Page 41 of Carved Obsession (The Sanctum Syndicate #4)

Don’t hold back on me, Carter. I want all of you! The good, the bad... the Carver.

You scare me, Scarlet.

He said this to me before, when the guys rescued us, and I still don’t really know what he means.

Why?

You push me to bring forth what I constantly hold at bay.

You’re scared of yourself.

I’m perfectly aware of who I am. But I’m not sure I’ll like that reflection in your eyes.

All of you, Carter. And I promise I’ll give you all of me too.

He doesn’t reply anymore. I check my phone the whole way to Metamorphosis, but to no avail.

As Lee opens the back door for me and helps me climb out of the car, I thank him and head toward the club’s entrance.

The eyes that fall on me as I walk over are impossible to miss, even behind their masks.

I fastened mine inside the car, so no one could see my face, but I have a feeling my face is not where they’re looking.

More and more of them notice me as I go through the usual checks and pass the reception foyer decorated in decadent dark velvet and bathed in a sultry golden light.

Then I climb down the steps into the darkness of Metamorphosis, where one truly becomes either the real version of themselves or someone else entirely. Who will I be after tonight?

I stop close to the bottom of the stairs, looking around for a familiar body or mask, but the club is already busy and the man who should be waiting for me either isn’t or I can’t recognize him.

On anxious steps, I try not to trip on my excessively high heels as I head for an empty space at the end of the bar. At the start of the evening, most seats tend to be taken, everyone still a bit stiff. I don’t blame them. It’s exactly how I’m feeling—riddled with nervous energy.

“A necromancer, please.” I order my go-to cocktail from the bartender and pull out my phone. I shoot a text to Carter, letting him know I’m here.

My drink comes before any reply from him, and I lean against the bar, gaze searching nervously around the club for any trace of the man. I’ve seen his mask before, and I would recognize it now, but no one stands out.

A few people thought I was paying them attention and came to talk to me, so many more than when I usually come in here. This dress is like a fucking beacon, yet it’s not attracting the one man I’m dying to see me in it.

“Hello there.”

“Hello.” I turn to find a familiar white mask covering two-thirds of the man’s face.

We’ve spoken before. Of course, no names were exchanged, but we recognize each other from the masks. I’ve never seen him play, or cared to, for that matter, but he’s been fairly okay company. Polite.

Tonight, though, he sits much closer to my personal space.

“Are you enjoying your night?”

“I’ve only just arrived. You?” I ask, pulling away slightly.

“Much more now. I must say, you look absolutely ravishing tonight.”

“Oh, thanks.” I guess I didn’t all the other nights?

“There’s something different about you.” He touches my arm, fingers sliding a bit too gently down it. “Tell me, what are you looking for tonight?”

“Actually, I’m—”

“Love...” The air shifts as the deep whisper spills into my ear, its warmth brushing over it as he presses against my back.

One word, lost through the sultry music filling this expansive space, yet I know without a shadow of a doubt it’s Carter.

“She’s with me.” He stakes his claim, circling his arm around my waist and forcing the other guy’s hand from my elbow.

The man sighs, pursing his lips. “Next time, make sure she wears a bracelet.” And with that salty comment, he turns and leaves.

I realize I’m clutching the bracelet tightly in my fist, completely forgotten.

“Another punishment on the list for you, kitten? Maybe it will remind you to wear the appropriate bracelet so people know you are taken. ” He emphasizes each syllable of that word as he presses me harder against him.

“I like when other people admire what is mine, but never touch. You understand that, Scarlet? Never touch. Though, when it comes to you, I’m not sure I can even stand their stares. ”

I lean back into him, brushing my hand over his as I drop my head to his shoulder. “What if they touch? What would you want to do to them?”

His lips brush softly against the top of my ear as he whispers in an erotic tone, “Carve their backs open, wrap my hand around their spine, and rip it. Right. The fuck. Out. ”

The moan spilling from my tongue is nothing short of erotic with a disturbing edge. But Carter doesn’t run. Doesn’t recoil. He embraces me tighter, running his free hand over my arm, interlacing his fingers with mine like he’s making sure I won’t run.

I wouldn’t.

No other sane man would accept me.

Not like he seems to.

“Time to finish your drink, kitten.”

Mindlessly, I lift my glass from the bar, sipping slowly until half the drink is gone, burning beautifully down my throat.

He spins me around to face him, then pulls the drink from my hand, swirling it as he smells it.

“Mmm...” He hums deep in his chest, recognition hitting his gaze. It’s filled with a killer, seductive energy as he takes in the scent.

Then the wretched man turns the glass and presses his lips right where my red lipstick stains it, and as I bite my lip, panties getting increasingly damp, he drinks the whole thing.

He places the glass on the bar as he takes a step back, his gaze falling down to my feet. It trails up my body, leaving raw goosebumps in its wake. My nipples uncomfortably graze the lace as they peak. By the time his eyes find mine again, I’m panting, flushed, and embarrassingly wet.

This man . . .

His chest rises and falls on heavy, labored breaths, but his gaze is the loudest. In his cold, murderous eyes, a creature lurks. Primal and feral as it surfaces just enough to glimpse its hunger. And it’s looking right at me.

I don’t need his words of appreciation. The way he looks at me in this outfit he picked tells me all I need to know.

He closes the distance between us, reaching up and brushing a thumb over my parted lips. “Ready?”

I lick my bottom lip, hoping to still get a taste of him. Disappointingly, there’s nothing.

“I’m just going to run to the ladies’ room.”

I need a fucking minute to recover from his intensity, otherwise I’ll turn into a puddle and disintegrate the moment I step into that playroom.

He nods and I all but run to the bathroom.

I take a moment on the toilet, doing some breathing exercises to manage this nervous energy riddling me.

I’m not sure if they work, but at least I can think a little straighter.

When I look into the mirror, the woman staring back at me is almost unrecognizable.

Wanton need painted all over her flushed cheeks. But nervousness still coats her gaze.

I’ve never done this before. Never stepped foot in a playroom. Never engaged sexually with anyone here. Or in public. Ever.

You can do this, Scar.

I take one deep breath as I fix my lipstick, then walk out of the bathroom, heading straight to the bar.

What the fuck?

Standing in front of Carter, far too close for comfort, is a blonde woman.

She sensually brushes her hand up and down his bicep, body language screaming, Fuck my brains out !

Though, her black latex teddy and thigh-high boots would have been enough.

His hands may be shoved in his trouser pockets, but his white shirtsleeves are rolled up on his forearms, meaning his “taken” bracelet is clear as fucking day.

Who is this bitch?

But as she turns her head to the side, giggling in an attempt to look even sexier, I recognize her. I’ve seen her with Carter. Here. Playing.

My teeth grit together, fists tightening as I watch her drag that wandering hand up his shoulder. The moment it reaches skin, I catch him recoiling and grabbing her wrist.

“Oh no you fucking don’t,” I seethe.

I’m maybe twenty feet away, but it takes no time to close the distance, swipe the cocktail umbrella out of someone’s drink, and stick it straight in the bitch’s throat.

“You have five seconds to get your hand off of him, or I’ll slice it off your arm and slap you to death with it,” I say.

She stills, but I push the umbrella’s stick just a little. I don’t care if I pierce her skin. She’s lucky I’m not sticking it straight in her fucking jugular and painting this whole bar in her blood.

Blondie yelps and steps away, touching her throat as she turns to me with a scared yet disgusted expression. “You’re fucking crazy!”

I step right into Carter’s space but keep my gaze trained on her as a devious grin pulls on my lips.

“Certifiably insane,” I agree, to her utter horror.

“You deserve better, Carter.” She composes herself, expression turning smug as she purses her lips.

When I make to go for her again, she jumps and quickly turns on her heels, disappearing through the crowd.

I turn to Carter, who watches me with subdued amusement, one sinfully cocked eyebrow threatening to melt me right here, right now.

“I’ll kill the next one,” I say. “Rip her heart out and display it on your bookshelf in formaldehyde.”

I turn, a grin pulling at my cheeks, and walk toward our booked playroom, Carter right on my heels.