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“Oh, don’t worry, you won’t kill her. I won’t let you. She’s still eighty percent mine and hasn’t nearly paid off her investment. She’ll merely help unlock your soul, Henri. She will survive. You have my word. My guards will stop you if you go too far.” Raising his voice, he said, “Peter dear. Please tell my new friend how it feels to endure this game.”
Straightening his spine, ignoring the fresh blood oozing from his cuts, Peter tipped up his chin with idiotic boldness. “Sir V, I have a request. Ily’s new. She’s had a long day. L-Let me take her place—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish.
His voice cut off, and he jerked to the floor, convulsing in familiar electrocution throes.
“Why, you insolent little twerp,” Victor hissed, stabbing his thumb onto the button. Looking as horrified as if he was a dinner host and his dog just pissed on the rug, he threw me a grimace. “I’m so sorry, Ward. He’s usually much better behaved.”
I couldn’t answer as Ily clamped both hands over her mouth as she watched Peter thrash and moan. She didn’t try to touch him, but she did shatter into pieces the longer he was punished.
I bit my tongue as Victor kept frying his slave.
Ten seconds, fifteen seconds.
Every instinct bellowed to murder this sociopath with my bare hands, but then I’d be shot, and the guards would throw Ily and Peter back into whatever cells they slept in.
Another bastard would rise to claim Victor’s place, and I’d save no one.
My corpse would rot here.
Q would never find them.
And everything I’d done this far would be for nothing.
By twenty seconds, Victor finally sighed and lifted his thumb.
Peter groaned and flopped into a heap. His limbs continued twitching morbidly.
Ily reached for him and yelped, receiving a shock. Wrapping her arms around herself, she rocked and rocked as if her mind had already cracked.
Fuck, I’m sorry.
So fucking sorry that I’d brought her here.
I wished I could rewind time and never set eyes on her in the club. Never notice her. Want her. Steal her.
Christ, this is all my fault.
“Shall we try that again?” Victor raised an eyebrow. “If you will, Peter. Please tell Henri what it feels like to be on the receiving end.”
Gasping, shaking, barely alive, Peter pushed himself onto his knees. He almost toppled forward as his voice hitched and wobbled. “I-I’ve played this game multiple times, Master H, and I-I’m still breathing.”
Could’ve fooled me.
For all my jealousy where he was concerned, I felt an awful obligation to reap revenge for what Victor had done to him. If I survived tonight, I’d find a way for Peter to repay all the shocks Victor had dished out.
Somehow.
Victor raised his hand, his finger poised threateningly on the remote. “And…”
“And…it’s our pleasure to serve.” Peter bowed his head. “We live to serve.” He pressed his forehead to the bloodstained carpet. “We only exist to serve.”
“Good boy.” Tossing the remote back into his pocket, Victor turned his nasty attention on me. “Now drink, Henri.”
A snick sounded behind me as a gun’s safety flicked off.
Looking over my shoulder, I caught the blank stare of a guard. The muzzle of his gun mere inches from my skull.
