Page 50 of Tricked By Jack

The silence that follows feels too loud, pressing against my ears until I’m certain I can hear my own heartbeat in it—like the air itself is recoiling from what we just did.

I tell myself I’ve won this round—that I’ve begun the process of making him dependent on me, of blurring the lines between captor and captive.

That this was all part of my strategy. But as I sink back onto my blanket, his cum still dripping between my breasts, I’m no longer certain who’s manipulating whom.

His cum starts to dry against my chest, tacky and warm. I resist the urge to wipe it off. Not because I want to keep it—but because I don’t want him to see I care that it’s there.

“You’re not manipulating me,” he says betweengritted teeth. “You’re feeding me, Little Bride. Don’t confuse the two.”

There goes the illusion that I had the upper hand. “Is that so?” I deadpan, arching an eyebrow. I won’t let him see just how much the reality of those words stings.

Jack nods as he tucks himself away. “Yes, that’s so. And the sooner you come to terms with it, the better it’ll be for the both of us.”

I just scoff.

“You want out?” he asks, tucking himself back into his pants with a cold smile. “Fine. And since you’re so desperate to put on a show, you’ll do it where you belong. On a fucking stage back at the Sanctuary.”

A cruel smirk plays on his lips, and it doesn’t disappear when he calls his brother, saying we’ll be there tomorrow night.

Fuck… what did I just start?

Chapter 17

The Trickster

The Sanctuary looms before us, a playground for the twisted and curious. Eve doesn’t stumble as we approach the entrance, but I can feel the tension vibrating through her body where my hand presses against the small of her back.

Her dress is thin enough that I can feel the heat of her skin and the subtle ridge of her spine through it. My fingers dig in slightly, not enough to bruise—not yet—but enough to remind her who she belongs to.

The night air carries the scent of incense and wet earth, mingling with the artificial fog that billows around our ankles, thick as cream and cold as a grave.

“Look at that line,” Eve says, her voice carefully neutral. “We’ll be waiting forever.”

I chuckle, low and close to her ear. “That queue isn’t for us, wife.” With those words, I guide her past the waiting people, where eager patrons in their Halloween finery wait like cattle for slaughter.

My hand slides lower, resting just above the curve of her ass as we approach a side entrance flanked by two masked guards.

One nods, stepping aside. “Mr. Knight.”

“Call me Jack,” I reply curtly. “Mr. Knight is my brother.”

The fog thickens as we step through, enveloping us in a cocoon of white that obscures everything beyond arm’s length. Eve’s breathing changes—shorter, more controlled—and I can almost taste her effort to appear unfazed.

“What time is it?” she asks suddenly, turning her face toward mine. Her eyes are sharp, analytical even in the gloom.

“Why do you need to know?” I counter, pressing my thumb into the divot at the base of her spine.

“Because I’d like to have some sense of how long I’ll be enduring this.” Her tone is acidic, but I catch the small flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat.

“You’ll know when I want you to know.”

She turns away from me, scanning the crowd that materializes through the fog. A man passes close by—some standard-issue hipster in a vintage coat—and Eve reaches out, catching his sleeve.

“Excuse me, do you have the time?” she asks, her voice honey-sweet.

“Sure I do.” He shoots her a sleazy grin while checking out her cleavage. Then he leans closer, brushing one hand against the curve of her breast as he turns his wrist, presumably to check the time.

With a low growl, I step between them and seize his wrist—the one that dared touch her. Bone grinds under my grip, his breath hissing through clenched teeth. I twist until I hear the first sharp crack. His knees buckle.