Page 16

M y alarm jolts me awake, and I groan, burying my face in the pillow. I slept like shit, my mind plagued by nightmares of the masked man, Axe, my father, my mother. I’ve barely slept since the wedding; the events haunting my every moment.

Today are the auditions; Bradley insists the Sirens maintain peak physical shape. Only the best performers are chosen. His standards are ruthless since he expects nothing short of perfection.

These auditions also allow other Servants a chance to join the elite team. The competition is fierce, with slim chances of making the cut. Any flaw or imperfection is grounds for dismissal. It’s a harsh world, dictated by Bradley’s rigid rules and relentless scrutiny.

I drag myself out of bed, shower, and dress in black leather dance shorts and a matching sports bra. My makeup is flawless—smoky eyes, red lips—and my platinum hair falls in glossy waves. I want to look as fierce as possible, sending a message that my position as the lead Siren is not up for debate.

With my bag in hand, I head to the kitchen, greeted by the aroma of coffee. Griffen is sitting at the counter with a cup. He looks up and does a double-take, his gaze lingering on me.

“Glad to see you’re still in one piece,” he says, sipping his coffee. “I figured you’d be in the basement.”

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” I shoot back, pouring my own coffee and leaning against the counter.

“I told you I wouldn’t let him kill you. What else did you expect?”

“Maybe you could’ve saved me from the whole mess,” I snap, glaring at him.

He shrugs with a slight smirk. “You look like a walking wet dream.”

“Thanks, but I was aiming for ‘I’m a fucking badass’.” He chuckles and takes another sip of his coffee. “It’s Siren audition day,” I explain, rolling my eyes. “We need to look hot and prove we’re the best.”

“You’ve nailed the hot part, but I’m not so sure about the rest.” He laughs at my scowl.

Footsteps echo behind me—heavy, intense. Axe.

He strolls into the kitchen in nothing but sweatpants, his body slick with sweat, muscles rippling. I hate myself for staring, but it’s impossible not to. He looks like he was built to destroy—every tattoo, scar, sharp line screaming danger.

He doesn’t say a word, just stares at me, unblinking, and my cheeks go hot. I tear my eyes away, pissed at how obvious I am, pissed at the flash of him in my head—gripping my hair, fucking my throat.

Griffen clears his throat, slides off the stool, and heads for the door.

“I’m out,” he says, grabbing his keys. “Good luck at your auditions, doll.” With a grin, he exits, leaving me alone with Axe.

Axe moves to the counter, filling a mug with coffee. His proximity stirs a nervous energy in me, and I fidget. His scent—a mix of sweat and cologne—drifts around me. It’s maddening, and I reluctantly breathe him in.

“What’s with the outfit?” he asks, his voice low and gruff.

“Siren auditions,” I reply, trying to stay calm. “I need to leave soon, or I’ll be late.”

He leans against the counter, sipping his coffee, his gaze fixed on me. I shift nervously, bracing myself for the question I’m hesitant to ask.

“Axe...I can’t wear the collar,” I say, forcing the words out. “Bradley won’t let me perform with it. Please, take it off.”

He places his cup down and approaches me.

“Why would I do that?” he asks casually, his finger tracing the edge of the collar. I draw a sharp breath, trying to ignore the shiver his touch sends through me. “It looks good on you,” he murmurs, his lips dangerously close to mine. “I don’t think I’ll ever take it off. That way, everyone knows you’re mine.”

“Bradley won’t let me perform with it. He’ll see it and kick me out. Please, Axe.” I hate how desperate I sound, but I need this.

Bradley would never let a Siren have a visible marking. We are supposed to be the ultimate fantasy, and any hint of a relationship is against his rules.

“No. It stays on.” His lips twist into a cruel smile. “I’m being generous letting you be a Siren at all.”

I ball my fists, struggling to stay calm. I open my mouth, but he beats me to it.

“Don’t argue, Rory. You’ll just piss me off. And you won’t like what happens if you do.”

I’ll have to figure something out later, but right now, I’m running late and need to leave.

“Where are my keys?” I demand, rifling through the counter.

He smirks, amused.

“You haven’t earned the right to them yet,” he says calmly. “If you want to leave, you need to ask.”

“Are you fucking serious? I need permission to go out?”

“Yes. Especially after last night’s stunt.” He crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow as if in challenge.

“May I please leave, oh glorious master? I’d like to avoid Bradley’s wrath and actually be on time.”

He leans in, his breath warm against my ear.

“Watch your fucking attitude. You’ve tested me enough for today.”

I hover between fighting back or shutting up. For once, I bite my tongue, swallowing the urge to push him harder. Fuck, this whole situation is so fucked.

“I’ll drive you until I decide otherwise,” he says, straightening and meeting my eyes.

“So, you’re my fucking chauffeur now?” I snap, my temper getting the best of me.

He slams his fist on the counter, making me flinch. “You have one more fucking chance,” he warns, his dark eyes burning into me. “Then you’ll regret it.”

I snap my mouth shut. The air between us crackles, my self-control hanging by a thread. I don’t have time for this. I need to focus on the auditions.

“Fine,” I grind out, spinning on my heel. “But I need to leave. Now.”

The weight of it all slams into me. If I don’t follow his rules, the consequences will be severe. But Bradley’s punishments can be cruel, too.

Great. What the hell am I supposed to do?

The drive to the Pavilion is pure torture. I grip the edge of my seat, biting back the scream clawing its way up my throat. I want to tell him he’s a fucking asshole—shout it—but I don’t. Years as a Siren, and somehow this is what breaks me. It’s fucking humiliating.

When we pull into the parking lot, I practically leap from the car, racing to escape. I pretend not to hear him calling after me, sprinting into the studio and slamming the door behind me. A sigh of relief escapes as I blend into the crowd of Sirens.

Auditions are the worst. It is an exhausting competition to see who can be the most flexible, the sexiest, and the most daring. There is no room for weakness. The slightest flaw costs you.

I quickly walk to the auditorium where auditions are held, pushing through the crowd of familiar and new faces. Bradley stands at the front, disinterested. A chill runs down my spine when his eyes lock onto mine and he strides over. Invading my space, he grips my collar, yanking me toward him.

“What the fuck is this? This is unacceptable.” My blood runs cold, and I feel sick. “Take it off. Now. You’re a goddamn Siren. What the hell are you thinking?” He releases the collar and steps back. “I’m not letting you perform with that fucking thing on.” My cheeks burn red as others watch. “I don’t care how you do it. Get. It. Off.”

“Yes, sir.”

He storms away, and I stand there, humiliated.

I quickly rush to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me.

“Fuck,” I mutter, fists clenched. Tears sting my eyes, but I swallow them back, forcing a deep breath. Losing my position as a Siren isn’t an option. I need this collar off—I can deal with Axe later.

I storm out of the bathroom and spot Jess, who quickly picks the lock on my collar. As I slide it off, a wave of relief washes over me. But the thought of facing Axe makes my stomach twist.

I square my shoulders, take a steadying breath, and head back to the auditorium. Bradley glances at me, giving a satisfied nod.

“Oh, Rory!” Alicia’s shrill, fake voice calls out, and my shoulders stiffen. Why the hell is she here? “Rory, darling!” She strides over with her younger sister in tow, and I brace myself. “Honey!”

“Hi, Alicia.” She wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. Her fake tits smash against my body, and I awkwardly pat her.

“You remember my sister, Olivia?” she asks, pulling away. Olivia smirks at me, and it’s obvious the whole thing amuses her.

“I do,” I say, forcing a smile. I’ve seen her at family gatherings, and she’s a bitch, just like her sister. I think she’s twenty-one; I’ve never cared enough to ask. They are both fake, catty, and annoying. Olivia’s long black hair is perfectly curled, and her makeup is flawless. Her body is thin and toned and has the same fake tits as her sister.

“You should be proud of her,” Alicia gushes. “She’s going to be a Siren!” I raise an eyebrow, surprised.

“Really? That’s great.” I force the words out, trying not to show my disgust.

“Everyone knows the auditions are just a formality. My baby sister is a natural—just like me.”

“Good luck,” I say, trying to end the conversation.

“You know, Rory,” she says, leaning in. “I know how much of an asshole Axel can be. Hopefully, he didn’t ruin your chances of being a Siren. He tends to destroy everything he touches.”

“How do you know what Axe is like?” I ask, genuinely confused. She laughs, a sickly-sweet sound that makes me nauseous.

“Oh, darling,” she purrs, giving my arm a patronizing pat. “You have no idea.” Bradley’s voice commands the room’s attention before I can press her more.

The auditions start, and the performers take turns showcasing a range of skills from spectacular to ordinary. I watch from the sidelines, struggling to concentrate as Alicia’s words echo in my mind. What did she mean? Did she have a past with him? Does Dad know?

Olivia’s audition starts. She’s good and flexible; her routine complex. But it’s missing the seductive edge required to be a Siren. We have to make men crave us, make them want us. It’s not just about flexibility and skill; it’s about sexual desire. She’s pretty, but she’s not sexy—at least not in the way a Siren needs to be. She finishes her routine and receives a polite applause.

The auditions drag on—routine after routine, all blurring together. It’s nothing but a show for Bradley, a chance to flex his power and handpick his next “toys.”

After the last audition, he dismisses the rest of the crowd, and we file out of the auditorium. Alicia is talking with Bradley; throwing herself all over him and trying to flirt. It’s the same tactic she used against Dad.

Whatever, I don’t have time for their bullshit.

I have a show tonight.

The auditorium is a dark pit, packed with men whose stench hangs thick in the air. I’m perched at the bar, nursing a whiskey, my eyes locked on the stage. I’m waiting for her. Rory has consumed my every thought today—her naked body struggling beneath me, my cock deep in her throat, the raw defiance in her eyes as she fought against the pleasure I forced her to feel.

I should have fucked her last night, forced her to submit entirely. But watching her struggle, seeing the torment in her eyes as I used her and forced her own body to betray her—that was better than any punishment I could have dealt.

I’ll break her, make her beg, make her body crave what it despises. And when she finally surrenders, I’ll make her suffer for it. I’ll tear her apart until there’s nothing left but submission.

I’m going to enjoy fucking the life out of her.

The lights dim, and the crowd falls into a hushed expectancy. I lean back in my chair, taking the last sip of my drink.

The music kicks in—a heavy bass line from Megan Thee Stallion “Body.” Rory emerges on stage, greeted by cheers from the crowd. She’s wearing a black latex bodysuit, the material barely covering her tits. Her long blonde hair falling around her shoulders; her blue eyes are rimmed with black eyeliner.

Her lips are painted red, and her legs look fucking endless. The black stilettos accentuate her toned calves, and my eyes trail up her body, lingering on her exposed thighs.

Fuck, she looks sexy as hell.

But then I notice it. “Goddamnit, Rory.” I clench my drink, slamming it down on the bar, the glass cracking under my grip. She removed her fucking collar. Was a night in the basement not clear enough?

She has no fucking idea what I’m capable of, but she’s about to learn. I’ll drag her kicking and screaming into my darkness, make her feel every ounce of the monster she belongs to. There’s no mercy here—just pain. Her screams will echo. Every shred of rebellion ripped out, piece by fucking piece.

This is her life now, and she’ll choke on the reality of it. Suffocate under the weight of my vengeance until there’s nothing left but obedience and fear. There’s no way out.

Just me and the pain I’m more than happy to deliver.

As the night unfolds, she returns to the stage several times, each performance more provocative than the last, her attire growing skimpier. The announcer calls the final performance, and I know it’s her.

The song “Bad Guy” by Billie Eilish starts playing, and a smile forms on my face—the smile I wear when I inflict pain.

The lyrics fill the air, and the irony widens my sadistic grin.

I march to the front, toward the stage and yank some bastard out of his seat. He opens his mouth to protest, but his expression quickly shifts to one of recognition. I take his place, settling into the chair, and his friends quickly retreat, well aware I’m not one to fuck with.

Her hips sway, hands gliding across her curves, fingers teasingly dipping into her panties. Leaning forward, I fix my gaze on her, waiting for her to notice me, waiting for the flicker of fear.

She grabs the pole in front of my table, wrapping her legs around it. She’s panting, her tits bouncing with each movement. She’s so lost in the music, the rhythm, the routine, that she doesn’t notice me.

It’s only in the final moments of the song, as she bends over, legs wrapped around the pole, that she looks up, and our eyes meet.

Confusion.

Recognition.

Fear.

My stare pierces through her, and her breath hitches. Her complexion pales, her body freezing as the music fades into silence. I sit there, unmoving, staring at her, and then the thunderous applause and cheers erupt.

It’s deafening, but she doesn’t budge.

She’s paralyzed, and the terror in her eyes is priceless. She’s a cornered animal, knowing pain is imminent. I don’t move; I want her to feel my wrath. Want her to feel the weight of her disobedience. I don’t stand, don’t applaud.

She breaks our stare and rushes off the stage as the lights flicker back on. I rise slowly, deliberate in my steps, heading toward the exit.

She will know true fear, true pain, and she will be forever marked by the darkness that is my hell.