Chapter 2
present
ZIRA
The neck hole was loose, giving me just enough room to jut back and forth with each thrust as I laid on the bench.
Logan plowed me from behind, his grunts loud and emphatic, a performance unlike anything he had ever done while we were alone together.
A head lay in the basket in front of me, painted in red light.
I wasn’t the first sacrifice in the guillotine that night, and I certainly wasn’t going to be the last. But at least it was a man’s head this time—some initiate’s brother.
Even though women were the main source of entertainment, it was a recent Marked Blooms Syndicate rule to make sure that only the men died publicly at the Masquerades.
Go ahead and kill as many women as you want in private, just not at our parties.
“Come and play with us,” Logan said, ushering another member over. “Try the game! Press the button!”
A man dressed in black smiled as he took the remote.
His white, spiky hair puffed around his head like a halo.
Simon, one of the Syndicate’s long-time members.
Like a true gentleman, he bent down to grope me, twisting my nipple like a key in the ignition.
A buzzing sensation rolled through me, as if his white hairs on his scalp were worms burrowing into my spine.
He gripped me like he could squeeze out some milk, and I rolled my eyes.
How typical. He lowered himself farther to get a better grip on me, and his spiked hair flooded my vision, reminding me of tiny blades, ready to butcher me, but only after he got a handle on the meat.
Finally, he straightened, fixed his white hair, then pressed the button.
Click.
Nothing.
A murmur of disappointment ran through the crowd.
One down, nine to go. The game was ten completely randomized clicks, which might or might not trigger the guillotine.
A high tech bluetooth setup was integrated with the blade, making it a convenient party game for the Syndicate.
There was a chance I would lose my head, but I wasn’t afraid.
I had watched the first sacrifice’s decapitation minutes ago, just like I had watched my mother’s.
I had survived the Marked Blooms Syndicate for twenty-eight years now, and I had been a sacrifice countless times since her death.
If this was my time, then let that warm blanket of death smother me.
Another man stepped forward, a black mask covering his full face and neck.
The men in black were already members of the Marked Blooms Syndicate and had gone through the initiation process, but the men in white—like Logan, my husband—were still initiates.
Logan handed him the remote. The member’s gaze leered down through the eyeholes at me.
Click.
Nothing, again. So much for the excitement.
As part of Logan’s initiation, he was sacrificing me.
Ever since my mother had died, my father had been obsessed with guillotines and beheadings.
And now, to impress his father-in-law, Logan wanted to do the same by potentially beheading someone he loved.
Obviously, Logan’s mother was dead, and his father wouldn’t agree to be his sacrifice, so that left me, the jaded heiress, as his only option.
But it was the last time I was going to go through this.
The crowd erupted in laughter as a member made a crass joke—something about the view of my ass being covered by Logan’s bad form—and I forced a smile too. At the next Masquerade, it would be Logan’s turn, and after that, we would both be on the board.
Silence fell over the crowd as heavy footsteps entered the room.
The crowd of men parted, and Logan’s mechanical thrusting stopped.
A tall man, his body flexing with each step, his chest chiseled and rippling with strength, came forward, each step forceful.
Wrinkled black pants on his legs. A bull skull resting on his head, the horns painted black.
Light freckles painted the man’s shoulders, and though he was beautiful like a work of art, it was his mask that hypnotized me.
The horns stretched wider than an arm span; he must have had to enter the room sideways to get through the doorway.
I glanced around as much as I could in that head hole. Every single member and initiate in the room had fallen to silence, kowtowed by this man.
Who was he?
Logan offered the skull mask man the remote without a word.
The skull mask man clutched it in his grasp, then unbuttoned his pants.
His length sprang forward in front of me, long and proud, the pale skin tinted pink with blood.
Thick black barbed wires were tattooed around his shaft, covering his head, like a symbolic warning.
Even in pleasure, he would tear you apart.
He shoved himself inside of my mouth quicker than I could blink, penetrating my throat to the hilt.
My eyes watered, the air taken from my body as I choked on his length.
His horns pierced the sides of my vision.
The shadows of the mask covered his face.
His thickness swelled in my throat, then he thrust. Hard. I gurgled in response.
Click.
He pulled himself out, letting the head of his length rest on my lips. He circled his hips, letting his head play with my tongue. The stench of saliva and sweat filled my nostrils. I kept my eyes peeled wide, afraid he might disappear.
Click.
His neck twitched, then he shoved his length down my throat. As if remembering that he was supposed to be performing too, Logan thrust from behind, but I couldn’t feel him anymore. The stranger shoved himself inside of me until my nose was flat against his skin. I could barely breathe.
Click.
Everyone silently watched as the stranger tore my mouth apart.
Black tears ran down my cheeks. Maybe those tattoos weren’t barbed wires at all, but the tears of women he used like this.
I could barely see, but everything inside of me twitched in a sudden frenzy.
It wasn’t random members taking turns with the remote anymore.
It was just the skull mask man, absorbing every opportunity to behead me.
Click.
The skull mask man bent down, grabbing my face with his hands, the remote sliding against my wet cheek. Then he dug his fingers into my scalp with so much force, it was like he considered my head already detached.
Click.
He smacked the side of my cheeks, silently ordering me to open up and take more of his length. I complied.
Click, click, click.
He pulled out, his shaft still hard and twisting with veins. His pale skin had deepened with color, the blood threatening to burst out of his length. Red lipstick painted the base of his shaft.
He wasn’t going to come for me.
Why was I disappointed?
The remote clattered to the floor like a pen in an empty hall. The skull mask man kneeled down in front of me. Two caverns opened in the front of the skull, hollowed out for his eyes. Shadows swarmed over his irises, but his gaze burned deep inside of me.
He gave me a slight nod of his head, as if to tell me it was over now, and he was still by my side. Chills ran down my spine.
And with that, the skull mask man moved toward the door. His boots sent tremors through the room, marking his exit. The crowd silently parted again.
Logan pulled out from behind me. He hadn’t come either, but that was to be expected; he was too uptight for this sort of experience. He zipped his pants, then quickly unlatched the top lunette of the guillotine, removing me from its grasp.
“You made it,” he breathed. The crowd murmured back to life again, now that the skull mask man was gone.
I pursed my lips. “You’re surprised?”
“Relieved,” he gasped. As if this wasn’t his idea.
The members conversed with each other, while several came over to congratulate Logan on his new membership. I pulled on my white dress, pleased that I didn’t have to wash off any blood this time, then I took my place by his side, congratulating him like the others.
Once we were alone, walking toward the main ballroom, I held Logan’s hand lazily. A server came by with a tray of champagne, and we each took a glass. I tossed mine back immediately. Logan took a small sip, watching me over the side of his flute with amusement.
“Next Masquerade, I promise not to put you in the guillotine,” I said.
“What if your father wants it?” he asked.
“He already got his show with you. How about the rack instead? It’s easy, right? And as an official member, they’ll be nice to you,” I winked. “I promise I won’t let them kill you. Just a little caning on your balls.”
Another server passed us, and Logan settled his half-empty flute on her tray.
“I’m not going to be a sacrifice at the next Masquerade,” he said, his words stern, like the matter had already been decided.
But I hadn’t been part of that decision.
I furrowed my brows. “Yes, you are.”
“We talked about this,” he said calmly, brushing the hair out of my eyes. “Only one of us needs to be a member.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Yes, but we made a deal—”
“That one member was supposed to be me.”
I clutched the flute’s stem like a thin neck, ready to snap it in half. Logan was too soft for a life in the Marked Blooms Syndicate. If only one of us would officially join the secret society, it was supposed to be me. My lips curled, forcing my facial muscles into that look of satisfaction.
He was messing with me. He had to be messing with me.
Logan wrapped his hand around my shoulder. “Being in the Marked Blooms Syndicate is too dangerous for you. You’re high profile enough as it is, babe. And after everything you’ve been through, don’t you want to relax? Enjoy your life, for once?”
I chuckled darkly, then ran my thumb across the stem of the flute, wondering how much force it would take to break the damn thing with my hands. If I used that same pressure on Logan’s neck, how long would it take him to asphyxiate?