“Take it off, please,” he says, and then he turns the page again.

I’m having trouble looking back down at the torn journal pages. One, because it’s a bit heartbreaking to read. Two, because I’m maybe, sort of, just a little bit, freaked out by this cult idea. And three, because Ranger is throwing his apron aside and stripping right there in the middle of the kitchen.

Micah sneaks over and double-checks to make sure the door is locked before he rejoins us.

We have three pages left, three pages that Ranger’s already seen, that are freaking him all the way out. I have to keep reading.

They only have two new recruits this year. Sometimes there are more. Sometimes there are none. But there’s always an initiation.

There’s always a bit of blood.

Dad knows. He’s one of them. And I know the things he did.

I’ve been using the key to follow them around the tunnels. They speak freely down there about their blessings, their privileges, and the sacrifices they’re more than happy to make to keep them. The Fellowship of the Divine is a cult, an old one, with origins tied back to the Catholic church.

And they scare me.

No, no, they terrify me.

The more I learn, the less I wish I knew.

My name comes up more often than I’d like it to.

Next page.

I’m honestly not surprised to see a drawing of the fox masks that Spencer and I spied in the woods.

Dear Diary, I wish I could tell you that I understood. But I don’t. Sometimes people do things that make little sense to the rest of us. Sometimes the people we love betray us. It happens, and there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.

Today, I move my things into the girls’ dorm.

On Sunday, when Jack comes back, I’m leaving. I’d go sooner, but I can’t very well send for a car, now can I? Because he’ll know.

And he’ll never let me go.

Neither of them will.

They said to each other, “Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that plunder the vineyards; for our vineyards are in blossom.”

Deep breath. I look up and catch Micah’s moss green eyes across the drawing as Church slowly switches to the last page. Jenica was such an interesting person, and she carried a lot of hurt. Reading these pages is killing me.

“Too bad she couldn’t have been a little more direct,” he says, and Ranger makes a growling sound that draws our collective attention … straight over to his cock. It’s not erect currently, which is probably a good thing for me, but is he butt naked, and his muscles are, like, chiseled by the gods.

“Wipe the drool off,” Tobias whispers, reaching up to dab at the corner of my mouth with the end of his blazer sleeve. I slap him away as Ranger swings a white apron with ruffles and an adorable lemon pattern over his neck. He turns, flashing that tight ass of his to the rest of us.

“Chuck, if you wouldn’t mind …” he grinds out, as I blink in surprise at his glorious backside.

“I’m not touching your balls,” I choke back, gesturing at the other boys. “Especially not in front of them.”

“Oh god, Chuck-let,” Spencer groans, running a hand down his face. Church and the twins just smile as my face turns a brilliant ruby red. “He wants you to tie his apron, my sweet little micropenis.”

“But it’s nice that you’re thinking about my balls,” Ranger deadpans, looking over his shoulder at me, eyes dark.

“I wasn’t though,” I murmur, even though my protests are a lost cause and I’ve already made a total ball sack … I mean ass out of myself. Carefully, so as not to touch his scorching skin, I start to tie the apron strings into a floppy bow. Ranger grabs my hands and pulls them around his waist, pressing my palms over the front of the apron. I can feel the hardness of his abs beneath it as I try to relax against his mostly bare back. His skin smells like leather and sugar, and he’s so goddamn warm.

“Just … stay there for a minute,” he says, and I close my eyes, pressing my cheek into his skin and trying not to pass out from the dizzying gallop of my heart. My first day attending Adamson as a girl, my first time hugging Ranger Woodruff in the nude. Oh, and cults. Don’t forget about the cult. What a day.

“I’ll read the last page aloud then,” Church says, exhaling like he’s already glanced down at the page and knows what’s coming. “I’m meeting Jack at the angel statues, that glorious spot where Lionel and I had our first time.”

Ranger makes a choking sound, but doesn't stop stirring the filling for the pie.

“I’m going to ask Lionel to run with me; I don't know if he’ll come. He's a good man, but a skittish one. A kind heart does not a warrior make. If he doesn't, that's okay; I’m not sure the Fellowship is aware he’s been watching, too. I just want him to be safe. I just want to make it out of here. I just want to live.”

Church stops reading, but when I move to step away from Ranger, he won't let me go. He presses one of his hands against my palms, keeping me still, keeping me pressed against him.

“You know what this means, right?” Ranger asks, the sound of his deep, angry voice rumbling through his body and into mine. If I'd been confused before about, what, exactly, our relationship was supposed to be, well, then, this clarifies a lot. I squeeze him a little tighter.

“It means we still don't know shit?” Spencer questions, and I hear the old pages rustle as, presumably, he takes them to look at. “So, we're supposed to believe there's a cult on this campus, preying on students?”

“It's fucking ridiculous,” Ranger says, but when he finally lets go of me, and I peek around to get a look at his face, I can see that he's buried deep in his own thoughts. “But why would Jenica lie in her own journal? It was for her eyes only. There's nothing but harsh truths and sad realities in there.” Ranger removes the boiling mixture from the hot burner, scooting it over to a cool one and putting the whisk in my hand, hot fingers caressing my skin as his eyes make startling contact with mine, sending a sharp thrill from my head down to my toes. “Keep stirring, don't let it burn.” He switches over to a glass bowl with the egg whites in it, whipping them with strong, hard beats of his arms. He doesn't even bother to grab an electric mixture. I appreciate the dedication—and the view. “Did you see her mention my dad?” More whipping, the clink, clink, clink of the whisk against the side of the glass bowl speeding up in both intensity and volume. “That piece of shit.”

“Your father was involved, clearly,” Church begins, moving around to the opposite side of the island, so he can look at his best friend. His face is cold and dark, that seriousness that used to scare me so much rising to the surface. After meeting his family, though, it all makes a lot more sense. They're ruthless in business, ruthless in protecting the ones they love, but they're not evil or psychopathic or anything else. My heart thumps hard and I look back down at the bubbling yellow mixture in the saucepan. “So, what do you want to do?”

Ranger starts gradually adding sugar to the egg whites, turning the mixture into a peaked foam that'll sit pretty on top of the pie when it's done. The oven dings, and I scramble to slip on a pair of oven mitts in the shape of pink bear paws, flinging it open and removing the pastry shell Ranger started before it gets burned. Carefully, I pour the pie mixture into the shell, and Ranger steps close to spread the meringue across the top.