Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Rebel Arena, Freedom
Shay
Perfect. Beautiful. Mine.
I cling onto D’Angelo’s words like they can stop me from flying apart.
Yet I can also feel the other words that are written with ink on the inside of my thigh, which feel like they’ve been branded.
Fuck up. Stupid. Mine.
My lovers think that Blythe is only a demon from my past.
But she is still a monster in my present.
What will they do when they find out the things that she has been making me do?
The words that she has been forcing me to write on myself?
After seeing a photograph as evidence that I’d followed through on her order, Blythe had sent me a text:
Don’t wash it off until u r in the showers. I want 2 watch on TV my head would be filled with nothing but white noise.
I’d stumble through the rest of the day on shut down.
The waiting was part of the punishment.
Then in the evening, I’d present myself to Blythe’s room and her discipline.
Some of the punishments were painful like forced orgasms or CBT but the worst were psychological like the time that she didn’t allow me to talk for the entire weekend I spent with her, despite me telling her how much it distressed me because of Eden not being able to talk until he was twelve.
She still took my voice.
Often, I didn’t even know what rule I had broken.
When Robyn told me about the Valentine’s card with the Queen of Hearts on the front, which was addressed to my Knave, I paled with terror.
Why didn’t I tell Robyn that Blythe had already sent me a text with a heart emoji?
Because I don’t want Robyn to think that I am a fuck up?
To know everything that Blythe has done to me? What I have done at her command?
I trust Robyn and D’Angelo with my life. I owe Eden mine already.
Yet none of them have been broken into someone else’s plaything. They don’t know what it is like to have everything that makes you happy slowly broken inside you.
The bloody bitch is trying to do that in public. If I can endure her humiliations in private, then I can hold onto my new life.
I’ve moved in with the people who I love. I have my dream career.
It’s bloody amazing.
I won’t allow my nightmare to destroy this dream.
Three minutes left…
I’m shaking with adrenaline, however, because what if D’Angelo discovers Blythe’s marks on me, before I can wash them off?
Will he dump me?
I deserve it.
I promised that I was his. I’m his sub. Am I betraying him?
When D’Angelo talked about collaring me, I’ve never craved something so much in my life.
It would mean knowing that someone wants me…loves me… enough to claim me.
My blood is rushing in my ears. Adrenaline pumps through me.
Was Blythe calling the house after Halloween a warning?
A promise?
A threat?
D’Angelo never told me what she said. He only listened, while his expression darkened.
Then he cut her off, sharply. “Shut up and listen to me, you abusive piece of shit. You make me fucking sick. People like you who pretend that they’re doms but abuse the trust of subs should be locked up. Don’t call me again. If you contact or come near my sub again, then I’ll fucking kill you.”
His sub.
Normally, D’Angelo calling me that would make warmth flood through me.
Only, Blythe has contacted me, and I’m breaking my Dom’s rules about hurting myself.
I skate like there is wind beneath me, as if I can escape my own skin if I skate fast enough.
The goal is in front of me. My hands tighten around my stick.
I just need to score once.
Two minutes left.
I lick over my lips at the memory of the tender kiss that Robyn gave me before we left Freedom Mansion.
It’s tradition.
She is my good luck charm.
I scan the arena.
Robyn and Eden are standing together on the other side of the glass. Their arms are touching as close as they can without holding hands.
Robyn catches my gaze, giving a tight smile.
She is wrapped up in a long coat, as well as Eden’s gray scarf and gloves. Eden is standing next to her in his game night gray suit with light silver waistcoat. The long woolen coat that Eden is wearing over it, exactly matches his eyes.
Eyes that right now are fixed on me with a mix of concern and sternness.
“Concentrate,” Eden mouths.
I flinch.
My chest is rapidly rising and falling. I take a moment to draw in a deep breath.
Head in the game, Shay.
I’ve been rattled. But I can do this.
I have to.
One minute left…
I put my head down and skate toward the goal.
This next goal is mine.
I weave around the rival team’s defensemen.
I skate faster and faster. Excitement surges through me for the first time in the game.
I won’t let Blythe silence my voice ever again. Ink washes off. It’s only words.
I’d proudly tattoo D’Angelo’s name on my bloody cock. I don’t need to, however, because I am tattooed by my willing submission to him.
I am already collared by him in my soul.
Blythe is a bloody amateur.
I believe in D’Angelo, and he has faith in me.
That’s enough.
I glance over my shoulder at D’Angelo.
He has the puck again.
Our gazes meet.
He gives me a piercing look. I tilt up my chin, grinning back.
He nods, understanding me without words.
This is what we’re good at. We’re as in tune on the ice as we are in bed.
Thirty seconds…
My hands are sweaty, slipping on my stick. I clutch it, white knuckled.
I skate faster, seeing space ahead to get myself in position to take the winning shot.
Twenty seconds…
Adrenaline rushes through me, as I don’t drop my speed, but instead, fake going wide.
I take a quick glance at the goal.
Ten seconds…
D’Angelo doesn’t hesitate. He raises his stick and hits the puck to me.
All of a sudden, I glimpse movement out of the corner of my eye, as something is thrown from the stands onto the rink in front of me.
My eyes widen.
It’s a giant ice blue butt plug.
I try to swerve around it, but it’s too late.
“Shit.” I miss the pass, catching my skate on the butt plug.
I lose control for a heartstopping moment, skidding across the ice and toward the boards at high speed.
Desperately, I tuck in my arms and chin to protect myself.
Please, don’t let me hit my head.
I grunt in agony, as my hip and shoulder slam into the boards.
Dizzy with pain, I bend over, panting hard.
“Shay,” I hear D’Angelo’s panicked cry.
Then the siren sounds, and through the haze of pain, my stomach sinks.
The Bay Rebels have lost.