Page 11

“Oh, please. It wasn’t that bad.” The fuck it was. This is abuse. When James humiliated me, it was hot. This is pure evil. “Look at her. The skin isn’t even red.”

“We don’t hit them.” James’s command is final. He’s furious. “Back away.”

Topher rolls his eyes.

“Fuck you.” I don’t make the mistake of spitting on him too. I’ll throw up if he licks my saliva.

“I wish.”

“Topher, last warning.”

I almost throw up for real when his leering eyes take in my nakedness. Even though James is there, growling low and feral, I’m not safe. I’ll never be around these people.

Despite the fear, I steel myself. I won’t flinch like I want to. Won’t show them I’m scared.

I will show him that I’m pissed off, though. I’ve been waiting for him to look at me like this for six fucking months.

He doesn’t get to do this now. Stare at me as though he wishes he could devour every inch of my body.

Not now when I feel absolutely nothing for him.

My hands clench into fists. My teeth are bare. “Go to hell.”

“You know, Ophelia.” With one last growl from James, Topher releases me.

He tugs on the lapels of his black tux that matches his dad’s.

“When you told me about all those times you had to fight back when you were in foster care, I never believed you. Thought you were overselling it. Guess you were telling the truth.”

James strides to his side, his gait confident. Nothing in his expression or demeanor suggests that we were intimate in any way last night.

“Why would I want to oversell my shitty life, asshole?” I won’t raise my voice.

Won’t let him think he’s gotten to me. He hasn’t.

“Only thing I tried to do is get you to open up too. To talk to me instead of staring for hours. But no. You gave me nothing. You are nothing, you boring motherfucker. Why I ever asked you to put your miserable dick in me is beyond me.”

He lifts his hand again.

James is quick to grab his wrist.

“I said”—he stares his son down—“we don’t hit them.”

The underlying threat is palpable.

“Fine, fine.” Topher shrugs him off, his hand pressing to my thigh. Pulling it aside. “She’s not getting out of this without a punishment, though.”

James’s glare is aimed at his son’s free hand as it slides up my body. Topher grabs my waist, and a thunderstorm flashes over James’s face.

“Let her go.” He doesn’t wait for Topher to obey, grasping his other wrist and forcing his hand off me. His fingertips graze my skin. It’s an effort to silence the moan in my throat. “You’ll leave marks.”

He sounds as detached and impersonal as he was last night. His gaze though, is on fire. When he blinks, the flames are gone.

James releases him, staying close.

Topher laughs. “There are punishments that won’t leave marks.”

The nerve of him. “I’m being auctioned against my fucking will.” I dart my furious glare between the two men. “Isn’t that punishment enough?”

“Being sacrificed as part of our tradition isn’t a punishment.” God, I would pay anything to kick my ex in the balls. Not even twice. Once. That’s it. “Humiliating you is.”

Humiliation.

Heat flares like wildfire from my chest to my neck to my cheeks.

Last night was more humiliating than anything Topher might have in store for me. I was James’s plaything. I came on his fingers. I longed for his touch.

I shouldn’t take more. I can’t take more of this.

No more body betrayal or begging the wrong man for the freedom he’ll never grant me.

Then again…maybe I’m not in a weak position after all.

I could use it against them.

My eyes snap to James. I could rat him out to Topher. Tell his son how, while he was sound asleep in his bed, his dad was with me in the cell. Defiling me. Touching me. Tucking me in.

Topher has no love for me, but this will definitely be a blow to his inflated ego.

They might fight and?—

A subtle, swift shake of James’s head stops me in my tracks.

There’s a worse threat than Topher’s promise to punish me in his eyes.

He’ll kill me if I say anything. He won’t do it slowly, either.

He makes me feel like a child. He makes me feel hot all over.

By hinting that he might kill me.

What the fuck.

“Just get it over with.” I sigh, turning my gaze to Topher. It hurts less to focus on him. “Whatever it is, do it already and go away.”

Heels clink across the room, and Clara appears behind the two men.

“Here, Poppy.” She lowers a plastic container overflowing with cleaning supplies at her side. The silver bowl with the hot wax is placed on the table. Once she’s done, her attention is on the two men staring at me. “The wax is ready. I’ve got it from here.”

“We’ve got it.” Topher smirks, and I shiver.

Surely, he’s not planning on waxing me himself. He probably hasn’t done it in his life. There’ll be bruises on my skin. It’ll hurt so bad.

“Excuse me, Mr. Hawthorne?” This is the first sign of confusion on Clara’s face. She tugs at the collar of her uniform. “That was an accident before. I assure you it won’t happen again.”

“I know it won’t.” He smirks at me. “We’re staying here as observers. Once my sacrifice’s pussy is spotless, we’ll leave.”

He wasn’t messing around. He’s planning on humiliating me, almost as much as James had. And this time, I won’t get off on it.

The air in the room crackles. No one speaks for the longest moment. I won’t let them see they scare me. I’ll die before I do.

Topher hasn’t won. Neither of these pricks have. The monster who’ll buy me won’t, either. They can humiliate me, demean me, make me wet despite myself.

They won’t break me.

Topher quirks an eyebrow. I flip him off.

James is silent.

“All right, girls.” Clara’s voice lacks the confidence from before. It cracks, just a tiny bit. Her hand squeezes my shoulder briefly. “Let’s get to it.”

I suck in a deep breath. Go deep inside my head, digging up memories of my colleagues. My parents. The good foster homes that had taken me in. The nights I slept in a decent bed. The mornings when I had eggs and bacon for breakfast instead of someone screaming in my face.

Trying to, anyway.

Familiar faces and homey scents are there and gone.

In their place, a dark entity slips in. Icy eyes. Deft fingers.

Come all over my hand.

Black. Black. Black.

Better to think about nothing at all than have my pussy dripping in front of these people.

This cult.

“There you go, Miss Monroe.” Poppy is gentle when she pulls my other leg aside.

“Mr. Hawthorne,” Clara urges. “You really don’t have to be here.”

“Dad can go if he’s uncomfortable. I’m good exactly where I am.”

“Shut up and let them do their job.” James isn’t as composed as he’d like the room to believe. The muscles in his neck bulge. His nostrils flare. “There won’t be any more of this disrespect, do you hear?”

“Jesus, chill.” Topher laughs, and it’s a cruel one. Worse than before.

We’ll see who has the last laugh when I come back to murder you. All of you.

Both men cross their arms over their broad chests. The first swipe of hot wax is smeared on my pussy, and I gnash my teeth. Silence every possible reaction to the pain.

I’m being treated like I’m…I’m…

Nothing.

Fuck them.

My eyes are locked on their faces. Though they stare at the spot between my legs, I face them head-on. I won’t cower. Won’t show fear.

If they humiliate me, it’s only because I choose to be humiliated.

And I don’t. I will not be humiliated ever again by either of the Hawthorne men.

“It will only hurt a little,” Maisie whispers, her voice small.

Being waxed hurts a whole fucking lot. But I don’t tell her that. I keep any hint of pain away from my expression at the first and second tearing sensations that ripple through me.

At the third, James is no longer fixated on my pussy and spread legs. His eyes are on my face, and it’s terrifying. His irises are black. Gone is the blue. The sliver of compassion and heat.

His gaze reminds me of the dead of night. The darkest hour. The moment my parents were lowered to the ground.

That kind of black.

James has forgotten my pussy exists, it seems like.

He dips his chin, burrowing his gaze into my head.

Fuck his darkness. Fuck his silent reassurances.

Fuck his intense glare.

I’m not falling for it.

We mean nothing to each other.

Nothing.

I focus on controlling my breaths. On masking the pain with a brave, probably psychotic grin.

“I’m fine.” I seethe when in reality I’m sensitive, and damn it, it stings. “Really fucking fine.”

Topher chuckles at the sight of my reddened skin at the fourth pull.

James twists to face him. “Get out.”

“Dad, I?—”

“You’ve been warned. Get out. Go back upstairs.” I don’t think he notices that his fingers press to my shoulder. That he’s applying so much pressure that he pushes me to the bed. I loathe the small comfort it lends me. “I’ll handle her punishment from here.”

“Fuck. Fine.” Topher’s smirk is derisive, but at last, he leaves.

I won’t thank James for this. I won’t. He didn’t do this for me, this monster. I’m sure of it.

I stare at him with all the hate I can muster. He takes it, his eyes never leaving mine.

Fuck you , I say in my head.

I can almost hear his response. I could do that and so much worse.

Moments pass, then?—

“We’re done here.” His eyes close for the briefest moment, and then he returns to his old self. Back straight. Shoulders squared. He talks to Clara over my head. “Finish waxing her whole body. Wash her. She needs to be presentable.”

They say, “Yes, Mr. Hawthorne,” as he leaves the room.

Fuck you, Mr. Hawthorne .

I’ve been so foolish for letting myself fall for him last night. So stupid for believing he might save me.

Fuck you very much .