Page 53 of Promise of Punishment

“The owners,” he says. “One in particular wouldn’t like you moving your stuff alone. It’s part of the security team’s job. I can send four guys and have your place packed up in a few hours.”

“Less actually. There isn’t much to get. None of the furniture is mine, just the cardboard drawers and plastic bins. But I don’t think you should waste the security on packing my small amount of stuff.”

He walks backward toward the door. “Consider it done. Enjoy the perk. There are many here.” He smiles. “I’ll go unload your car and have everything brought to your room. Text me your studio address.” Before I can say anything else, he’s out the door and into the sunlight.

I take in the grandeur of the great hall and let out a huge sigh. Everything is spotless from the day staff. I don’t work half as hard as I have at other places and for less money.

How did this become my life?

21

GET THE FUCK OUT

Wes

I make it to Hellfire late Friday night. The party is well on its way in the ballroom with three of the five Lords here for the weekend.

I wouldn’t have come back if it weren’t for Fable. My London lady hit me up twice for sex while I was in town. We went out, but again, I couldn’t bring myself to fuck her. I thought the ocean between me and Fable would make it easier to get my release. The only pleasure I found was with my own damn hand to images of Fable—that dark hair covering my pillow, those lips begging me to give her another orgasm.

That is my goal tonight. My mission. I’m done waiting. The chemistry between us has me in knots like a sixteen-year-old desperate to stick his cock in the nearest pussy. I can’t deny I like the rush, but I hate the frustration that comes with it.

My suitcase is in my room when I reach it, thanks to Jace. I shower and change into black pants and a black button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up. My red jacket hangs from my desk chair. I put it there while I debated whether to join the party or to summon Fable to my room. Not my private suite. I would never do that. We use guest rooms for a reason. Our personal belongings are in these massive rooms, complete with an office and minibar. I could lock the doors to the office. The black, grey, and white sleek design is the opposite of the traditional, stuffy style I grew up with at Hale Manor, and reveals nothing about me, other than I like modern organization. I’m a man of few personal knick-knacks. Anything sentimental I keep at my penthouse in the Flatiron District.

A famous billionaire entrepreneur owns the apartment below me. My father liked to brag about that. He bought the penthouse over a decade ago. It was one of the first things I stole from him. How scared he was when I showed him the videos I acquired of his sordid parties, including one of him bare-arsed plowing into a prominent nobleman. The thought of it getting out and staining his reputation was all it took for the man to sign everything over to me. I let him keep a few things for appearances’ sake, but he died with nothing, and the memory of losing it all to the son he cut off and left for dead.

My solicitor says Mum is waiting for me to grant her part of the estate. Now that her husband is six feet under, she wants to keep her allowance and reclaim Hale Manor. Why she thinks I’d give her anything is beyond me. Until I make up my mind to either burn it down or turn it into a homeless shelter—whichever makes my father roll over in his grave the most—I’m avoiding the place.

Sinclair: Heard you’re here. Will you be joining the party? You might want to.

Phones aren’t permitted in Hellfire. They get collected up on arrival and returned when guests leave. Staff must keep their phones in Camila’s office or their rooms. Lords, out of respect, follow the rules too. If Sinclair is texting, he left the party to use his phone. Either he’s bored or he doesn’t like someone here.

Me: I haven’t decided if I’m joining.

Sinclair: Then you don’t mind that your pick of the litter is dancing with a red feather in her wig.

What the fuck? I snag my jacket and mask and make it downstairs in no time at all. My hair isn’t gelled to help conceal my identity, but my mask is big and hides enough. I’m not about to turn around and fix it. Fable and I have an agreement.

I stalk through the doors to the ballroom. The smaller crowd makes it easier to spot the staff in their standard costumes, but I don’t see a tiny server anywhere. Nefertiti looks over from the bar where she’s with Cruz and waves me over. I go to get answers.

As soon as I approach, she hands me a drink. “Here. You look like you need this.”

I slam the Amaretto Old Fashioned, my drink of choice, and bend to her ear, “Where’s Fable?”

She runs her hand through my hair in the back and pulls me toward her neck. “Forget the newbie. She isn’t interested in anything exclusive. She told me last weekend when I hired her.”

What! “Has she been with anyone while I’ve been gone?”

She turns her head and brushes her lips across my neck. “A few guests.”

“A few?” I shout and gain the attention of several sets of eyes.

“Darling, you’re making a scene,” Camila says in my ear as if we’re making out. “How about another drink?”

She knows I declared Fable off-limits and was supposed to not only keep her here but keep her away from other men. The fact that she let this happen, maybe even encouraged it, leaves a stale taste in my mouth.

I chuckle and grip Camila by the throat, tugging her back against me. “I didn’t take you for the jealous type, but whatever game you're playing with Fable, it ends now. Understand?”

I let her go and shove away in search of Fable. Another server, a tall raven-haired one with chocolate skin and a peacock mask, offers me a drink from her tray. I’m about to wave her off when she says, “She’s in the Gilded Cage. She’s a bit drunk and has never partied like this in her life. Please don’t judge her.”