Page 9

T he tension is palpable in Dad’s office. I’ve been avoiding him all week, but his texts have gone from demanding to downright threatening. I didn’t have a choice anymore—I had to face him.

A scowling Spencer leans against the wall, arms crossed.

“Why haven’t you returned my calls?” Dad’s tone is clipped, his eyes sharp as they pin me in place.

“I’ve been busy,” I reply flatly, avoiding his intense stare.

“Too busy to return your father’s calls?”

“Planning a wedding is hard work,” I retort, giving him an icy glare. “Especially since I wasn’t planning to get married.”

He seizes the opportunity to launch into a lecture about loyalty and duty, his favorite topics. I barely listen, scrolling through my phone as he drones on. I’ve heard this speech a million times. I’ve always been loyal, devoted, and a slave to the Sovereign, and now is no different.

Even though we both know the truth. This isn’t about duty or loyalty. It’s about him. Marrying me off to some world leader or high-ranking politician would at least serve the Sovereign, but this? Marrying me off to a fucking psycho? That’s got nothing to do with the Sovereign and everything to do with whatever reason Axe is hellbent on revenge. And he knows it.

My phone vibrates with a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: Tonight. 10 PM. $30K.

Me: What services?

Unknown: No questions.

Me: No.

Unknown: $50K

My stomach knots. That’s a lot of money. A lot . But I don’t do blind appointments, not without background and information…but the money is too tempting. And I could use a distraction. Especially now.

A few minutes later, the address and room number are sent. I quickly respond, telling him I’ll be there.

My father’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Are you even listening to me?” He stares at me with narrowed eyes.

“No.”

His face immediately turns red. Spence chuckles behind me, and Dad shoots him a death glare.

“This is bullshit, Dad,” Spence interjects, stepping forward. “How do you expect her to react? She didn’t want this; none of us did.” His comment ignites an argument between them.

I use this moment to slip out. I have a rehearsal and a client to prepare for, and I’m too tired to deal with this shit. As soon as the door closes behind me, the tears start to flow.

My entire body shakes, and my throat feels raw. I have to marry him in three days. Anger, fear, and worry consume me, filling me with an overwhelming sense of hopelessness.

My phone buzzes, and the reminder of tonight’s session makes my heart race. This is what I need. My life is crashing around me, and this is my escape—if only for a few hours.

Taking a deep breath, I wipe away my tears. I can do this. I have to. I head to rehearsal, determined to push thoughts of the upcoming wedding from my mind.

As I pull into the hotel’s parking lot, my anxiety spikes. Second-guessing my decision, I sit in the car for a moment, my hands gripping the steering wheel.

This is risky. Stupid, even. I don’t know anything about this client. But with all the stress and worry, I need an escape. I’m losing control of my life, and this is my only chance to regain it.

I exhale, steadying myself.

The concierge greets me with a polite smile, his gaze lingering too long on my cleavage and thighs. I ignore him, heading straight for the room. The door is ajar.

I push it open slowly. The room is dark, illuminated only by the city lights streaming through the windows. I take a tentative step inside, my eyes adjusting to the dimness.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. I remind myself why I’m here. I need this distraction. I need to feel in control, even if just for a little while.

A faint noise behind me makes my blood run cold. I whip around, but it’s too late. A figure emerges from the shadows, dressed in all black and wearing a skull mask. Before I can react, he puts his gloved hand over my mouth and drags me further into the room. My heart pounds as I struggle to breathe.

I try to fight him off, but his grip is firm. The mask obscures his features, and I can only see his dark eyes. He roughly shoves me onto the bed, quickly straddling me.

I struggle against him, but he’s too strong. I thrash and kick, trying to free myself. His grip on my mouth tightens as he reaches into his pocket. Duct tape tears through the silence, and he quickly slaps it over my mouth.

No!

I’m helpless, pinned beneath his weight, unable to move. His body is hard, his muscles tense.

I shake my head violently, trying to scream, but the tape stifles everything. Securing my wrists with duct tape, the material digs into my skin. He lifts my arms above my head and uses his belt to secure me to the headboard. I’m fighting him, but the more I fight, the harder he grabs.

I kick out, catching him in the chest. He grunts, but it only seems to anger him. With a growl, he grabs my ankles, yanking me down. My legs are taped together in seconds, leaving me completely immobilized. My breaths are rapid; every inhale feels like it will be my last.

Retrieving a knife from the sheath on his hip, he holds it up, the blade glinting in the light. My heart leaps into my throat, and my blood turns to ice.

He brings the knife to my neck, the cold steel pressing against my skin.

He’s going to torture me.

He’s going to kill me.

This is the end.

She looks so fucking good, bound and terrified. I run the blade over her tits, and she flinches at each movement. Her skin is smooth and pale, and I can’t wait to mark it.

Her fear smells delicious, and her soft cries are like a song. A sick perfect fucking song.

I knew she’d take the bait. More than triple her rate? She couldn’t say no. And now, here she is, exactly where I want her.

I continue to drag the dull edge of the blade over her, teasing her with the promise of pain. I grin, her muffled cries and pleas spurring me on. Her tears stain her cheeks, and her body trembles with each breath. Every inch of my body is covered in black, including the skull mask. She has no idea who I am.

I slide her dress up to her waist, exposing her flat stomach. Her muscles are tense and flex as she tries to free herself. I bring the knife lower, tracing her navel. I can tell she’s holding her breath, bracing for the pain.

She’s so fucking responsive.

My cock strains, aching against my pants, desperate for release.

She looks so fucking perfect like this, terrified and exposed, and I’m going to make her feel things she never knew she could.

I’ll drag her through terror and pleasure until she’s lost, hating herself for every second she enjoys it. This masked nightmare will haunt her every thought, and when I’m done, she’ll come so hard she’ll never forget who did it to her.

I press the dull side of the blade against her inner thigh and slowly drag it upward. She tries to pull away, but she has nowhere to go.

The things I want to do to her body are sick and depraved.

She’ll either learn to enjoy the pain or hate herself for loving it.

I’ve always enjoyed a good challenge, and this girl will be no different. I’m going to break her down, strip her bare, and mold her into a perfect toy. My toy.

I run the blade over her panties, the thin material the only thing between me and her cunt. Swiping my finger along the delicate lace covering her pussy, the heat and wetness radiates against my hand.

Fear is doing wonders to her cunt—her panties are drenched. Her screams grow more frantic as I slide the blade under the thin string on her hip, and with a swift jerk, shred them.

Her bare pussy glistens with her juices, and the smell of her arousal mixes with the scent of her fear. She’s wet. Fuck, is she ever.

I trace the edge of the blade along her slick folds, and she whimpers, trying to pull away. Every jerk, every whimper, is a shot of pleasure straight to my cock. I torture and kill people for a living, but this is the sweetest kind of torment.

I take the handle and slide it against her wet folds, coating it in her juices. Her screams grow louder. I slowly slide the handle inside her, the slickness allowing it to enter her with ease. She screams, and her body jerks, the movement pushing the handle further inside.

She’s so tight. Her pussy grips the handle, her muscles clenching. I twist the handle, the movement eliciting another round of muffled screams. Her hips buck against the knife, trying to push it away, but the harder she fights, the deeper it goes.

Her body is my playground, and her fear is my drug. I could watch her like this for hours—her body writhing in agony, her muffled screams filling the air.

I want her to feel my wrath so I grab her chin and force her to look at me, her blue eyes full of tears. I pump harder, filling her tight cunt, and the feeling is indescribable.

Her juices coat the handle, and her muscles are tightening.

She’s close.

I continue the assault, the blade dangerously close to her tender flesh.

I could slide the blade in and carve her up, paint the walls with her blood. I could slit her throat and watch the life drain from her eyes.

But I won’t.

She’s too beautiful.

Too perfect.

I’ll break her in a different way.

A more delicious way.

Her body shakes, and her hips are bucking frantically—both to get the handle out and get the release she’s trying desperately to fight. But it’s useless, I control her pleasure, her fear, and her pain.

She will come.

With a few more thrusts, I find her sweet spot, and she arches her back, her muffled screams filling the room as she comes undone. Her orgasm rips through her, her body shaking, and her screams mingling with her cries.

The sound is exquisite—a symphony of pain and pleasure.

The need to feel her tight cunt around me is almost unbearable. But I won’t fuck her, not yet. I will make her hate herself for what she’s just done. Let her live with the shame of enjoying herself with the monster in her nightmares.

She’ll hate me as her husband and the masked man. I will be the only man in her life, and there will be no more pathetic clients or useless Sovereign.

When I pull out the knife, cum covers the handle. She’s a good girl and a very wet one . I slip the knife under my mask and lick it.

Fuck, she tastes like pure sin.

Her cheeks are swollen from crying, and the tape remains firmly in place. Rising, I place the knife in her hand, gently closing her fingers around the handle. She’ll be able to free herself. Then I stroll out the door, leaving her alone, naked and bound.

The fear will sink in, and she’ll feel the shame for letting herself enjoy it.

The game is just getting started.