“What do you mean?” How much more to Frankfort could there possibly be?
He gestures toward the ballroom. “You think this is all we do here? Have refined get-togethers where we dress up like kings and queens and dance all night? Borrring. Allow me show you what a real party in Frankfort looks like.” He extends his elbow.
I eye it, then look at him. “Are you trying to get me locked back in prison? Chief Whitcomb won’t be happy if I excuse myself early.”
“Are you kidding? Look at him. He’s as bored as I am, all slumped in his throne. This shoddy ball is a tradition started by his Grandfather, an unfortunate job description that falls to whoever is Chief. Notice how the majority of the people look old enough to be your grandparents? That’s because they are. Besides, you came. You did your part. Now, you can stay here for three more hours and watch people make mundane conversation and stuff their faces like swine, but if you come with me, I can guarantee you’ll have a good time.”
I bite my lip and look at Forest gliding across the ballroom floor with Olivia, and my heart twists violently. I really don’t want to sit here for three more hours watching them.
“Fine,” I say. “Show me what a real party looks like.”
“My pleasure, Rainbow Eyes. But be ye warned, you’ll only truly enjoy yourself if you like to have fun.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Rain leads me out of the hotel and hails down a cab. A few minutes later, we pull up to a tavern with an illuminated sign that says The Black Tiger.
I bristle. “The Black Tiger? Really? That’s the name of the tavern?”
Rain smirks and offers me his hand as I clamor out of the cab. “Fitting, isn’t it? And by the way, this isn’t a common tavern. It’s a club.”
“What difference does it make?”
“Only exclusive members allowed.”
He shows his I.D. at the door, and I guess his name alone gives him the right to bring any guest he wants, because I don’t have to show anything. We step into a dark room with flashing blue and white lights. Music bombards my ears. Not soft orchestra music like in the ballroom, but something harder, faster. Something that encodes with the rhythm of my heart. Unlike The Tap, this place is kept-up well––no chipped tile floors. No smoke lingering in the air. It’s like stepping into the future.
We pass an alcove, and I peek in just long enough to catch a glimpse of a man making out with a woman wearing close to nothing. Another girl sits behind him, massaging his shoulders. I quickly look away, heat inflating my face and a sick feeling curling in the pit of my stomach.
“Holy Crawford,” I say. “Don’t people have any decency?”
“Welcome to Frankfort,” Rain says. “We look like refined nobility on the outside, but under the skin, we’re nothing but a bunch of desperate jackals.” He offers a wicked grin. “We Patricians like to indulge ourselves, live life to the fullest. Y’know?” He winks. “Eat, drink, and be merry.”
My gut clenches. I shouldn't be surprised that Rain mingles with this crowd, the way he drinks like a half-starved fish and has two women hanging off his arms eighty-percent of the time. And then I begin to wonder why, exactly, I came here.
We approach the bar, and I take a look around while Rain orders drinks. Girls wearing sheer garments dance on the stage. Waitresses dressed in transparent gowns serve drinks. They’re all dolled up, their faces caked with make-up and their hair bleached. I scan the rest of the bar and gasp when I spot naked girls posing as statues. They change positions every once in a while, and everything is exposed. Everything. And my heart pounds and my face burns and I quickly look away.
“I thought people in Frankfort appreciated modesty,” I say to Rain. “I guess I was wrong.”
Rain hands me a drink. “They appreciate modesty for themselves, of course. Decency is always valued among Patricians. But when it comes to entertainment, well, let’s just say all their morals go down the drain.”
I take a sip of the purple drink and wince. It’s strong, but the fruity flavor makes it drinkable. One of the men sitting on a couch pulls a passing waitress onto his lap and kisses her, hard.
“So who are these dancers and waitresses and…statues?” I ask. “Patricians who didn't want to become politicians?”
“Proletariats.”
I glance at him sharply. “You mean…these people didn’t have a choice? This was the career forced on them?”
“Yep.”
Shock. It’s a strange little emotion that makes everything in the world freeze up. I have to set my drink down, before I drop it, because I’m so completely disgusted, disturbed, and…angry. These girls are slaves. No question about it. If they refused to entertain or dress like that, they’d be killed. What if I had been given a career as a dancer? What if I had to stand around, stark naked, still as a statue while snotty Patricians gawked at me? My stomach tightens into a ball.
“Why do you come here?” My voice comes out in a hoarse whisper. I clear my throat, look at Rain, and speak louder so he can hear me. “Why on earth would you come here?”
“It’s the best place to collect the latest gossip.” His grin reveals absolutely zero remorse. “Now, excuse me while I make my rounds.” With two drinks in hand, he strides to the couches and passes one to a Patrician girl. His winning smile in place, he strikes up a conversation. The girl giggles and gestures for him to sit beside her.
I roll my eyes. Rain and his girls. Why did he bring me? To torture me? This place is sick. Two people beside me start making out. I slip off my stool and turn toward the door. But two girls step in front of me. I recognize one of them as Cherry, the girl with dark curls who approached Rain at the ball.
“Miss Carter,” Cherry says, her dark curls bouncing. She smells like sugar and fruit. “You’ve found where the real fun is at, huh?” She gestures toward the rest of the bar. “Welcome to paradise.”
This is the complete opposite of paradise, is what I don’t say.
“Rain brought me,” I say flatly.
“Ah, lucky you.” The other girl cocks a sculpted brow and gives me a once-over. “Rain’s latest diversion.”
“I’m not his diversion.”
“Oh?” Cherry says. “Then why did he escort you to the ball? Surely you had your pick of the men in Frankfort?”
Why do I feel like they’re sizing me up? “H-he’s the only one who showed up at my door.”
“He must have chased everyone else off before they could get their hands on you,” the other girl says with a laugh. “Even now, he can’t keep his eyes off of you.”
I glance back. The girl Rain sits beside chats endlessly, but he’s staring right at me, his eyes narrowed in thought. What’s his shoddy deal?
“Maybe you could enlighten us on your little secret,” Cherry says with a giggle.
“There’s no secret.” I turn back around. “Rain’s the biggest rogue in this country. He’ll go with just about any girl he can get.”
“You mean any girl who gets him.” Cherry’s voice is laced with envy. “He may be the biggest rogue, but he’s also the biggest mystery.” She looks at him and leans in close. “You see, Rain hasn’t actually slept with anyone.”
I jerk my head back. “Why would he? He’s not married, is he?”
This brings a giggle out of both of them.
“You don’t have to be married to sleep together, dear Ember,” Cherry says. “People today only get married out of mere convenience or to promote themselves.”
And I’m a little—actually a lot—shocked, because I’ve never heard of anyone marrying out of convenience or promotion.
“Sleeping around is a good form of recreation,” Cherry’s friend says. “If you meet a cute guy, why not enjoy an evening of pleasure?”
“Because…it’s…intimate.” I’ve never considered sleeping with anyone except the person I plan to marry. It was never an option in my head. It never even crossed my mind. And why, why would you sleep with multiple people? That’s gross. It’s
—I scrunch up my nose, and now I feel sick.
A scream comes from across the room. I glance up in time to see a Patrician boy pinning one of the “statues” to the wall. She struggles beneath his weight, but he overpowers her as he gives into his desires. No one helps her. No one cares. In fact, others are crowding around, cheering. My blood runs cold, and I’m confused and enraged and disgusted and I find myself stumbling toward the girl, but someone grabs my arm.
“What are you doing?” Cherry asks.
“Someone needs to help her!” I jerk away from Cherry and push through the gawking, laughing crowd. I grab the shoulder of the boy and shove him aside, surprised by my own strength.
“Get away from her!” I scream.
He steps back, sweeps his gaze down the length of me, then stares at me with glazed, mocking eyes.
“If is isn’t the famous Ember Carter, our newest Patrician sister,” he says, grinning. “What’s the problem, Miss?”
Everyone’s staring now. The laughter has died down and they’re waiting. They’re listening to what I have to say. Swallowing hard, I turn back to face him.
“You…you were about to rape her.”
He snorts. “Nonsense. Given a moment, she would have enjoyed it.”
A wave of rage sweeps over me and my heart is pounding against my chest and I grab his shirt and shove him against the wall. But he only seems to enjoy the gesture.
“The new girl likes to play rough,” he says, grinning at me. “Come on, vixen. Gimme a taste of my own medicine.” His eyes shine while the others laugh and I want to punch him. I want to shatter that grin off his face. I want to—
“What the shoddy inferno’s going on here?”
A hand on my shoulder pulls me out of blinding rage, and I release the boy, turn to face Rain, surprised to find concern instead of his usual smirk. And I’m trembling. I’m trembling from my anger. Rain stares at me a moment, then looks at those around us.
“Show’s over, folks. Go about your business.”
“Ah, but the fun’s just begun, Rain,” the boy I slammed against the wall says.
Rain rolls his eyes. “Go home, Brendan, before you puke all over your clothes again and cause a terribly embarrassing scene for yourself.”
Brendan’s eyes widen, and he mumbles something crude under his breath before stumbling away. The girl is kneeling by the wall, trembling violently. Rain places a hand on her shoulder. She stiffens, about to scream again, but he says something too quiet for me to hear, and she stills, nods, and calmly walks out of the room. Whatever Rain said seemed to have a more calming effect than anything I could have said. Seriously. How does he do that?
He turns toward me. “What the shoddy rot were you thinking?”
“I had to help her.”
“By helping her, you just got her in worse trouble, you know that, right? Brendan’s pride is shot. You just made his hunt to get what he wants more exciting. He’ll be back again. He will look for her again. And next time, he won’t let down.”
I think I’m going to throw up. “And you’re just going to let that happen?”
His jaw tightens. He looks at the floor. “I’ll do something about the girl. For now, you should probably go. People are staring.”
I glance around, reminded of the people who can’t stop gaping because someone actually stood up for one of the statues. I guess they’re not used to people being nice. “Why did you bring me here?” I turn to glare at Rain. “Why do you come here? This place is the worst kind of hell. And anyone who comes here willingly is worse than a diseased, maggot-infested dog. And that includes you, Rain Turner.”
His eyes widen a fraction, almost like he’s hurt, but before he can say another word, I whirl around and stumble through the crowd. I push through the gawking Patricians. I force myself to breathe.
Inhale. Exhale.
But everything is not okay.
I race out of the building and drag fresh air into my lungs. The cab driver gets out of his car and opens the door for me, but I wave him off and break into a sprint. I need to run my frustration off. I need to clear my thoughts. But running is nearly impossible with this ridiculous dress and these shoes. So I kick my shoes off, lift my overwhelming skirts, and bolt across the street.
A loud honk blares at me, and I leap out of the way just before the car almost hits me. Tears stinging my eyes, I run toward my hotel. I need to get out of Frankfort, like, yesterday. Everyone always talked about Frankfort, the golden city, the utopia, but I’m realizing now that this place is a nightmare. My own personal hell. A fire-breathing dragon.
And I need to get out before it eats me alive.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I can’t sleep. Everything I saw at the club keeps me awake, my mind fully wired with disturbing thoughts. I was taught that the careers given us are to help better the country. We’re all contributing to make Ky a better place. It’s what always made Career Day almost acceptable. But after what I saw tonight, my suspicions are confirmed. Everything we do is for the Patricians. Girls getting selected to serve their careers in Frankfort as maids and dancers and nude wall statues? How is that making Ky a better place?
Why?
The question leaves my lips before I even know who I’m asking. But that pull, that powerful presence has filled every drop of the atmosphere, and I find myself asking again, out loud this time. “Why? Why are things so wrong? Why can’t someone change it?” I open my eyes to the overwhelming darkness surrounding me and whisper, “Why won’t you help?”
Thunder rolls overhead and chills flesh out across my skin. What is wrong with me? Why do I bother speaking to thin air? I flop over and bury my face in my pillow when more thunder rattles the windows. Frankfort may have controlled temperatures, but apparently, if you can’t keep the sunlight from entering the cupola, you can’t keep the rain out, either. It pounds against the window as lightning flashes across the sky and the windows are trembling in fear and then there’s a BANG-BANG-BANGING coming from the living room.
I bolt upright. Wonder if I’m hearing things. And then, there it is again.
BANG-BANG-BANG-CRASH
Holy rot. My heart begins to pound and my legs and arms are lead, paralyzed by fear, but I force myself out of bed. I pull on my bathrobe and wrap it tightly around my body like a shield. Has Brendan come to do to me what he almost did to that girl? Has he come to get me back for humiliating him? My stomach turns inside out and I step out of the bedroom.
Darkness envelops the room, but another flash of lightning reveals an open window and curtains whipping wildly in the wind. The wind. It must have blown the window open. No way Brendan could have scaled a hundred-story wall. A sigh of relief and my heart beats at a normal rhythm. I cross the room, slam the window shut, and latch it, and it’s once again silence inside my lonely apartment.
Until I hear the faint ringing of sirens. My heart takes a violent leap because they’re the same sirens that chased me and Judah through the streets. The sirens grow louder, and then below, through the rain-streaked window, I can see the flashing red and white lights of the Defender Vehicles as they dart down the street—straight past Frankfort Hotel. Holy Crawford. They’re not after me. I release another small breath.
All this excitement in Frankfort is going to seriously give me a heart attack. I shake away my fear, decide to ask for ear plugs first thing in the morning, and then remember that I’m leaving in the morning so I don’t need earplugs. Because this time of night in the Garden, there’s only complete silence.
I wrap my robe more tightly around my body and head back to my room, when someone grabs me and shoves me into the corner. I almost scream, but a strong, cold, wet hand clamps over my mouth.
“Quiet!” a gruff voice says. “I’m not here to hurt you.” The voice of a man. Not Brendan’s voice. “I’m going to release you now. Do I have your word that you won’t scream?”
I swallow hard, then offer a quick nod, and he releases me.
“Very go
od,” he says. “I just need a drink. Can I please have a drink?”
“Of-of course.”
“Thank you.” He steps back, and I can see his silhouette cross the room. He’s tall and brawny and removes something from his belt, then a blue beam of light flashes across the room to the ceiling. Sparks fly everywhere, and I stifle a scream, press my body further into the corner, and watch in horror as he does the same thing to the corner of the kitchen. More sparks fly.
“Are those all the cameras in this room?” he asks.
The cameras. He shot out the shoddy cameras. What is he planning on doing to me with no cameras on us?
He pulls something else out of his pocket. I hear a click and brace myself for another spark of light but only see a small flame as he lights a candle on the kitchen bar.
“You can come out, little mouse.” His voice is deep and oddly soothing. “I’ve no interest in harming you.”
For some reason I don’t quite understand, I believe him. I step out of the shadows and slowly approach the kitchen bar where he stands. I can see his features more clearly now in the flickering light of the candle. He wears a fedora over dark, curly hair. A thick beard covers half his face, dripping with rainwater. He has green eyes and a scar running from his left temple into his beard.
And all I can think is that I’ve seen that face I’ve seen that face I’ve seen that face—where on earth have I seen that face?
“It’s good to finally meet you, Ember Carter.” He stares at me.
“And who—who are you?”
“My name is Jonah Walker.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“W-walker?”
Holy Crawford. That’s where I’ve seen him. On tablets passed around by Defenders. In the newspaper headlines. On Most Wanted posters all around the city. Jonah Walker. Dangerous criminal. Report if seen.
What few people know is that he’s actually a leader of the Resurgence, which still makes him a criminal.
“I hope you don’t mind hosting me for just a few minutes.” He juts his thumb toward the window. “Shoddy Defenders are after me.”
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