Home > The Cult (Cult #1)(5)

The Cult (Cult #1)(5)
Author: Penelope Sky

My eyes narrowed on his face, wanting to rip off his head and throw it into the flames. “Never.” I reported it to the police, walked the streets, and asked strangers if they recognized either one of them. I did all the detective work when the police failed to do it themselves. I asked old contacts if they knew anything about a serial kidnapper in the city, and none of them did. Every time I found a new leaf to turn over, there was nothing underneath. And every time I felt a little hope that I might find my little girl, it was short-lived. My hope was repeatedly smashed with a sledgehammer, and every time I tried to regain hope, it was weaker and weaker.

“They might know something.”

“I didn’t leave on good terms.”

“Does it matter?”

I held his gaze and felt the hope in my heart once more, which was a dangerous thing to feel, especially for me…when my daughter was my whole life. I’d sell my soul to the devil for eternity to get her back. There was nothing I wouldn’t give for her. Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. “No.”

 

 

The Catacombs of Paris possessed a dark history. In the eighteenth century, the cemeteries overflowed, so the dead were compacted in the network of tunnels that stretched over two miles deep underground, Parisians walking directly overhead without knowledge. The Parisian government turned it into a tourist attraction.

Until the Chasseurs bought it.

Now it belonged to one of the most ruthless criminal organizations in Paris.

The government lined their pockets with cash and looked the other way.

I entered the Catacombs through the secret tunnel Parisians were oblivious to and made my way through the graveyard of six million people. Crosses made of stone were in the walls, an arrangement of skulls permanently lining the pathways. Torches lit the way in the dark, casting shadows in the deepest crevices. Iron gates were still erected from where prisoners were kept, and the ceiling expanded over large rooms before they became confined once more. It was cold and drafty, the sun never piercing these deep caves.

Voices grew louder and louder as I approached, entering the large underground cavern that once held concerts long ago. It was the pinnacle of the Catacombs, the grand finale for the journey. Tables were placed in the room where the men sat and drank. Some held weapons while others held drugs. At the front of the room were two large thrones, made of skulls taken from the dead.

The men turned to look at me. Some recognized me, some didn’t.

One of the thrones was occupied, while the other was empty.

With his knees apart, one elbow on the armrest and his fingers resting against his jawline, he stared me down, his brown eyes stuck on me like a scope of a sniper. He was still, like the dead that made up his throne.

Conversations slowly died away as the tone of the room changed, as their leader wordlessly commanded silence.

My footfalls echoed in the cavern because it was so quiet. I moved past the tables and stopped a respectable distance from the man I’d once known as a brother.

Bartholomew.

He kept his position, regarding me with steady eyes, his dark hair perfectly styled like he could attend a dinner party at a moment’s notice. His long-sleeved black shirt was tight on his muscular body, his black jeans the same. Military-style black boots were on his feet, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. His eyes were just as dark as the rest of him, steady on my face, interrogating me with his look.

Then a slow smile crept on to his lips. Gradually, more of his teeth emerged, and his lips curled. A look of mirth came into his gaze, appreciating this moment because of how savory it was. “Benton, this is a pleasure. Truly.”

I had no pride—not anymore. “Not for me.”

His grin widened. “Yes, I surmised.” He rested both arms down on the armrests and gripped the skulls at the very ends, his fingers stretching over the face that had once been a person. He owned the dead in these Catacombs—and now he owned me. “Make your request. Just know that it comes at a price.”

I didn’t ask for the price because it didn’t matter what he wanted in return—if he could help me. “Claire was taken two weeks ago. No leads.”

He cocked his head slightly as he listened to my plea, his brown eyes absorbing everything I said—and didn’t say. “Ironic. You turn your back on us for your daughter—but you lose her anyway.”

I inhaled a deep breath and steadied the impulse to launch myself and snap his neck with a single twist of my hands. “Please.”

His grin was gone, and now his coldness remained. The seasons changed in an instant, the summer heat turning into frostbitten winter. “I allowed you to break your commitment and keep your life. Haven’t I done enough?” His tone deepened into an icy threat, echoing my betrayal as a reminder to me, as if I’d forgotten, and the men who listened in attentive silence.

My arms were still by my sides, my breath even, my heart running at a steady pace because there was no threat that could frighten me in this state of mind. The only reason I wanted to live was so I could find my daughter. “Get Claire back. My life will be payment for your generosity.”

Bartholomew let the silence linger for a long time, my offer floating in the air between us. He disappeared into the throne, becoming one with the stone, dead like the six million souls that lived in these walls, but simultaneously alive. “And if she’s already dead?”

I dropped my chin instantly, wincing in pain at the assumption that I never allowed myself to consider. My heart struggled through every beat. My lungs struggled to draw breath. My eyes watered at the image of my little girl in my head…my whole fucking world. “Then take my life…because I don’t want to live anyway.”

 

 

2

 

 

Constance

 

 

When I opened my eyes, I sucked in a deep breath, so deep that it felt like the first one I’d taken since the last time I was conscious. I died and came back to life…but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be alive.

My body jolted upright, and I looked down at the bed that supported me. A soft comforter was underneath my fingertips, pure white, fluffy, and clean. My chin lifted, and I looked at the head of the bed where there was a display of white pillows on a gray headboard. A string of white lights was on the wall above it, looking like Christmas lights. “Where the fuck am I?” I stood up and felt the furry white rug underneath my feet, the tufts sliding between my toes. I took a look around and saw a golden harp in the corner, along with a stool next to it. The windows showed a forest outside, brown earth with patches of grass and weeds. It was quiet, just the sound of my breathing keeping me company.

There was an opening that led to another bedroom, another white bed, another harp. I moved around the foot of the bed I’d been in and approached the bookshelf that was full of books, not a single space left open on the shelves. I scanned the titles. Holiness: The Path to Absolution. Redemption: A Spiritual Road for Sinners. Divinity. The Way of the Angels. “What is this…?” I turned to look at the nightstand and saw the bible sitting there.

The room had hardwood floors and light-colored furniture, and when I opened the dresser, I saw women’s clothing—all in white. Inside the closet, I found white dresses on hangers…with white angel wings attached to each garment. “Oh…this is bad. This is really bad.”

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