Outside Flynn’s office, Donovan Davenport leaned casually against the wall.
“Hey, Nicole,” he said with an easy smile as I paused in Flynn’s doorway. He didn’t question what I was doing alone in her office. “I wanted you to meet some of my friends.”
Without warning, someone behind me wrapped a blindfold around my eyes. I heard the scuffle of several pairs of shoes against the carpet as Dominic’s faceless cronies accosted me. The odds were skewed—BRS had sent at least four or five members to apprehend me—and I was rendered immobile in mere seconds. Before I could yell, another hand covered my mouth. I felt a pill land on my tongue. In a panic, I tried to spit it out, but the hand kept my lips closed until the pill melted. I struggled, turning my head this way and that, and kicked out with my legs. But my limbs grew heavier, and my mind turned woozy. I blacked out, holding on to one last conscious observation: the scent of rose petals on one of my captor’s hands.
9
I woke with heavy eyelids, an aching head, and a dry mouth. As I blinked to clear my hazy vision, my surroundings and three blurry figures swam slowly into view. Catherine Flynn, Orson Lockwood, and Donovan Davenport stood in a loose circle around me. I couldn’t remember anything after Davenport’s accomplices had abducted me, but somehow, they’d managed to get me across campus and into the Black Raptor Society’s clubhouse in broad daylight. The four of us occupied the museum-like storage room of artwork. They had secured me to one of the high-backed chairs from the clubhouse’s dining room, my wrists bound to either armrest and my ankles tied together with several layers of duct tape. They’d confiscated my boots, which lay side by side at the end of one storage row. The light was low, but behind the looming silhouettes of my captors, the white freezer chest glowed like a beacon in the dim room. Now that it was empty, BRS had space to hide my body should they choose to discard me. My stomach clenched, and I closed my eyes, hoping I might wake up in bed next to Wes and discover that the past several weeks had all been one long, vivid nightmare.
Orson Lockwood snapped his fingers. I flinched as the sharp click of the gesture resonated through my throbbing head. I licked my lips to return some moisture to them, but it was no use.
“Salander, get her some water,” Lockwood demanded of someone.
From behind me, I caught another whiff of rose petals, and a glass of water appeared beneath my nose. I looked up from its rippling surface and into Lauren Lockwood’s eyes.
“Drink,” she ordered, tipping the glass. “It helps.”
I allowed her to dribble the water into my mouth. The cool liquid floated across my tongue, washing away the stale aftertaste of whatever drug they had used to knock me out.
“You deserve an Oscar,” I rasped to Lauren, purposely ignoring the gazes of the other three people in the room. “For all that garbage you fed me this morning.”
“You were gullible enough to believe it,” she countered as she set the glass of water aside. She leaned over me, planting her hands on either armrest. “I’m a Lockwood, Nicole. This is a birthright for me. Do you really think I would abandon my family? My legacy?”
“You hacked my phone.”
Lauren laughed and straightened, backing up to stand beside Flynn, Lockwood, and Donovan. “You made it so easy. I only needed your phone number. Got into your computer that way too. Stupid of you, really, to have all of your accounts linked like that.”
“Sorry, I don’t have much experience in gathering intel under the radar.”
“Clearly.”
“As you might’ve noticed, Miss Costello,” cut in Orson, “my daughter happens to be one of the most promising young members of the Black Raptor Society.”
Lauren smirked at her father’s praise. Donovan, however, sported a sneer that suggested he might’ve smelled something distasteful. Despite their evident partnership, the pair appeared to be in competition with each other, and Lauren had a leg up as the heir to the Lockwood throne.
“What else have you people done?” I asked, not expecting any kind of true answer.
“My dear, all we’ve done is damage control,” continued Orson. Like before, he projected a compassionate sincerity, a skill he must have honed over his many years of debauchery. “For instance, you ignored our warnings and spoke to Jo Mitchell again. As a result, she has been removed from the situation.”
“You ruined her life,” I growled. My fists clenched unconsciously, and the duct tape around my wrists strained and tightened. “Where is she supposed to go now?”
“Back to whatever hovel she crawled out of,” quipped Donovan with a snigger. “People like Jo Mitchell don’t belong at Waverly.”
“Oh?” I turned to Donovan. “You mean hard-working people who actually have to put in some effort for their accomplishments rather than having Daddy buy them?”
Donovan’s grin dropped. “Shut up, Costello.”
“Enough,” interrupted Flynn as she stepped forward. “I warned you, Miss Costello, to mind your own business, and from what I understand, several others afforded you similar advice. You chose to ignore it. You gave us no choice here.”
Somehow, I still felt as if we were in Flynn’s office. She used the same authoritative voice here in the clubhouse that she did when reprimanding me about my lack of initiative. “How long have you been following me?”
“Ever since you broke in to my office,” answered Flynn. “I called Bacchus right away. He underestimated you, of course. You managed to find your way into the clubhouse before he could track you down.”
“Bacchus?”
Donovan casually waved a hand. “That would be me.”
“Ah, right. The code names. What’s mine?”
Orson Lockwood chuckled. “Only members of the society are awarded a nickname, Miss
