Page 133 of Lethal King

I wanted to come, and he found a way to make that happen—not that he really had much of a choice. We both know I would have escaped that cage by nightfall if he’d left me alone.

“Someone needs to pay for this shit,” I hiss under my breath.

Without thinking, I reach up to the uncomfortable collar, but the second my fingers fall onto the heavy plastic, a light shock cracks through my body.

“Fuck!” I curse, flinching like a coward.

“Be a good girl,” Rian says, nodding to a blinking red light on the ceiling. A security camera. “I’m sure he’s watching. We need to make a good first impression.”

“You fucking bastard,” I sneer. I’m desperate to turn the tables on Rian again. Because even if submitting to him in the bedroom can feel like fucking heaven, I still haven’t forgotten how good it felt to dominate him right back.

“Watch the language, angel,” Rian smirks.

I ignore him. Instead, I push my attention towards that blinking red dot. My lion is right, someone is definitely watching us. Judging us. Trying to figure out if we’re worth his precious time.

I want to raise a middle finger and give him the clue he needs to send us packing.

But my ire for anyone even remotely associated with Leander will have to stay hidden until we get the fucker behind closed doors. Because I’m desperate to fuck someone up.

Really, I just want to feel in control again. And if it can’t be with Rian, then the friend of another one of my enemies is going to have to do.

“Monsieur Baros will see you now.”

Looking down from the camera, I see a hulking ogre of a man step out of a nearby door. To my surprise, he’s wearing a shiny multi-colored suit.

The sparkling material clashes so perfectly against his Frankenstein’s monster-like demeanor that I almost let out a laugh.

But then I catch a quick glimpse of my reflection again, and realize that I must look at least twice as ridiculous.

“Hurry up, angel,” I hear Rian say. When I look back down the hall, he’s already halfway up it, following the sparkling ogre towards the wall-rattling bass thumping up ahead.

I can already feel the headache coming on.

“I fucking hate clubs,” I mutter, quickening my pace until I catch up.

“What was that?” Rian asks. But I can already barely hear him.

The further we walk, the louder the music gets. Soon enough, the floor is shaking too.

“Who the hell comes to a club this early?” I ask myself. It’s late afternoon, and the sun was barely starting its descent when we were let in the front door.

Freaks.

“This way,” I somehow hear the ogre grunt. He turns a corner up ahead and I clench my fists, ready for the crowd I’m sure is waiting.

But when I step around the corner, I’m not greeted by a throng of people. Instead, the pounding bass blasts over an empty dancefloor. The only people huddle around a sad-looking bar tucked away in the corner.

Other than that, there’s no one.

My hackles rise.

What kind of club is this?

I’m given some kind of answer when Rian nudges me on the shoulder. I look over at him, and he gestures upwards.

This time, I can’t help the laugh that slithers from my throat.

Hanging from the ceiling are more than a dozen gilded birdcages. Inside of each is a naked man or woman. They all mindlessly gyrate to the heavy rhythm as harsh strobe lights flicker over their masked faces. Glitter gleams off their skin. They don’t stop dancing. Not even for a second.