“Watch out. I think she’s going to faint,” Will said as my knees buckled.

Adam caught me before I hit the ground and carried me over to the couches on the other side of the desk.

“I’m fine,” I managed once I was on the couch.

“What happened?” Adam asked.

“It happens sometimes.” I waved a hand. “I’m fine.”

“Vasovagal syncope,” Adam said.

“What?” I blinked, focused on my breathing.

“It’s a condition that would explain your fainting spells. It’s caused by intense heat, intense fear, intense emotions.”

“I don’t experience intense emotions.” I buried my face in my hands.

“Okay.” Adam pulled away and walked over to the mini-fridge, bringing a can of soda with him. “Here. This may help.”

“I think that might be my birth mom.” The words left my mouth as slowly as I sat up.

“The lady in the picture?” Will’s voice went so high he nearly squeaked. “The one being raped by the priest?”

“Yes.” I flinched.

“You’ve never seen your birth mother,” Adam said.

“You can’t tell me she doesn’t look exactly like me.”

He stood up and walked back over to the desk, examining the lady in the picture. “Damn.”

“If that woman is my mother it would explain some things.”

“She’s not wrong,” Will agreed.

“What would it explain? That they invited you here to rape you?” Adam’s jaw ticked. “That Dr. Thompson maybe set this up so his own daughter wouldn’t be the one on the receiving end, so he fed you to the wolves instead?”

“I don’t know.” I set the soda down and walked over to the desk to flip through the rest of the pictures. I took my phone out and snapped pictures and sent out a text. “I have to show these to Karen.”

“I thought Karen didn’t know your adoptive mother?”

“She didn’t. Marie facilitated the whole thing.” I raised an eyebrow. “What a coincidence.”

“I’ll tell you what, this is a lot more than I bargained for. I’m here for the connections.” Will sat on the couch, his wide eyes bouncing between Adam and me.

“So am I, but what will that matter if our legacy is tarnished by priests who rape?” Adam asked.

My phone vibrated in my hand and I glanced down to see Karen was calling. I answered quickly.

“Did you get my text?”

“Where did you find that?”

“At . . . it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t she look like someone?”

I bit my lip, glancing back up and meeting Adam’s gaze as I waited for Karen to say she agreed with me. Or not. You never knew with Karen.

“Of course she does. She was your daycare teacher.”

“What?”

“At the parish church. That’s Ms. Penelope.” Karen paused and I could hear someone speaking in the loudspeaker. She was probably calling me from work. “People always used to say you looked more like her daughter than mine, which was obvious with your complexion and features, but I didn’t think much of it.” Karen paused. “Oh my God, do you think that’s her? Your mother? It can’t be, can it?”

“I don’t know. How old would I have been in daycare? Do you have pictures?”

“I’m sure I do. I put you in there at Deborah’s insistence. You must have been four? It was the year Esteban’s health took a turn for the worst.”

I took a seat in the leather chair behind me. “Can you look for pictures when you get home?”

“Sure. Where did you find this? That secret society place?”

“Yes.”

“I think you need to get out of there,” she said.

In the past, I’d taken comfort in Karen’s discomfort. This time, I was crawling with it and I didn’t like it one bit.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Adam

When I received an ominous white envelope with my name on it, I was immediately skeptical. It only deepened when I actually showed up at The Manor and was told I’d be given fifty grand for joining The Swords, but then I heard the stories about how they came to be. How a group of men who met in a lab came together because of their joint interests. Their interests being cadavers, the human body, and how it functioned. They were grave robbers at first, borrowing the freshly buried for the purpose of science. They were making a real difference with their findings. Later, a man bought The Manor and his wife bought the house next door and it became the home of The Eight, our brother society. The secret societies on campus learned early on that if they didn’t stick together, they’d go down. The Skulls went down. There was no anonymity there. The Eight have nearly gone down countless times, including last year, when they were nearly exposed. Somehow, they’d stayed afloat. The Swords were the most secretive of all and I never fully comprehended why until now.

They were cloaked by the monks and priests and possibly the archdioceses. They were swimming in their blood, rotting in their lies and I knew that no amount of handwashing would ever make me feel as though I didn’t have blood on my own hands. Not the kind of blood I’d gotten on my hands when I’d been allowed to cut open a cadaver last year—something only medical students were allowed unless you were a Sword—no, this was the kind of blood I’d never rid myself of. I’d accepted their money, I’d bought into all of their lies, recruited people for them, and sold them the same twisted dreams. It wasn’t the money that attracted people to these societies, though it helped. It was the prestige. It was rubbing shoulders with world leaders and having certain people on speed dial. They weren’t in these societies for what they could get out of them right now. This wasn’t a movie. They weren’t driving around Lambos and partying with rappers. They were in it for the favors they could and would cash in later, for the connections, for the honor. I knew about the monks. I was told by the person who recruited me, just as I’d told Will. The monks were there. The nuns were there. Why they were there or what they were doing was a mystery to me, but I didn’t meddle.

Tags: Claire Contreras Secret Society Romance
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