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Ah. Claire is just as psychotic as Mark.

Maybe she’s a byproduct of Mark’s abuse, maybe not. Regardless, she’s no better than her husband. Her pain does not justify inflicting pain on others. Not like this.

“Francesca and I will go over the details. Nothing for you to concern yourself with. I just wanted to deliver the good news to you myself,” she goes on, her eyes glittering with delight. They are what stars look like when they die. No life left in them yet blazing with a light that ensures everything in its path will die, too.

I had hoped with being auctioned that I’d be able to make a run for it, or ensure my face was seen on a camera, at the very least. Maybe steal a phone and send a text—anything to give Zade a location. Those options won’t be as easy now, but still not impossible.

I lick my dry, cracked lips and meet the twin dead stars in her skull. “Can I ask one thing?” I ask softly.

Her red lips flatten, but she nods her head.

“Can I ask why?”

Francesca hisses, but Claire holds up a hand, silencing her. That alone is satisfying to watch. She takes a few steps toward me.

“When someone as beautiful as you catches our attention, it’s hard to look away. Normally, I prefer to plant someone in your life. A boyfriend, if you will. Someone you would fall in love with and trust. They would’ve handled you, and you would’ve been able to have some sort of freedom, while also bringing in money. However, you got someone else’s attention first, and suddenly, you became so much more valuable.”

My brows knit, and it’s hard to swallow. It’s not hard to conclude that Claire is just like Mark. Someone who finds women and children and brings them to the Society. But the way she speaks…

“This trade, this world—I own it. I own it all,” Claire supplies. “I am the Society, dear. Me and my two associates. Mark thought he was the man in our marriage, but he never knew that I was the one pulling the strings all along. Zade did me a favor by getting rid of that scumbag, despite how fun it was to hang my husband by the balls. I’m not angry because your boyfriend killed my husband. I’m angry because he’s attempting to ruin what I’ve worked hard to build. The sad, little lives you all live are my empire. I’ll be damned if Z tries to take that from me.” She spits out his name like it’s a bug that flew into her mouth, ire and disgust twisting her features.

All I can do is stare at her in utter disbelief. Confounded that Claire is the ultimate puppeteer. The president—shit, all of the world leaders—they’re guppies compared to her.

Taking advantage of my speechlessness, she turns to Francesca. “Let’s have a chat, Franny. We have some things to discuss.”

Francesca smiles graciously at Claire. “Of course!” She turns to me, her smile dropping long enough to say, “Go back to your room and don’t come out until dinner.” And then she’s back to smiling at Claire again.

Her face must hurt from all that exercise it’s getting.

Nodding, I pivot on my heels and hurry towards the stairs. Rio stands at the doorway to the kitchen, hands threaded behind his back. Briefly, we make eye contact, but for the life of me, I can’t decipher the emotion swirling in his dark irises. He stays behind, but I’m glad for it. Being confined to my room is exactly what I need right now so I can adequately plan my escape.

Xavier was right about one thing—the Culling is a double-edged sword. It taught me how to run, and that’s precisely what I plan on doing.

Hot breath fans across my face, disturbing the deep sleep I’ve fallen into. I twitch, feeling strands of hair tickle my nose.

It takes me several seconds to pull myself out of the weird dream I was having. With reality setting in, so does a sense of animosity and danger, and it takes another few seconds to realize someone is breathing in my face.

Immediately, my instincts blare on red alert, adrenaline and fear flooding my system.

Slowly, I crack open my eyes, then choke on a startled scream, my eyes rounding into discs when I see Sydney standing above me, her face mere inches away from mine.

Her eyes are wide, a psychotic glimmer in them as she stares down at me with a crazed smile. She’s breathing heavily, little sounds of excitement bubbling out of her throat with each exhale.

I press myself deeper into the bed, my heart tearing through my chest as I struggle to find my breath.

“What the fuck, Sydney?” I gasp, attempting to keep my voice down but failing.

I’m seconds away from releasing my bladder all over the bed, my horror growing as she climbs on top of me, her blonde strands brushing across my face and blocking my vision.

My body moves on instinct, I kick my feet on the bed, attempting to gain traction and slide myself upright, but her hands wrap around my throat, holding me in place. She’s not cutting off my air supply yet, but I panic anyway, all of those moves I learned from Zade evading me.

“I know what you’re going to do,” she whispers. I almost miss what she says, with my heart thudding loudly in my ears.

“You’re going to try to escape, and I’m going to tell them,” she breathes, giggling maniacally when I flail against her. “And hopefully they fucking kill you for it.”

Her hands begin to tighten further, and finally—fucking finally—my training kicks in. I shoot my arm up between hers and twist my body with all my strength, sending her flying off the side of the bed.

The impact is loud, and we both freeze, waiting to hear if anyone woke. Fr