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Chapter 17

The Diamond

If it weren’t for the collar wrapped around my throat, I’d consider swiping one of the guest’s pocketknives and slipping out the back door, disappearing into the night. I’d cut the tracking device out of my neck, and take off, uncaring if I’m wearing nothing to protect me from the elements. I’d rather die alone in the middle of the woods than at the hands of a sex trafficker.

And Francesca knows that. She knows all of us would risk that. That’s why simple black metal collars with a ruby pendant in the middle are currently dressing our throats. Something she made very clear houses another tracking device—one that can’t be removed without a key.

The house is engulfed in distraction and glamor. So many men, dressed to the nines with hundreds of thousands of dollars dripping from their icy wrists. So many opportunities to slip away unnoticed while eyes are turned.

I never understood why the sickest of humanity go out of their way to appear the prettiest. You can throw glitter on a snake, but the bitch still bites.

“You look beautiful,” a deep voice whispers in my ear from behind me. I startle, turning to find Xavier, a salacious grin on his face.

Francesca ordered us to mingle with the men, so I’ve been camping out in the living room. Even with all the cleaning we did, the house still reeks of despair. Too much horror is caked into the crevices, and no amount of scrubbing will ever free this place of it.

I force a smile, stepping away from him an inch and dipping my chin. Heat washes throughout my body, but not the kind that feels good. It feels like when you’ve got a st

omach bug and are stuck in a car—the cold sweat is sickening.

“Thank you,” I say, loosening my voice. His stare is intense as he sweeps my curves slowly, taking his time. Naturally, I want to dropkick him in the balls and run. I can only stand there and take it, though. Straight and tall, refusing to curl in on myself like he wants. It’s the only defiance I can muster other than grabbing the champagne flute in his hand and breaking it across his face.

Relax, little mouse.

He didn’t catch me tonight, so he doesn’t get to punish me. However, I have a dreadful feeling that Francesca will gladly allow this man to touch me, regardless.

Which means I need to play nice.

“You were incredible today, despite the little distraction that vile girl caused,” he says pleasantly. I can tell that he’s trying to insert warmth into his presence, but it feels like sticking my hand into a fireplace that hasn’t been used in centuries.

“Though I must admit, the Culling always seemed counterproductive to me,” he continues. “Even if it is fun.”

Clearing my throat softly, I ask, “May I ask why?”

He grins as if he sees straight through the thin façade. “It teaches you how to run away from us. It’s been a tradition for centuries, but if you ask me, I’d prefer my women to be incapable of getting away.”

I nod my head slowly. “That makes sense,” I admit.

And really, it does.

The Culling is designed to test our endurance. I get that. If we’re too weak and broken, we’ll be lifeless little things, resulting in them constantly having to replace us. It’s designed to break us mentally—spiritually. Induce terror and hope of escape, just to be dragged back again.

Nonetheless, Xavier is right, too. It does teach us how to run.

He takes a step closer to me, his woodsy cologne burning my sinuses as he invades my space. I want to tell him to get the fuck out of my no-no square, but I can’t imagine that going over well.

Try as I might, I can’t stop my limbs from stiffening, and my shoulders from hiking up an inch. My fingers twitch with the need to curl into fists, but I refrain.

“Tell me, Adeline, would you run from me if I made you mine?”

God, yes. I’d run until my feet were worn down to the bone. Even then, I’d still run.

“Of course not,” I answer, keeping my voice quiet.

He chuckles, a mixture of amusement and condescension. Hot breath fans across the side of my face as he leans in close, his coarse beard scraping against the shell of my ear.

“You wouldn’t be able to, even if you wanted to,” he whispers. “You wouldn’t be able to stand. Your legs would be shaking too badly from how hard I fuck you.”

A hand drifting across my backside accompanies his words. I close my eyes, searching for the strength to not tremble beneath his touch. To not run the hell away from him and pray to the She-Devil above that he never finds me.