curl to the corner, nothing that hints at his mischievous demeanor. If I wasn’t so familiar with his build, I’d have a hard time believing he’s the same person I’d spoken with earlier. This is the man he shows everyone else, the man who demands respect from the Saints below him.
My breath catches when he slows his pace, head turning toward me, and doesn’t release until he continues down the aisle, climbing the stairs before taking his spot above us.
I’m so absorbed in keeping up my appearance that I’m completely ignorant of my surroundings until the man beside me stands and walks to the center of the room, one of the unmasked Unsainted following behind him. I shudder at the idea that I may have to stand too. Holy crap. What if they ask me to speak? Nikolai never said anything about being called forward, and if I am, we’re totally dead.
Impersonating a Saint isn’t just a punishment. We’ll be dead. At least I can pretend my brother had no idea. Although knowing him, he’ll out himself in an attempt to save me like an idiot.
