Page 23 of Nyx

"I was told by Victoria Erwin that my interview for a position at the women's shelter would take place here," I explain when he doesn't say more.

"Correct," he says. "I just have to check your vehicle."

"My—," I begin, but my minimal knowledge of their group makes me change my direction. "Sounds good."

The man whistles, and in seconds, a dog runs out of the guard shack, making its way around the car.

"Pop the trunk," he instructs, and I immediately press the button, hating that when it opens, I can no longer see him as he disappears behind my car.

I fight the urge to nibble on my fingernails, a habit I struggled to break as a child when I got nervous, which popped back up once Graham's trial started.

"What's in the bag?" the guy asks.

I falter in giving him the full information.

"A change of clothes, some personal hygiene items," I explain, hoping it's enough information for him not to grill me further.

I have bags ready at home as well, in case I have to go in a hurry. It only made sense to me to have one in the car in case I had to flee and wouldn't have the chance to return to my apartment. It's not the most convenient, considering all of my extra cash has to be split in three different locations, but it's the best I can do.

"I'm going to let Teddy jump up there and have a sniff," the guy tells me, and I feel the car move under the weight of the dog before I can answer. It's not like the guy asked if it was okay.

The car shifts again, and I catch Teddy heading back to the guard shack out of the corner of my eye before the guy comes back into view.

"You're good to go," he says. "Head in. You'll see the clubhouse about a mile up on the right side of the road. Turn into the parking lot. Don't go any further."

There's a warning in his voice, a hint that if I go too far, I won't like the outcome.

I fight the urge to turn around right now and begin my search for a job all over again, but the limited knowledge I have of this group makes me dip my head in understanding.

"Thank you," I tell him. "Have a good day."

The gate starts to open, controlled by him somehow, or by a second person in the guard shack.

I regret not asking his name, although there's a very real chance he wouldn't have provided it, as I pull my car forward.

The gate closes me in, making my anxiety skyrocket with the fear that I'm trapped unless they decide it's okay for me to leave.

The drive is slow, my foot on the gas pedal trembling as I make my way to the clubhouse. The clubhouse is obvious—a massive building sitting among several clusters of homes, some directly across the street, others being built a little further in, and a small group of homes behind it. There's no signage, nothing posted to declare it the clubhouse, but instinctively, I know this is where I'm meant to go.

I turn into the parking lot, the gravel crunching under my tires, and park beside the extensive row of black SUVs, hesitating only a second before climbing out of my car, unsure what would happen if I hesitate too long and someone thinks I'm up to no good.

I make my way to the steps leading to the front door of the building, my eyes scanning every inch I can see without turning my body to look around. It's second nature to me at this point.

The front door opens, and a smiling woman steps out.

"Juliet?" she asks.

"That's me," I tell her.

"Emmalyn," she says, offering her hand.

I take it and shake as soon as I'm within range.

"Welcome," she says as she releases my hand and steps back inside. "Have a seat."

She waves her arm toward a sofa along the front wall of the massive room.

"Thank you," I tell her as I take a seat and look around.