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CHAPTER47
Owen
The two figures standing beside Evie’s ex-boyfriend—the man who dared rape and then blackmail my toy—grab his ankles, securely attaching him to hooks embedded in the cheap wooden stage.
This is the first time I’ve been inside this tent. I sincerely hope it will be the last. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for Evie. I could just have sent her the video the men are currently recording in the background, but it wouldn’t have been the same. I want her to be close enough to taste his despair.
Hisshame.
Although, from the reports I received about what this guy was fed, I’m sure that shame will only come much later. The unique cocktail pulsing through his veins right now is like a roofie mixed with GHB… with one particular exception.
He’s going to remembereverything.
I hope he has fucking night terrors about this day for the rest of his life.
With his ankles secured, the two assistants move to one side of the stage. A young woman walks through the curtains at the back, and Evie lets out a soft gasp as her fingernails dig into my flesh.
“Who’s that?” she whispers, not taking her eyes off the petite, enigmatic woman strutting around the edge of the stage, soaking up the crowd’s surge of adoration.
“I don’t think anyone knows. She just goes by the Falcon.”
The Falcon wears a fanciful bird’s mask to hide her identity, red leather pants, and a red-sequined crop top that bares a belly rippling with abs.
A bullwhip drags over the stage behind her. She gives it a little twitch, and it snaps in the air, making Brent twist to watch her.
The pathetic idiot is trying to leer at her, but he’s so doped up I doubt he’s capable of speech. She snaps the whip again, the tip cracking in the air a foot from Brent’s shriveled dick. He surprises me by letting out a whimper of shock.
Guess he can still talk. That should make this interesting.
The Falcon turns her back on the crowd, standing arms akimbo as she studies Brent. “God, but you’re a pathetic excuse of flesh,” she says in a rich, performer’s voice. “Can you even fuck anyone with this tiny little dick?”
Brent yowls in pain when her whip connects with his dick, making it swing wildly as he bucks his hips back.
Not that he can move very far with the belt holding him in place, and the restraints on his ankles. As if realizing he’s truly fucked, he starts tugging frantically on the belt. It seems it’s not easy to unlatch, because he decides to cup his balls instead.
The Falcon lands a blow on his hands, making him howl in pain. But he refuses to let go of his saggy balls, glaring at her with glazed defiance as she begins to circle him.
“What’s it going to take to get some blood pumping into that limp dick of yours, worm?” The Falcon flicks the whip against his ass, making him cry out and flinch forward. “You want to see a naked lady? Maybe fuck her? Think you can do that in front of all these people,worm?”
“Ffffuck you,bitch.”
I and some other people in the audience chuckle at this. I’ve heard about the Falcon. What happens in her show. How anything but utter adoration and submission from the people she works with earns debilitating humiliation.
This guy is fucking toast.
I glance aside, watching Evie’s throat move as she swallows. Her hand has slackened a little in mine, but she’s staring transfixed at the stage like she’s forgotten I exist.
I’ll allow it… for now. This is my gift to her. I don’t want her to miss a single second.
“No…” the Falcon muses as she does another languid course around Brent’s shaking body. “I know what you are. I know what youlike, Brent Morris.”
Evie’s fingers tighten when the Falcon says his name.
The Falcon stands in front of Brent. She drops her voice, but the microphone on her mask picks up her words perfectly. “You like taking what doesn’t belong to you.”
The crowd hisses. Evie glances around, her eyes wide behind her mask. When she locks gazes with me, there’s trepidation in her eyes.
“Ssh,” I murmur, stroking her thigh. “Your secrets will always be safe with me.”
