Requiem of the Soul (The Society Trilogy #1) - Natasha Knight Page 0,62

hospital, not a fashion show. Is that what you’re wearing?”

Distaste curls her lip, and she walks past me.

I follow her into what I guess to be the formal living room with the huge rose-shaped windows. Her heels click quickly as she walks through it while I stand there, gaping at the mural on the ceiling.

“Are you coming?” Mercedes asks.

I drag my gaze away. “It’s beautiful.”

She glances up, shrugs one shoulder in dismissal, and raises her eyebrows. “I have things to do apart from babysitting you.”

“I can take myself. I’d be happy to.”

“Then you and I both would incur Santiago’s wrath. This way.” She turns on her heel and walks away. I quickly follow her through the house and out the front door where a man drives up in a Rolls Royce. It’s James, I realize, from the other day. I’d thought he worked for Abel, but I guess it had been Santiago keeping tabs on me. It makes sense.

He opens the door for us, and I follow Mercedes in, then stare like a child out the window at the mammoth of a house and gardens that seem to go on for miles.

“Is that a maze?” I ask when I catch a glimpse of the high hedges.

“Yes.”

When we finally reach the iron gates that open for us, I crane my neck until I can only see one of the house's two spires.

I remember from the wedding night that it wasn’t too far from the center of town, but it’s tucked away on its own not so little parcel of land, and the room I’ve been locked in seems even darker now.

When I turn around again, I find Mercedes studying me, her dark eyes hard but also curious. Not in an I’m interested in finding out who you are way but in a what are your weaknesses to exploit way and I’m very aware of how I look beside her. Almost like a child.

I clear my throat and shift my gaze out the window. It’ll be about half an hour to the hospital. I anticipate an awkward ride, but Mercedes just gets on her phone and ignores me altogether.

James pulls the car into a parking space, and I look over at Mercedes talking to someone while studying her fingernails. He climbs out of the car and opens my door.

“You have fifteen minutes,” she says just as I’m about to climb out.

“What?”’

“I’m not coming inside. It’s too depressing.”

“Fifteen minutes?”

“We have a lot to do. My bother has tasked me with readying you for The Society. We’ll have to take care of, well, so much,” she says with a look of distaste on her face as she lets her gaze sweep over me.

“Are you serious?”

She grins, makes a show of checking her thin diamond wristwatch. “You’d better hurry.”

23

Santiago

Lawson Montgomery leans over the financial portfolio on my desk, studying it with the hawk-like eyes he is known for. He was the best man at my wedding, but Lawson is also an old friend and the one person within the New Orleans faction who I trust without question.

He is best known as Judge to those around him, given his elected position within the Louisiana court system. He is a valuable asset to IVI for obvious reasons, but he is also one of the rare few people I can speak freely with.

"Everything looks good." He shuts the folder and returns his laser focus to me. "How is newly wedded bliss treating you so far?"

The corner of my lip tilts up at his sarcasm. Judge surely has a dry sense of humor. "As well as can be expected."

"I trust your brand of justice will be swift and harsh."

When I don't respond, he arches an eyebrow at me. I pour us both a glass of scotch, allowing my gaze to drift to the ever-changing numbers on the monitors behind him for a moment.

"Is this your way of telling me you have not marked her yet?"

"She has been marked, as you well know." I swirl the glass beneath my nose, absorbing the smoky aroma of the drink.

"But not scarred," he finishes for me.

His observation unnerves me. I'm not in the habit of laying out my plans to others, but Judge is one of the harshest men I know. He has a reputation for being severe, both on the bench and within The Society. At least when the situation warrants it. He is a firm believer of the old adage of an eye for an eye. And when I was drunk