Page 96

NINETY-SIX

AMETHYST

I collapse against Xero, my body still spasming from the aftershocks of a powerful orgasm. Bliss courses through my veins, leaving me panting and weak against his broad chest.

His thick cock is still buried deep within my pussy, swollen with unreleased tension. Somehow he remained in control, while I lost myself to pleasure.

The ringing in my ears quiets, letting me catch the tail end of the applause. My eyes wander around the club again, meeting the gazes of the onlookers. There have to be at least eighty sets of eyes trained on us, and some of the male observers are touching themselves beneath their clothes.

Xero’s hand is still cradled around my pussy, his fingers tracing lazy circles over my clit. It’s the only thing separating me from the men’s searching gazes.

Now that the euphoria has faded, I wait for a rush of embarrassment or regret, but my chest inflates with triumph. Triumph over the recluse who sleepwalked away the past six years, and triumph over the part of my brain that generated hallucinations every time I attempted intimacy with a man. I had sex with Xero in front of an entire nightclub and my brain never once glitched.

I squirm on his lap, painfully aware that he’s still hard. “Aren’t you going to come? ”

He nibbles on my ear, igniting sparks of pleasure across my sensitive skin. “That depends on you.”

“What do you mean?” I ask over the sound of the music.

“Do you want to see yourself getting fucked from every angle?”

My breath quickens at the prospect of another round of sex, and I turn to meet his pale eyes. “How?”

“Do you remember those screens at the bar?”

“Of course. Is that where we’re going next?”

Nodding, Xero motions to the bald man from earlier to approach. By now, the crowd has already turned around to watch the next spectacle, but a few patrons linger to see what will happen next.

Eyes brightening, the man places his tray on the platform, then scrambles up and falls to his knees.

My chest tightens with a pang of jealousy, even though the feeling is ridiculous. Xero chose me out of hundreds, if not thousands, of people. He went to extensive lengths to win my heart, yet there’s a part of me that will always feel possessive. That doesn’t stop me from gripping his thigh to signal that he’s off-limits.

“Would you like me to pour your Armagnac, sir?” the man asks, his head bowed.

“What’s your name?” Xero asks.

He peers up at Xero through his lashes. “Scroggins, sir. May I have yours?”

“You may call me Master Nero,” Xero says. “Bring the bottle to the screen room. We’ll drink it later.”

Holding my breath, I wait for Scroggins to mutter a bunch of excuses about why we can’t access a members-only area, but he simply bows low before saying, “Please, come with me.”

Minutes later, we’re following Scroggins out of the crowded ballroom and through a winding set of corridors. I cling to Xero’s arm, my heart pounding hard enough to muffle the fading music. If this is an ambush, then Xero’s backup is far away because we’ve left Jynxson and the others behind on the dance floor.

Xero wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me close. The gesture is reassuring, but it’s a chilling reminder that this is no ordinary club night. Xero already explained that the man behind the Ministry of Mayhem is also loosely connected to X-Cite Media.

My fingers drift to one of the stiletto daggers we attached to my corset. I hope to all that’s holy I don’t have to stab my way to freedom.

We reach a fire exit and step out into a courtyard of vehicles, and my gaze wanders to a forty-foot-long tour bus.

“The screen room is outside?” Xero asks.

It’s an obvious question, but I know he’s communicating to whoever’s listening on the other side of his earpiece.

“Yes, sir,” Scroggins replies, still holding the tray. “The Ministry of Mayhem is a mobile establishment that operates out of multiple locations. Something to consider if you’d like to apply for membership.”

I hold back a smirk. Of course, Xero would get invited to become a member. Men don’t get more dominant than him.

Music pounds through the tour bus, which Scroggins leads us past. He doesn’t comment on the activity inside, but I’d bet everything I own that this is where Nocturne entertains his members.

He stops outside a dented trailer connected to a silver Land Rover. It’s a shiny capsule on wheels with reflective surfaces that gleam under the moonlight.

“This is the screen room.” Scroggins opens the door, revealing a small control area with panels of switches, buttons, and monitors. My jaw drops. It’s the kind of high-tech surveillance system I’d expect to find in a secret military operation, not in a fetish club.

“Nice Airstream,” Xero says. “Who designed this setup?”

“Our leader, Mr. Nocturne, is an amateur filmmaker,” Scroggins replies with a touch of pride. “The screen room uses cutting-edge surveillance technology.”

We follow him inside the trailer, finding the rest of it empty. Every surface, from the walls and floors to the ceiling, is covered in screens. In between them are heavy duty plates and hooks, which I assume are there to hold all the equipment in place. I turn in a circle, finding my movements mirrored in real time .

“Why don’t the screens record the others?” I ask. “I thought this would be like a hall of mirrors.”

“The members found it disorienting from all angles, so we incorporated green screen technology to filter out the feeds from the surrounding images.”

My skin tingles with the sensation of being watched.

“Are we being broadcasted right now?”

“Only if you provide your written consent.” Scroggins sets down the tray on a single table, the only piece of furniture in the room that isn’t a control panel or a monitor.

“What happens to the footage?” Xero asks.

They have a technical discussion that includes terms like multi-camera capture arrays, real-time video encoding, AI-driven content processing, and dual-stream broadcasting capabilities, but I’m hypnotized by my reflections.

I can’t even explain if it’s my newfound confidence or Xero’s presence, but for the first time since I can remember, I’m no longer terrified of what I see.

At the tail end of the conversation, Xero and Scroggins make adjustments to the control panel so it doesn’t broadcast our images to the club. He explains that the AI will select the best angles and download the edited footage to a hard drive we’ll take home as a souvenir.

My heart pounds so hard its vibrations reach my clit. I can’t believe I’ve gone from being horrified about being recorded, to having sex with Xero in the graveyard, to performing on camera. Maybe the difference is consent. Besides, even if this footage was leaked, it wouldn’t hurt so much because I don’t plan on removing my mask.

Scroggins dips his head. “If you and your lady would like some assistance, it would be my pleasure and honor to serve.”

I glance down to find an erection bulging through his leather pants and wonder which of us the bald man wants to serve first.

Xero sneers. “You haven’t yet earned the privilege. When we’ve finished in the screen room, I want to speak to Nocturne about membership.”

“Yes, sir,” Scroggins says with a deep bow.

Xero follows him out toward the exit, where Scroggins shows him how to pull down a panel of screens to conceal the control area. A moment later, it flares to life, reflecting my form.

I stand in the middle of what’s now a seamless rectangular prism, my gaze wandering around the screens. For the first time since I can remember, I don’t find any part of my reflection jarring.

After exchanging a few hushed words with Xero, Scroggins exits. The door clicks shut, and his footsteps retreat, leaving only the faint hum of the technology.

My heart thuds with anticipation of what’s to come, each beat resounding through my ears with a dull echo. The thrill of all those cameras watching me from every angle as Xero takes me sets off a cascade of rioting butterflies.

They flutter in my chest, tickle the lining of my stomach, and find their way down to my clit. I can’t help but wonder if Nocturne and his underlings are watching us from the tour bus, debating whether we should be invited to become members.

Xero emerges from behind the screen, looking like a completely different man in the artificial light. His pale irises are a stark contrast to his blackened hair and leather mask, giving him an air of extra menace.

In his hands is a length of rope coiled into loops. My senses go on red alert that this experience will form part of my training. If I fail to put up a decent fight, then I can kiss goodbye any further orgasms.

I step back as he prowls toward me with predatory eyes, his gaze traveling down my form. Every prey instinct screams at me to run, but I’m trapped. My darker instincts want to stay and see what Xero will do next.

“You know I love you, right?” he asks.

“What’s this about?” I ask back, my voice breathy with excitement.

“Answer my question,” he snarls.

“Yes.”

“And you know I swore to protect you?”

I give him a shaky nod.

“Good, because I’m going to wreck you with my cock.” His lips curl into a wide grin that makes the rest of his features sinister, especially with both profiles reflected on the screens.

My breath catches as he draws closer, and I clench my fists tight to both sides. His gaze drops to my hands, and his eyes dance with a mix of malice and mirth.

“You going to fight me, little ghost?” he taunts.

“I can’t flee, I won’t freeze, and I sure as hell won’t fawn.”

With a dark chuckle, he pulls the rope taut. “Good girl. Now, fight. If you last sixty seconds, you get to come.”

“And if I win?” I raise my fists.

He smirks again, his eyes darkening. “You won’t.”

Xero says that with so much confidence that my spine shivers. Forcing myself not to back down, I raise my brows and meet his heated gaze. “If I win, then I get to lead you around the club on a leash.”

“That won’t happen.”

I make a preemptive strike to his throat. Xero catches it with an iron grip, but I yank down my arm. As he jerks forward, I use his momentum to drive a knee into his stomach.

“Nice move, little ghost.” He takes hold of my knee, shoves me onto my back and pins my wrists above my head, his weight pressing me into the warm screens. “But you’re exactly where I want you.”

Oh, shit. The first time Xero showed me this move, I was punished for wasting too much energy trying to free my arms. We only practiced countering this hold twice, but I’m sure I’ve grasped the basics.

Xero reaches down with his free hand and unhooks the front fastenings of my corset. It springs open and drops to the floor, releasing the pressure on my ribs.

“Thanks,” I say, finally able to fill my lungs.

He reaches down, his fingers closing in around a nipple, and squeezes it so tightly that I gasp. Sensation shoots straight to my clit, and the muscles of my pussy pulse.

“Twenty-five seconds. I can’t wait to have you crying for mercy.”

“Nice try, asshole.” Shifting my weight to my heels, I raise my hips, knocking off his center of gravity .

He lurches head-first toward a screen and releases my wrists to avoid face planting. Seizing the opening, I cling onto his torso and flip us both to the side.

“Ten,” he says with a manic laugh.

I launch a fist into his gut, which earns me a satisfying grunt, so I knee him in the balls.

Xero curls into himself and groans. “Low blow, little ghost.”

Scrambling to my feet, I pick up my corset and extract one of the stiletto daggers. “Three...two...one. Now, you owe me an orgasm.”