Page 114 of Cruel Pleasures

“What the fuck do you want?” I bark.

She’s risen off the ottoman and drifted over to an armoire. The doors open to a selection of gowns that she rummages through with half interest. Most damn near identical in color, cut, and style, resembling robes that have been turned into dresses. Though you’d think otherwise the way she pauses every so often in deliberation, humming quietly to herself.

Still, it’s no surprise considering this is who she is.

A delusional, unstable husk of a woman with a fragile grasp on reality.

I should be beyond being agitated by her antics, yet watching her float about the room still draws a reaction out of me. My body temperature climbs, the heat broiling over my skin the more my agitation grows.

“Mother,” I warn. “This is the last time I’m asking.”

“My sweet boy, tonight is a special occasion. Are you excited?” she asks. “The Midnight Games Masquerade commemorates what we have gathered for. It pays tribute to the wonderful club we all devote ourselves to. It’s your father’s favorite part of the festivities.”

“Yet he never shows.”

“The Hostess will make it difficult for the remaining players. The win won’t come easy. They’ll have their work cut out for them. If they want to win, they’re going to have to be willing to get a little messy for it. I imagine the club members will be thoroughly entertained,” she rambles. She’s selected a gown from the armoire, laying it down over the back of a nearby chair. She pauses for a glance up at me, and if possible, her honeyed tone sweetens. “Archer, my boy, you’ll love the festivities more than anyone. You’ll be very, very happy with what we’ve put together just for you.”

She ends on a bright, almost sing-song note that makes me tilt my head to the side.

“I would love it if for once you were straightforward. Whatever fucked up trick you’re planning, you should know if you come for me like you did at our last dinner, I will run a knife through you. Mother or not.”

She laughs. “My sweet boy, I love you so much. Have I told you lately?”

Her syrupy words blend together with the words I’ve heard so often in the past from a colder, crueler voice.

You’re cursed, you foolish waste of life. You’ll be unloved just like me.

I leave her to her delirious hums and flitting about the room. Jerome is waiting outside the door like he’s eavesdropped on every word we exchanged. Timothee had a habit of doing so; I wouldn’t put it past him either.

I’d care if there weren’t more important situations on the horizon.

The masquerade quickly approaches. In a few short hours, the ballroom will be full of Midnight Society members celebrating themselves and their overindulgence over the past two weeks.

A player will emerge as victor and not only win the cash prize but their way off the isle.

In theory anyway.

In the past, I’ve considered the event entertainment like the other members, though for more black comedic reasons than others. I’ve found the spectacle amusing on both accounts, from the grotesque enjoyment the Society members derived to the barbaric lengths the players were willing to go to for the right price.

But these Games have been different.

My perspective has changed from finding humor in the dark to recognizing the real threat that looms.

Imani shifts to the forefront of my mind against my will. I’ve spent the entire day pushing her out of my head to no success. She told me to leave and claimed she wanted no further help. Said the things that had happened between us meant nothing. I had stormed out of her room furious and hot-tempered, vowing to grant her foolish wish.

Let her sink when she couldn’t swim. Let the sharks in the water devour her when they smelled blood.

It wouldn’t be my problem if she got herself into trouble yet again trying to maneuver the Midnight Society circle she’s intruded upon. Our conversations were engaging, and she was intriguing in a way no other woman had ever been. I enjoyed the realness of her, the complexities, and found myself craving her approval. For her to share the obsessive preoccupation I felt for her.

That’s not even getting into how her perfect pussy clenched around my cock, and it felt unbelievably fucking good to fuck her.

But it had to come to an end.

I’ve never been in the business of being a knight in shining armor for damsels, and though Imani claims otherwise, that’s exactly what I’ve been the times I’ve bailed her out of trouble. More times than she probably comprehends. It’s very likely she’d have been dead by now had I not kept such a close eye on her. Had I not made an effort to keep the Hostess and the rest of the council at bay from their true intentions with her.

She’ll learn the hard way, the difficult and painful way, just how grave of a mistake she’s made pushing me away.

“Sorry, minxy,” I mutter once in my room. I’ve buttoned up the shirt to my tuxedo and slid on the volto mask I’ll be wearing. “Don’t cry for me when they come for you. You’re on your own.”