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Straightening my shoulders, I tilt my head. “Is this usual?”
When I climb out of the car and James comes to the other side of me, his arm hooks in mine. “Yes. What happens behind these doors make it necessary.”
“And what is it that happens behind these doors?” I ask, intrigue eating away at my thoughts. “Just to prepare myself.”
James doesn’t answer, he merely directs us to the front of the house. He does this a lot. He will either answer me or ignore me, both sides of that tend to grate on my nerves.
The man at the door is older, with a shaved head and angry, unsettled eyes. He reminds me of who Royce is right now, filled with uncertainty that swims beneath the surface of pretty blue eyes.
“Go ahead.” He steps aside after James takes back his hand. Just as I’m about to follow James through the wood doors, a heavy hand is planted against my chest, pausing my movements.
I gaze down at it. “Excuse me?” I want to tell him to get his paws off my tits, but figure that will get me yet another gag-worthy love fest once I’m alone with James again, and there’s only so much I can take when it comes to it.
“The girls need to be branded,” the officer—Nomad—says. Nomad? Is that his name? Why can’t I be ho-ing in college like Sloane? I stop the thoughts treading their angry feet through my brain.
“What brand?”
James’ jaw tenses a few times. “Is it necessary for her? She’s only my plus one.” James unbuttons his jacket, coming closer to military dude. Interesting. It’s not every day he has to throw weight to get what he wants.
“Afraid so. The rules are quite clear that no one is to set foot inside L’artisaniant without the mark.”
“The what?” I panic, my eyes flying between the two of them.
James grabs my hand and turns, lifts my arm in the air. “Beside the armpit. I don’t have all night.”
Military man pulls out what looks like a tiny stamp. It has crusted gold plating over the handle and cursive writing that I can’t read over the tip. Fire ripples over my skin and turns all of my nerves to ash as he releases me. I gaze down to see a burn mark now fresh beneath my arm. It’s small, maybe the size of a nickel, but the intricate lines that swish into what looks like a scribble is well pressed into my flesh.
I tilt my head. “What?”
J is tugging me through the front doors before I can wrap my head around what just happened.
It was dark. So dark that the chandelier which hangs from the marble ceiling was the only thing that was struck by the full moonlight breaching through the drapes. Thick, blood-red curtains shaded the lounge room, and four men sat at chairs, their legs thrown over their thighs.
Not one caught my eye. I had never seen them in my life, and up until last month, James had been training me.
Splitting me open and fucking me until my insides were sushi and the only name that fell from my lips was his, and the syllables weren’t laced with love, or passion. They were poisoned by the hate that pulsed through my veins.
He thought he had conditioned me to handle his brutality, which in essence he had, but he forgot one of the most important things of all.
Cruelty hardens the skin to which it is pounded upon, so he wasn’t only grooming me to become—what he says—his sex slave. But he was also handing me the nails to which I needed to build up my walls.
The collar pinched my neck as he tugged on the chain. “Gentlemen…”
They all seemed to shuffle in their seats before my eyes found the ground. I knew better than to pay attention to anything and everything that happens around me.
I wasn’t to look at anyone.
I wasn’t to touch anyone.
I was to allow people to touch me—anyone. Whoever James said could, would. Whoever. Whenever. Though we hadn’t taken that step yet—until tonight—I was well trained on what I should and should not do in the presence of whoever he took me to.
“Diamond…” one of the men purred. I couldn’t see him, but the rasp in his voice illustrated how many cigarettes he had smoked in his lifetime.
“Gentlemen…” James said, but I kept my eyes on my toes. White as snow, to signify purity. The day after James took my virginity, I started my white nail polish trend.
“You brought us a gift? You shouldn’t have.” Goose bumps rose over my skin as the other man’s voice drifted through the space between us.
“Not tonight,” J’s authoritative voice boomed through, and it’s then that I got the first hint that maybe, just maybe, he ran this ship too.
He tugged on my collar and I fell forward, dropping to my knees. Carpet burn tore through my skin as his fist found my hair and he gently caressed it. As though a lover would. As though he doesn’t ruin my mind anytime we’re alone together.
