Page 24 of Not Her Day to Die (Star-Crossed #2)

I t isn’t long after William leaves that a guard enters.

“Let’s go, it’s time for the show.” The guard drops a loose plastic necklace around me.

A microphone?

Except no noise comes out… is it not on yet?

Attempting to appear distraught, I play my part in the trauma that William was expected to have put me through.

It isn’t hard.

At this point, it could be three in the morning. Or later. Or even earlier.

I wouldn’t have the slightest notion at this point.

Outside of the room, the only source of light is a flickering fluorescent light.

It casts my skin in an eerie glow and shines through the purple strands that protrude from my chest. As we walk in the direction of one, we pass another door that is slightly ajar, bright lights coming from inside drawing my attention.

Before I can take a closer look, I am shoved further down the dimmed concrete hallway.

The loud whirring is ever present. At the end of the corridor he pushes me through a doorway.

I’m not sure what I expect on the other side.

But it is similar to walking out on a circular stage.

A stage with a leather bench, cuffs on both ends and a large wooden X with more restraints at the tops and bottoms. There’s a table filled with toys; floggers, whips, and paddles .

A single bed rests in the center of the stage.

My arms fold across my chest, and I attempt not to shiver.

Before I can investigate further, a bright blinding light focuses on me, but through it, I follow the purple strand.

The one I now recognize as Darius’s. They all shine in distinct degrees, pulsate in different ways, and I have slowly adjusted to the fact that they each represent one of the brothers.

Except the fourth.

Before, it had overlapped with Darius and I hadn’t realized it, but now his strand is thinner, dimmer, slower.

“Sunday.” Darius steps into my reach, he is clothed only in a pair of silky boxers. His chest and corded muscles on full display. A microphone around his neck. His sturdy hands find their way to my shoulders. “Do you understand what this is?”

I don’t. Not exactly. But I can guess.

We are half naked on a stage after his father mentioned bidders.

In a room called The Play House.

“We’re going to have to give them a performance.” As much as I hate every second of this, of the sound of people surrounding us, the knowledge that we are about to be forced together in a way neither of us deserve.

I am grateful it’s Darius. And not anyone else. Not even Grayson or Axel.

I love each of the brothers equally, but Darius is the gentlest. The most careful.

I know that he will do his best not to hurt me. To make this as manageable as he possibly can.

“Sunday?”

I realize I am so wrapped up in my thoughts I haven’t answered him. “We’re going to have sex,” I say.

“Was Tripp the last– ”

I shake my head, cutting him off.

“Axel.” His lips curl in knowing humor. “Of course it was him. He always pushes you to your limits.”

“I initiated it,” I admit.

Darius shrugs, as if this were the most casual conversation in the world and we weren’t literally being watched by what sounds like hundreds of onlookers.

“Welcome ladies and gents to tonight’s performance in The Play House!

Your bids have been cast and you have secured these marvelous seats.

This show will be a bit different. While we will still direct the parties by popular demand, there will not be any visible injuries to be left behind.

This is my son and his future wife, after all.

Let’s have fun with it. Once the votes are cast, we will turn their microphones on so that you can be a part of the experience,” Sterling’s voice echoes around us, amplified by speakers.

I don’t bother trying to find him, still blinded by the lights.

Future wife? I mouth.

Darius inclines his head, reaching out and gently squeezing my shoulder.

How twisted is it to make your son fuck a woman for sport? Except it was still somehow not even near the top of the evil Sterling has committed.

With the bright spotlight still on us, I can’t make out anyone in the audience. Only Darius.

I hope it stays on.

“If this is your first time, welcome to The Play House!

You'll see the screen in front of you with different scenarios.

Please choose which one you'd like to see first, this is a democracy after all.

If you've been here before, you know the drill. Now cast your votes for the first scenario. Will he be fucking her bare or should we have my son wrap up for this affair? Can never be too careful after all. ”

There is jeering and shouting in the crowd as Darius and I lamely stand on the stage.

“This is so fucked up,” I whisper. “Think of all the people forced onto this stage.”

And it is. I am standing in the ghosts of hundreds, if not thousands, of traumatic events. It saps into the air, and I swallow thickly around it.

Gulp down the past and future suffering.

Could we have saved them before now? Could we have prevented this?

“I know,” Darius growls.

“We have to stop this, Darius. You understand that, don’t you? No matter what.” And I mean it. My brother and Tripp died because of this town, because of this evil.

Not to mention the other victims.

Julia. Tiffany. Luna.

Carrie .

Because now that I know what Maxwell truly is, I know that she is down here somewhere. And if she isn’t yet, she will be soon.

Fending off the inevitable.

“No matter what,” he agrees.

“Your votes are cast. It appears you want me to become a grandpa! No protection it is. Now some of us prefer to watch, but others prefer to direct. What will it be? Will we let my son fuck her how he wants the first go round?” There’s booing in the crowd.

“But then you all get to pick how he does the second round?” The boos are replaced with disgusting cheers.

“No votes needed! Darius, you heard them! Give us a show!”

Even I can hear the threat in Sterling’s voice. Broken through the speaker and echoing around us, but it is like he is standing right before us, as if he is physically pushing us together.

“Are you ready?” I ask .

“No,” Darius responds. “Sunday this is…” He bends forward. “This is my first time. Ever . I don’t want to hurt you. I know this is stupid fucking anxiety, but what if I’m awful? Please don’t hate me. I couldn’t live with myself.”

The realization slices through me.

Darius is a virgin.

A wave of sadness pulsates through me. My hands reach up, cupping Darius’s face. “I won’t hate you,” I promise. “Do what you need to do.”

I am determined to block out the crowd. To pretend Darius and I exist in a bubble. I will not pay attention to the background jeering. To the bed in the center of the stage.

Darius breathes against my lips, his arms wrapping around me protectively. “Sunday, this round, they’re going to let me take care of you. But the next? However many more they make us go through? I might have to hurt you, to do things you aren’t comfortable with.”

“I understand.” And I do. As long as it is Darius and not anyone else, everything will be okay. We’ll make it through this.

“Let’s set the mood for them!” Sterling exclaims. “And turn on their mics!”

The light that had been so blinding before dims, but thankfully the onlookers are in complete darkness too.

But I still know that they’re there.

Will they simply watch us? Will they play out their own sick fantasies in the crowd?

Squashing the thought and ignoring them, I lift up on my toes and press my lips against Darius’s to press physically into him that this is okay. That I am here in this moment with him. That we will make it through this. Together .

Familiarity, comfort, warmth. It is as if my heart is suturing itself, as if he is a bucket that I am desperately pouring all of myself into.

He opens, his tongue coming out to tangle with mine.

The cool metal of his piercing is present as he loses himself to this moment. It is a reminder of who he is, of our connection. His hands come up, one catches in my hair, the other grips the back of my neck. Sealing us further together.

The sounds of our kiss echo on speakers around us, but I tune it out. When I first realized what this was going to be I promised myself that I would focus on Darius. That I would do anything and everything I could to enjoy this forced encounter.

He hums into my mouth before releasing me.

His eyes are swirling in anxiety and unease, but beneath it all is pure unfiltered lust and love.

Darius squeezes me reassuringly, wrapping around me, using his body to block out as much of the onlookers as he can.

Ready? he mouths.

I’m not.

I incline my head and allow him to lead me to the bed that is in the center of the stage.

It is raised high above the ground. Darius turns and, grasping me by the hips, he lifts me onto it.

I land on the edge of the bed, the silk sheets chilly against my bare skin. The sheer lace black lingerie does nothing to prevent the cold, and my nipples pebble to painful points as he settles between my legs.

Adjusting onto my elbows, I keep my attention on him. He stares up at me, on his knees between my thighs, waiting for approval.

“Please,” I expel. The word repeats on the speakers a second later, much louder .

I want Darius. But I am scared, terrified, my body is not ready to take him. Not yet at least.

Without further ado, he sweeps forward. One of his hands flattens on top of my cunt, the other he uses to enter my core. Two fingers in and out. Slowly, methodically. His other hand pressing down, his thumb finding my clit.

For a moment, I can’t focus on the pleasure, my mind wandering to the eyes. I imagine them, thousands and thousands. Oversized and unblinking. Bug-like.

Terror sharpens its claws into my gut, roaches crawling across my skin, but then Darius presses onto my clit rougher, harder.

“Focus on me, Wildflower. I’ve got you.” His voice is a comfort, even as it reverberates around us. He hums his approval as I relax.