Page 105 of The Forever Crew (Adamson All-Boys Academy 3)
“I have caught for you a fox, a little fox that plundered the vineyards.”
“And the fox’s name?” the leader asks again.
“Charlotte Carson,” Selena McConnell says, rising to her feet and removing her mask. She glances back at me, but her face is devoid of any emotion whatsoever.
“Make it right,” the man in charge repeats, and Selena is handed a knife that’s identical to the one in her brother’s hands. “The McConnells have disappointed the Fellowship this year. Your sister did not make these sorts of mistakes.”
“Yes, sir,” Selena agrees, her voice cold and not nearly as submissive as Aster’s.
She moves around the altar and takes her place beside me. This time, the knife is pointed directly at my own chest.
The chanting picks up in both speed and volume, but I’m sort of out of ideas here. Tied up, drugged, terrified …
“Wait,” I whisper, but Selena isn’t listening to me. She’s watching the men on the dais for her cue. “You haven’t killed anyone. It’s not too late for you to back out of this. You haven’t done anything you can’t undo.”
“For two centuries, our families have guarded this sacred place,” the man onstage begins, holding out his hands to indicate the large room. “And we’ve been rewarded with wealth beyond imagination, success in our various businesses, and the unbreakable ties of the Fellowship. In short, our vineyards have and always will be in blossom. But the world is greedy, and we must work diligently to keep out those who would take from our bounty.”
The man waves his hand in Spencer’s and my general direction.
“This year,” he continues, “we welcome four new initiates into the fold with open arms. But to be a true member of the divine, sacrifices must be made. A pact of blood is unbreakable.”
“Catch for us the foxes,” the crowd around us murmurs, and I can feel it in the air, the crackle of violence.
Selena and Gareth raise their knives up high as I watch helplessly, my heart beating out of control. No ninja moves are going to get me out of this one. No amount of training with the twins is going to get me out of this.
The sound of a door being thrown open draws the attention of almost everyone in the room, including Selena, her knife poised above me. Everyone but Gareth McConnell. His knife flashes down in a hint of silver, and a scream tears from my throat. I’m about to see Spencer murdered right in front of me.
One of the robed assholes steps forward, disrupting the unbroken line, and grabs the weapon from his fingers in a flash, spinning it around and leveling it on him.
“What the hell?” Mark growls as Spencer’s rescuer reaches up and pushes his mask up, knocking loose his hood and revealing a head of honeyed hair.
It’s fucking Church.
“Put the knife down, Selena, or I’ll kill your brother,” he says, his voice a jagged splinter of ice. No part of me has to wonder if he’s serious. Selena just stares back at him, dumbfounded, and then moves away from me. But she doesn’t drop the knife. Church slices the bonds on Spencer’s arms and legs before moving over to me.
“How did you even get down here?” I ask, but Church is too busy scanning the room to answer. And Spencer, well, he’s still not awake. I stumble over to him, fully aware that we’re not saved just yet. This is a reprieve, at best.
“A Montague,” the leader says from behind us, a certain note in his voice that says that messing with one of Elizabeth and David’s children isn’t such a good idea. “Subdue him, but don’t kill him.”
Mark is the first person to step forward, like he’s been waiting for his chance to get at Church all along. The thing is, I’m pretty sure Church has been waiting for this moment, too.
“Here.” He hands the knife over to me as Mark heads his way. I hesitate, but only for a second. I know that Church can hold his own against the king of the foot-uh-bra-lers? Pretty sure I’m still missing the point of that name.
“Spence,” I whisper, pushing the silver hair off of his forehead. He’s breathing, but just barely. Either he ingested more of whatever it was that put us to sleep in the first place or else he hit his head on the way down here. Looking up, I finally see what the commotion at the door is.
It’s a person in a robe and mask, speaking frantically with several other members. After a moment, one of them pulls away and takes off running toward the front of the room, robes flapping. Something’s happening; we just need to hold on. I let myself believe that because, why not? Where’s the harm in hope?
“I need you to wake up, Spencer,” I whisper, tapping the side of his face with my palm. It occurs to me then that in all the fairy tales, the prince wakes the princess up with a kiss. Pretty sure my brain is broken from whatever I’ve been drugged with because that’s all I can think about in that moment, kissing Spencer.
