Cult

15: Ritual Ω

NOTE: The following chapter contains an extended version of the initiation scene from chapter 1. That scene was essentially a hook to get people interested, but it hasn't happened yet in the story. Most of you guys understood that, but a few people were confused, so I just wanted to clear it up real quick :] I hope you guys are enjoying the story thus far. I am going to shut up and let you guys read now lol

-Mariam Xx

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There are two things I know for sure: I am surrounded by a curtain of darkness and my wrists and ankles have been tied to a stiff metal chair. Desperately, I wiggle my arms and legs, hoping to loosen the harsh rope binding me to the chair. But it only worsens my prospects of escape and deepens the crimson rope burns on my wrists and ankles.

I squint through my foggy glasses, hoping to see a sliver of light that could possible reveal my path of escape. Earthen smoke hovers around the room, swirling up to the ceiling like fallen angels seeking re-entrance to Heaven.

My chest rises and falls to a desperate rhythm that I’ve lost control of. I’ve lost control over everything. I’m not in the security of my polished home. I’m not at the gym, running on the elliptical. I’m not at dance class, trying to learn how to walk gracefully for the annual Debutante Ball. Damn that ball. Damn it to Hell.

Beads of sweat accumulate over my dark brow and glaze my skin, covering it like a cocoon. But I don't feel protected in the least.

Muffled voices and footsteps sound from a few feet away. The cloaked women are gone, but someone else is here.

“This is the girl,” a sharp, female voice announces. It’s Scarlette. I feel her walking closer to me, tilting her head of black hair to the side as she scrutinizes my face. I was so incredibly stupid for trusting her. Of course she looked harmless, she was a small woman wandering the street. But just because she is a woman doesn't mean she is innocuous.

A deeper voice chuckles. “Well I’ll be damned,” he speaks up in a thick English accent. My stomach twists slightly. The man's voice is familiar. He has a strong accent and from the looks of his shadow, very broad shoulders and a slight beard. Recognition sets in. He's the waiter, the one from The Ball.

"I didn't think that dress could have looked any better on her, but now that she's all wet...mmm," he purs. Despite the lack of light, I could have sworn I saw him wink.

"Shut up Liam," Scarlette sighs loudly and flicks her hair over her shoulder. 

"Dear God, what did you two do this poor girl?" another man speaks up. He has an accent, too, an Irish one. His pale blonde hair shines more brightly than Scarlette's or the waiter's.

The man leans down and stares at me. I can make out the frame of his face and his iridescent blue eyes. It's Niall, the "vallet man."

What is going on? How do all these people know one another?

Niall gazes down at the droplets of water on my moist skin. He takes a deep breath and his fists bulge as he tries to relax. It's only water...

Water. My eyes shoot up to stare at Niall. Loch Ness Niall. It's all coming together.

"We'd better get her into dry clothes before V comes," Liam speaks up. He smirks at Niall, who looks thoroughly uncomfortable. Liam leans down before me, lowering his lips to my ear. “I bet I could make you even wetter,” he hisses, letting his fingers slide down the nape of my neck, toying with a strand of my auburn hair. His eyes are dark brown, like honey fusing with mud. 

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss, but the tape over my mouth leaves me voiceless. I shift awkwardly in my seat, trying to increase the distance between me and the man. He laughs casually. I feel Scarlette's gaze on my face. I swallow hard. What do they want from me?