Chapter Twenty-Five #2
My head tilts as I watch her bouncing for a few extended moments until I force myself to find somewhere else to look before I get sucked in.
Speaking of sucking… Soren is across the room, on his knees, alternating between sucking the dicks of Officers Jasper and Hancock, both of whom are—you guessed it—hot as fuck.
It was one of the first things I noticed here… How Jessa was not exaggerating whatsoever. Every single one of these guards is sexy as hell. Even the ones who aren’t my type are attractive, and it’s kind of strange.
Did he do that on purpose too? Choose a bunch of eye-candy to serve him?
I wouldn’t be surprised.
Not only that, but they all seem to be some variation of bisexual. Honestly, if this island wasn’t devoted to a terrible prison, it’d most definitely be a gay vacation hotspot.
Watching those two pass Soren’s mouth back and forth while they sort of lean into each other, not quite touching, but seeming like they might want to, is highly tantalizing. Just like the sight of my new friend with his tear-stained cheeks, plush lips open wide…
Kneeling for his penance.
Living up to his nickname… The Sinner.
For as lascivious as this night is becoming, it’s not even a full house. I only see about ten or eleven people who aren’t partygoers. And I’ve come to realize that things are always marginally more tame when Daddy’s not here. Meaning none other than John Chevelle, of course.
Velle is in charge of everything around here, not just the work stuff. He literally commands the room without so much as a word.
Velle walks in, and everyone looks up, shuts up, and waits for whatever he’s about to do or say.
That’s not to say he’s all business, because he was here earlier, spitting liquor into Onyx’s mouth and sucking smoke out of Soren’s.
He and Soren are close. Soren’s been coming here for years, and sure, he gets around—we all do. But from what I’ve heard, he’s Velle’s go-to. His comfort listen.
That track that always slaps, no matter how many times you’ve heard it.
Regardless of that, though, I actually haven’t seen Velle in a bit, and it has me brimming with the mischievous desire to go find him. Just to see what he’s doing.
Might be an excuse to roam.
Wobbling to my feet, I’m lightheaded for a second, reminding me that I haven’t eaten all day, and the drugs are hitting me extra hard because of it. I decide to ditch my shoes—most people are barefoot, minus a couple of the girls who are wearing their heels and nothing else.
It looks good on them, but I’m momentarily jealous because I can’t do that…
Even if these people don’t care what’s underneath my dress, I do.
I have to be a girl when I’m here. It’s part of the act.
Something strange slithers through my insides, but I ignore it and pad out of the room just as something glass smashes. I jump, startled by the crash, while the group of them are cheering and laughing, some guy hollering about swallowing the worm.
Shaking my head, I wander into the hall, making sure no one’s paying attention before slipping down to the first-floor. The rest of the mansion is so quiet, and dark. The only sounds are those of the party happening upstairs, muffled like background static.
I’m curious and eager to snoop as I scamper into the den. Sidling up to the bar by the atrium, I run my fingers over the bottles of fancy booze. Plucking one off the rack, I read the label.
Scotch. Forty years old… Probably super expensive.
This must be his stuff.
Uncapping it, I take a sip, wincing and coughing from the burn.
Yea, scotch isn’t my thing.
Grinning, I spit into the bottle and shake it around, screwing the cap back on and putting it back.
Take that, asshole.
As I’m tiptoeing through the library, voices up the hall give me pause. Interestingly enough, the two libraries are separated by an adjoining corridor. Technically, this means they’re connected, and the hushed words I’m hearing are coming from his side.
I have to investigate. Way too engrossed not to.
Taking the lightest steps possible, I creep down the hallway until I reach his library. I peek around the corner, holding my breath as I do.
Unsurprisingly, his library is much bigger; more space, more ornate furniture, and more bookshelves. Because of that, I’m far enough away that I can’t really make out the conversation. But I don’t need to. My body’s physical reaction tells me who’s speaking.
El Diablo… He’s in there.
My heart is instantly racing, hair on the back of my neck standing up. My hands are clammy, my throat is dry, and for some unknown reason, I’m aching where I’m tucked into place.
Jaw tense, I scold myself internally.
Why am I so affected by his presence?? It’s fully fucking ridiculous.
The rage, sure. That makes sense. But the other stuff? The intense bodily response to his proximity… I’ll never understand it.
Fucking moronic.
Determining that he’s far enough away for me to make my move, I slip into the room and immediately duck behind the far bookshelf. It’s dark as hell in here, only the dreary orange gestures coming from the fireplace’s embers. They always seem to be sparsely lit down here, in both libraries.
Yes, the ambiance is sexy as hell, but I’m trying not to think about it right now.
I’m struggling to make out who he’s speaking to… Who else is in the room with him?
He’s having a rumbling conversation with someone by the entryway, where his study meets his library. But there’s someone else in here, too… A body on the other side of the shelf. So close, I can hear them breathing.
They seem tense, deliberately keeping themselves out of view of whoever The Ivory is talking to. Like they’re… hiding. But it also seems as if The Ivory is hiding them in return; using his body to block view of the library while grumbling at the person neither of them wants seeing inside.
I can only make out every few words, but I hear him mentioning some doctor with a degree from Johns Hopkins, then an inmate I’ve definitely heard brought up more than once, named Warren Xavier—who goes by Ren.
Apparently, he’s a favorite of the guards due to his willingness to take dick in just about every way imaginable.
The person hiding on the other side of the shelf is fidgeting, biting his fingernails. He’s a large man—aren’t they all? Still, this guy is huge, which has me contemplating…
Just as he turns slightly, and I catch the glint of a metal stud in his eyebrow.
My lips part in surprise when the dark, chin-length hair tied back comes into view.
Holy shit, it’s Velle.
What is he doing down here? In The Ivory’s library with him, alone… in the middle of the night… hiding?
The last thing I hear is The Ivory say the name Harley. As in, he’s speaking to Harley.
Harley Samuels… That’s Rook.
Rook is down here too??
The Ivory tells Rook to go, and he goes, scurrying off, likely back to our side of the mansion. And I suck in a breath…
Because Manuel Blanco is now walking right towards me.
In all the weeks I’ve been coming here, I haven’t seen him for more than a split second, usually striding to and fro, because he’s so busy and important.
Eye-roll.
Of course he hasn’t seen me. I can’t allow that. My disguise is fine, objectively. Sure, the guards I’ve had sex with know I’m not female, but they don’t seem affected by it. I’m still Ari, and that’s all that matters.
But as much as I feel like a different person—or another version of me, I still can’t quite tell—The Ivory would take one look and know it’s me.
No, the next time I come face to face with Manuel Blanco will be when I’m slitting his throat with my father’s knife. I just have to find it first…
But no matter. I know it’s here.
The Ivory stops in front of Velle. The only thing separating us is about three feet of shelf stacked with books. They’re so close I can smell them both…
Velle has a masculine scent; bold, like amber, fiery bourbon, and rich leather. The Ivory’s scent, on the other hand, reminds me of that night… at The Edge.
Mint, burning sandalwood and sweat on trembling flesh. Hungry lips and teeth and a tongue, disarming me while I quivered and he crooned…
“Mmm, soaking wet, baby… Show me…”
“Take a breath, Jonathan,” The Ivory chuckles, pulling me back to the present.
Face flushed and muscles tight, I remember my displeasure, holding absolutely still, watching them through a minuscule sliver of space between books, just low enough that I can see them without them seeing me.
“Jesus… You’re behaving like a housewife who just narrowly avoided being caught cheating with the gardener.” He continues his scoffing snickers while Velle glares at him.
“Yea well… it feels like that,” he grumbles, raking fingers through his hair.
The Ivory pouts.
God, that look makes me want to bite it off… Angrily, not sexually.
Shut up.
“I don’t want him finding out I was here…” Velle breathes.
“Are you ashamed of me?” The Ivory gives Velle this… look.
And now, I wouldn’t be able to breathe if I tried.
What is going on here…?
Are they… fucking??
Velle stammers, “I’m… I don’t…”
“Alright, calm down,” Ivory huffs, shaking his head. “I’m just messing with you, Jonathan. If you’ll recall, we used to have fun together…”
Swallowing is suddenly difficult. There’s a giant lump in my throat that I don’t understand. I should only be feeling fury, frustration, and the desire to wring this puta’s neck. Maybe some sympathy for Velle, since I understand the confusion he’s feeling.
That is… if he also has a complicated history with el diablo…?
“That was a long time ago,” Velle grunts. “You were different then. We both were.”
They’re standing awfully close… but not touching. At least, not that I can see.
Just holding intense eye contact that seems to be conveying a lot of that mysterious history I’m desperate for details on right now.
“Mm. And I seem to remember you becoming disenchanted.” Ivory’s head tilts. “Why was that again?”