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"Just do what I fucking tell you to do," he says. Then, softening his tone, he adds, "There's no difference, baby."

He starts to fill his chalice, and I do the same. But there is a difference—a big difference. I try not to look at the small, pale girl on the table, but I can't help myself. My eyes run down her body, and she moves—she fucking moves.

"Luca? Her hand moved."

"It doesn't matter," he says. "She's dead, Teagan."

"But—"

"Teagan…" he cautions. "You're not fucking listening. Cheers, baby."

He throws back the contents of the cup, and I do the same, trying my best not to choke on the hot coppery liquid filling my mouth.

Once I swallow it, Luca's mouth finds mine. I taste the copper on his own tongue in my mouth before he pulls away.

"I'm so proud of you, baby," he says. "I'm going to get you a real drink now. We'll be out of here soon. Don't let go of me, okay?"

We walk over to a bar, and my eyes roam the room while he orders us drinks.

That's a mistake.

Everyone is dressed like we are; several of them are splattered in blood—either on the front of their clothes or dripping from their mouths. But even more disturbing, still, are the ones moving through the room in dark hoods, wearing those gold masks with gold mouths stretched into impossibly large smiles.

They're bone-chilling.

I'm not sure who they are or what they mean, but I think there's a hierarchy here. Luca snapped at the masked man at the door when he questioned him about me.

I get the feeling they're the ones who get their hands dirty.

Two of them pass me now carrying a naked woman, covered in blood, by her shoulders and feet.

"What happened to her?" I ask Luca quietly.

"I told you to keep your fucking head down, Teagan," Luca says. He grabs me by my hair and forces my head down.

"Luca, don't," I whimper.

"Fuck. I'm sorry. Just—listen to me, Teagan. For fuck's sake. Take your drink."

He thrusts a glass into my hand and guides me to a back corner of the room. "Drink it all, baby. You need it," he says. "Whatever happened to the other woman—that was an accident. It happens sometimes; it isn't our problem."

"Well, does it happen to you?"

"No," he says. "I've never killed anyone; I told you that. Shit."

"What?"

"There are some people coming over here that I'm going to have to talk to.Don'tlook at them anddon'tsay anything."

Luca maintains a tight grip on my waist, and I cast my eyes downward, sipping my drink while he speaks to two men about things I don't quite understand. Then, they ask him about his father, the business, and the band; more feet surround us, and more voices join in. I don't look up; no one asks who I am or what I'm doing again. My arms are so heavy now that I can barely keep ahold of my glass—it takes all my focus not to drop it.

Fuck, am I going to be in trouble if I drop it?

The conversation must end, because Luca is guiding me toward the exit.

"Are we leaving now?" I ask him once we reach the hallway.

"Fuck yes, we're leaving. Thank fucking god."