Page 38 of Ruthless Prince

“So that’s what this is. They’re kidnapping the children of rich or powerful people.Fuck.”

“We’re hardly children,” David said. “I’m twenty-one.”

“Me too,” Simonesaid.

“I’ll be twenty-one in three weeks,” I added. “So yeah, we aren’t kids, but I still think Simone’s right. You know who my mother is, obviously, and Simone’s family owns half the buildings in the Golden Triangle. And if you’re one ofthoseGrants, then your family owns most of the Texan oilfields,right?”

“Yeah.” David let out a heavy sigh. “Jesus, between the three of us, these guys could get billions inransom.”

Simone started to say something, but she was cut off as the van lurched to ahalt.

Fast-moving hands worked at my wrist and ankle bindings, freeing my arms and legs. “Getup.”

“Can we take the bags off?” Simoneasked.

“No.Move.”

Each of us was helped out of the van by one of the men. We were pushed to our left and made to walk about twenty yards before they guided us down some stairs. There was a brief pause and then a faint grating sound as a door swung open ahead ofus.

“You can take the bags off now,” one of the mensaid.

I ripped mine off and whipped my head around. There wasn’t much to see. We were in a dim passage with stone walls and a dirty concrete floor. Ahead of us lay impenetrableblackness.

“Please tell us what’s going on,” I said, turning my gaze to the closest maskedman.

He stared back at me and shook his head. “Soon,” was all he offered inresponse.

We waited, shivering in the dank space. I kept one hand on Simone’s shoulder in a protective gesture, rubbing her trembling arms every sooften.

A few minutes later, we heard footsteps scraping over stone, and the passage quickly filled with new arrivals—twelve more terrified young people and ten men in matching black and red Venetianmasks.

“Okay. Everyone’s here. Let’sgo.”

One of the masked men turned and strode into the darkness ahead. The others pulled out flashlights and started herding the rest of us through likecattle.

“What the fuck is going on?” one of the new girls hissed from the middle of thegroup.

“I have no idea,” David replied. “But I think we’re all around the same age, and in our van, everyone came frommoney.”

“Same in ours,” another voice cut in. “Is that all we have in common? Age and familynames?”

Another girl spoke up. “I don’t have any money or connections,” she said. “I’m just plain old Amy Smith. No big family name, no fortune. I can only afford college because of myscholarship.”

“Well, there goes the ransom theory,” Davidmuttered.

As we marched through the passage, sporadically lit by criss-crossing flashlight beams, I spotted a familiar symbol etched on the wall—a triangle with an eye init.

“I think I know where we are!” I said in an excited whisper, nudgingSimone.

“Where?”

“Remember when we sneaked into those tunnels back in May?” I replied. “The secret government ones. I think that’s where weare.”

“Oh, shit.Yes!”

Hazy memories filtered into my mind. I recalled Rowan Harris telling me he thought there might be a secret society operating in D.C., and then I pictured the bizarre, fragmented things I could remember from the night I found myself lost in these tunnels. I thought the strange place I came across that evening might be some sort of clandestine kink club for well-connected people—or maybe even a hallucination given my recent diagnosis—but now that this was happening, I was beginning to think Rowan had it right allalong.

“Oh my god,” I blurted out, cutting someone else off midsentence. “Sorry, but I just remembered something weird and it made me wonder. Did any of you have anything sent to you in the last few weeks? Like a weirdletter?”