Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
I rubbed my mouth, delaying one last time before adding yet another stain on my soul. “You’re so sure it’s a son, Vic. But…what if it’s a daughter?”
His mood instantly soured. “I’ve ordered an ultrasound for Dr Belford. Our surgery wasn’t equipped for birthing, but soon, it will be. She’ll tell me what it is in a month when the machine arrives.”
“And?” I needled. “If it’s a girl?”
His gaze turned deadly, his infamous temper appearing. “Then I guess I’ll be a hundred grand richer. I’ve heard rumours that’s what female babies fetch.”
The urge to be sick surged through me.
In a single sentence, he reminded me, all over again, that for all his friendliness and suavity, he was the vilest son of a bitch and deserved to die.
Laughing, I slapped him on the shoulder. “You truly are something, you know that?”
He grinned, but his eyes remained black. “Oh I know.” Striding toward his butler, he gave me a look over his shoulder. “And you’re exactly like me, Mercer, whether you can admit that yet or not. Ta-ra.”
* * * * *
Two weeks since Victor asked me to be his child’s godfather, and I still hadn’t shed the slimy shadow inside me.
I’d returned to my room and purged before I went to get Ily.
The nasty habit of throwing up had faded thanks to having Ily’s heart and support. But every now and again, the darkness in this place became too much. My system churned. My guts revolted. And I had no choice but to get it out of me before I either accepted what occurred here as normal or remembered everything about this place was repugnant.
And now it was another day.
Yet another night.
Sucking in deep lungfuls of cool air, I tipped my face to the stars.
I’d kicked off my shoes as I’d plucked Ily from where she’d kneeled by my feet during dinner and dragged her into the gardens. No one stopped me. No one even looked in my direction anymore.
I was merely one of them.
A Master who’d enjoyed a four-course dinner, watched a porno put on by trafficked slaves, and then dragged his jewel into the gardens for a fuck.
All in a day’s agenda on Victor’s island.
Ily didn’t speak beside me, sucking in her own breath.
The half-moon shone its silver light over us, painting her beautiful face in pearly luminance.
I wanted so fucking much to sink to the grass and just hug her. Kiss her. Whisper about our dreams. Be gentle and loving before I pinned her beneath me and delivered pleasure that drove us straight into hell.
But we did our best to never touch sweetly.
If I stroked her without thinking, I made sure I made her squeak for an audience.
If I caught myself staring at her with my heart in my fucking throat, I ensured I cursed her, demeaned her, and said things I didn’t mean so the cameras portrayed a Master who might have a soft spot for his jewel but definitely wasn’t a man in love.
“Do you want to take a stroll?” Ily finally asked after ten minutes of moon bathing.
I nodded and broke into a slow amble.
Soft grass tickled my toes. The dew already damp and cold.
Autumn colours transformed Victor’s gardens, turning greens into oranges and flowers into corpses.
We headed toward the battlement walls, following box hedges, drifting around fountains, and finding peace after a busy ballroom full of Masters and their jewels.
Fuck, I was exhausted.
I just wanted this over.
I wanted to go to sleep and not wake in a cold sweat fearing Ily had been stolen.
I wanted to write without fearing someone reading over my shoulder and have sex without someone watching.
But most of all, I wanted to get Ily safe.
I needed her back with her family so if I died sooner rather than later, I could rest peacefully, knowing she was far, far away from Victor and his horrors.
Two Masters and two jewels appeared to our left, striding quickly in our direction. The citadel glowed behind them. Arrow slits and windows glowed bright yellow, looking like a thousand judging eyes.
“Ah shit,” I muttered under my breath. “I have no desire to perform tonight. Let’s go into the maze.” Grabbing Ily’s hand, I cut across the courtyard where vines crawled up a trellis and a small sala waited for lovers. The familiar hum of energy and awareness sparked between us, making my heart pound faster.
I let her hand go the moment we entered the huge, manicured maze.
I didn’t know if Victor had cameras in here, but I wouldn’t risk it.
I would never risk Ily, even though my fingers craved hers and my heart hurt and my bones throbbed with madness.
Ily remained silent.
She huddled deeper into her beige jumper—the only warm thing she had—her nose pink with cold.
Left then right, right then left, we travelled deeper into the maze, heading toward the centre where another sala and a wishing well had been built. We’d spent enough time wandering that we’d learned the maze’s dead ends and tricks and often came in here to get away from the other Masters.