Chapter Nineteen
...............................
Henri
––––––––
I FELT HER BEFORE I saw her.
Twisting in my chair, my eyes flew to the lantern-strewn garden, searching the flock of slaves currently moving toward us.
Where is she?
I skimmed the stunning beauties and ignored the handsome men, seeking the one jewel who—
Ah, there she is.
My body relaxed and tensed as I set eyes on her. My heart sped up and slowed as I drank in the short, sexy nightgown she wore. My blood heated and iced as my gaze dropped between her legs where the shadow of her sex was barely covered by white lace.
The murmur of male appreciation percolated around me.
Whispers of what they’d like to do to Ily. Chuckles of how hard they’d fuck her when my weekend exclusivity was up.
I was a sick and twisted man, but hearing what some of the others would do to her given half the chance...Jesus Christ.
My hands balled on the table.
Tonight would be utter hell.
Not only was I running on dregs, but I had to perform like a man who’d just been let out of a prison cell of his own making. After my unfortunate vomiting episode in the shower, I’d crashed on my bed and dreamed horror-filled fantasies of tying Ily up and taking her all over again.
As much as I still had power over my thoughts and actions while I was awake, it seemed my subconscious was well and truly ignoring me.
The villain within me grew bolder, colder, hungrier.
The guffaws of men elbowing each other at the mention of tag-teaming Ily in the dungeons kept me clinging to the rapidly fraying hero inside me, but the idea of me being the one to chain her, bruise her, fuck her—
Christ, stop it.
Balling my hands, I went over my plan for after this twisted dinner party.
Step one, wait until everyone is drunk and passed out.
Step two, head up to Victor’s office and break in.
Step three, find the signal scrambler and turn it off just long enough for my birdcage cufflinks to send out their godforsaken GPS coordinates.
Step four, turn the scrambler back on.
Step five, go to bed.
Step six, wake to the sounds of helicopters and machine gun fire as my brother rains bullets on every bastard here.
Excluding me...hopefully.
As long as I didn’t hurt Ily and she remained complicit in my deception, I wasn’t a bastard. Sure, I dabbled with the edge of that definition, but if I never straight-up raped her, then...I wouldn’t have to die.
Merde, can you hear yourself?
You painted her with your cum.
You spurted inside her like a schoolboy because for the first time in your miserable life, sex actually felt good.
You’re suffering a goddamn crush, for fuck’s sake!
That was the worst part.
I wished Victor had never used that word.
I wished my mind hadn’t twisted it into an obsession.
I was twenty-fucking-nine years old, and I’d never had a crush. I’d lusted after the thought of lust but never felt the real deal because no girl had given me the time of day.
They’d sensed something off about me.
Avoided the beast within.
The fact that Ily had poked my monster awake the moment our eyes met was the epitome of inconvenient, but then again, perhaps my wretched heart had done me a favour.
The more I saw her as fragile and breakable, the longer I could withstand my tendencies and convince myself that I’d been wrong about everything.
Wrong about what I wanted.
Wrong about who I was deep, deep inside.
After my little breakdown in the shower, I could almost convince myself that I was normal and dwelling in this depraved utopia—where slaves existed and Masters ruled—was the worst existence imaginable.
If it wasn’t for the fucking whisper saying I’d finally found where I belonged, I could almost pretend I was cured.
Clenching my teeth, I shut off my thoughts.
I was sick of thinking.
Tonight, I had a performance to play. Then, when everyone had crashed, I’d send Q my location and end this.
I’d end it before I chose it.
I didn’t move as Ily and the other jewels climbed the deck and entered the huge, open-sided gazebo that Victor’s staff had erected.
I’d missed lunch while I’d glued myself back together again, and Victor had called to insist I attend dinner as my money—Q’s money—had gone through. Apparently, I deserved to celebrate.
Ily’s gaze went round as she followed the others toward the centre of the gazebo.
The Masters stayed where they were, lounging in chairs, nursing drinks while candles flickered on white-dressed tables and fairy lights dangled from the cloth ceiling.
The air was heavy with flower perfumes and the scents of decadent food.
I stiffened as I looked at the stage in the middle.
A simple black podium with a rack full of every kinky toy imaginable. Whips, floggers, shackles, clamps, plugs, and chains.
My heart kicked into higher gear as the jewels stopped at the bottom of the stage.
Victor left his table and climbed onto the platform.
He beamed. “Welcome, gentlemen. As you know, each night is a cause for celebration, and we definitely know how to celebrate, but tonight...we have two new reasons. You met them at the auction but allow me to formally introduce them.” Pointing at me, he bowed his chin.
“First, let us welcome Henri Ward. A man who’s fast becoming a favourite project of mine and someone who I hope realises he’s amongst friends. ”
I raised my wood-smoked bourbon, accepting his toast with a lazy smile. “Merci beaucoup.”
Victor grinned before his eyes darted to Ily.
She stood in the crush of slaves, body stiff and judging.
Unlike most of the day, when Masters paraded around the lush gardens with naked jewels crawling and chained, most of them now wore scraps of lingerie.
A bustier here, a garter belt there. Nipples peaking from corsets and bare asses split with G-strings.
The male jewels wore a combination of boxers, bowties, and flowing pants.
The glimmer of golden cuffs and collars matched on all of them.
The electricity device sat heavily in my pocket.
I’d ensured I’d brought it with me, not to willingly hurt Ily but to have a method of control if she suddenly decided to go all vigilante and verbally abuse the dangerous creeps around us.
My gaze locked on the object of my obsession, drinking in the virginal white negligee. Her blue-black hair hung heavily to her shoulders while her wand tattoo poked between her shoulder blades with inky defiance.
“Secondly, we also have a new treasured jewel to fawn over.” Victor grinned. “You can look, gentlemen, but not touch. Not yet anyway.”
A round of groans echoed. “Give us a taste, Vic. Go on!”
Victor chuckled. “In a few days, my friends. Patience.”
Clapping his hands, servers began pouring into the gazebo from the other entrance. Plate after plate of restaurant quality cuisine, steaming and presented with exquisite presentation.
I leaned back as a woman in a neat black pinafore placed a dish in front of me. A tower of tempura fried vegetables stacked over a puree of something green with a moat of reddish ju. The sauce looked like coagulated blood, turning me queasy.
My stomach revolted and rumbled, disgusted and hungry in equal measure.
The three men at my long table toasted me. “Bon appétit.”
I nodded and sipped my drink, hoping the booze would settle my nerves.
“You’ve all received your starters,” Victor said. “So please, summon the jewel you would like to accompany you tonight, and the evening’s entertainment will begin.”
Hands shot into the air, fingers snapping with degrading authority. “Rachel, quickly!”
“Nancy, come here.”
“Gareth, on your knees. I’ve wanted your mouth all day.”
“Citra, here. Now.”
“Rebecca, bring a friend.”
“Kirk, show me that fine ass of yours.”
With dead eyes and shut-down expressions, collared men and women drifted toward different tables and Masters. A few more names and a few reluctant shuffles. The dense night air rippled with obedience before a scream suddenly rang out.
A male jewel plummeted to the floor, twitching and gasping, his entire body locked in a teeth-snapping convulsion.
“Told you to move faster, Toby. You didn’t.” A tall, thin man with silvered hair stood by his table, his thumb stabbing into a familiar black device.
I balled my hands under the table as the slave jerked with electrocution.
Other men chuckled and rolled their eyes, well used to seeing such brutal discipline.
Toby choked on his tongue.
One of the men a few seats away from me smirked in my direction. “Bloody jewels. There’s always one or two who push their luck.”
I shut down the part of me wanting to hit something and laughed. “Discipline is far more fun than obedience.”
“And so damn satisfying.” He grinned and held out his hand. “I’m Charles, by the way. And you’re Henri.”
“I am.” Doing my best to stop watching the murder before me, I shook his hand. I squeezed his fingers just the right amount, keeping a nonchalant smile on my face. “You been coming here a while?”
“Oh, yes.” Sitting back, Charles ran a hand through his short brown beard.
The hair on his head had thinned, seeming to prefer his chin.
Crows feet by his eyes and age spots on the back of his hands pegged him about mid-fifties.
“Be fourteen years next month. Vic said he’s gonna plan something big for me.
Maybe let me rent the snuffbox all to myself. ”
Fourteen years?
Jesus.
No wonder Q used me to infiltrate. If even he couldn’t touch or find this place, then the Master Jeweler was a worthy adversary.
I sipped my drink. “I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“Oh, you will. It’s splendid.” He smirked. “You’ll have the time of your life in there, believe me.”
I shrugged. “So you can rent the snuffbox just for you? Alone?”
“Well, for me and a jewel or two.” He chuckled. “Obviously.”
“Obviously.” I returned his laugh. “Don’t like to share either, huh?”
“Nah, just don’t like an audience.” His eyes turned black. “I like to...take my time.” Picking up his dinner knife, he sliced it slowly through the air. “I like to enjoy myself, if you know what I mean.”