Chapter 25 #3
An icy chill settles in the pit of my stomach, scattering goose bumps along my flesh.
I turn my head, and there he stands, the person who invokes my worst nightmares and plagues my every waking moment.
Golden god comes to mind whenever I look at him.
How can someone so astoundingly beautiful have such a black heart?
“I-I c-came w-with a f-friend,” I stammer.
He grasps a passion twist between his thumb and forefinger. “What friend?”
Does he like my new look? Does he hate it? Should I have asked his permission before getting the ostentatious hairstyle? Anything is liable to send this unhinged man over the edge.
“Meela,” I mumble past the boulder-size knot in my throat. “She did my hair too. Do you like it?”
I could kick myself for asking, but part of me really wants to know.
“Stand up,” Sandman orders me and takes a step back.
I slip out of the booth on shaky legs, keeping a hand fastened onto the table’s edge for support.
Sandman’s cornflower-blue eyes drift over my black satin dress, the thin straps barely clinging to my shoulders, then drop to my tiger-print heels.
I fixate on a point beyond his shoulder, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.
“It suits you,” he rasps sharply, trailing a finger over a delicate strap.
“Thank you,” I reply, shyly meeting his gaze.
“You got googly eyes, boy.” Zeus’s boisterous quip draws our attention.
Sandman goes rigid, his nose flaring in anger. Zeus isn’t the only one studying us with avid curiosity. To my utter mortification, our exchange has garnered a small audience.
“You must be Zilphia,” he says, guiding his female companion to her knees.
“Y-yes.”
“Suck,” Zeus orders her. The woman eagerly obliges, freeing his erection and going to town. “You’re a pretty little thing,” he states, his gaze raking over me from head to toe. “A mite too skinny for my tastes, though. I see why my boy has a hard-on for you.”
“You’re crossing the line, Zeus,” Sandman growls between clenched teeth. “My business is my own.”
“You’re right, son.” Zeus acknowledges, his head dipping slightly. “I can respect that.”
Sandman captures my wrist in an iron grip and starts dragging me toward the back of the bar. Ivy appears out of nowhere, looping her arm around his.
“Hey, baby,” she purrs seductively. “Lose this bitch and come with me. I’ll show you a real good time.”
Sandman jerks away from her and shoves her to the floor. “You’re here to entertain, so fucking entertain.”
Ivy stares up at him, tears swimming in her almond-shaped gaze.
I almost feel sorry for her. Almost being the operative word.
She’s a world-class bitch, but I know firsthand how it feels to be on the receiving end of his cruelty.
He hauls me forward and veers to the right, entering a separate area for axe throwing.
There are six gated sections, all in use. Sandman pulls me to the nearest one.
“Find something else to do,” he barks at the group standing there.
A man shrugs and passes him the axe. “I’m not trying to get my ass kicked tonight.”
Sandman nods his head at the gate, his eyes pinned on me. “Stand in front of the bullseye.”
“What?” I croak, looking at the bullseye, then back at him.
“You heard me,” he snarls. “Do it. Now.”
It’s in my best interest to obey; the alternative could be a whole lot worse.
Cremation chamber worse. I walk into the gated section on heavy feet and press my back flat against the bullseye.
People are already gathered to watch. At least no one is taking pictures or recording me.
More than likely, neither are allowed during these kinds of private parties.
“Don’t worry, my aim is unmatched,” Sandman says and hurls the axe straight at me.
My breath catches. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself not to move, not even an inch. The axe whistles through the air, sharp and piercing like a scream. It slams into the target with a heavy thunk, so close it kisses the air beside my right ear.
I flinch anyway. I can’t help it. My heart’s pounding so hard it drowns out the roar of the crowd erupting in applause. Laughter. Cheers. They love the show.
But through the chaos, I spot Cricket’s face. That smug, venomous smile cuts through everything else. He wanted me to flinch. He wanted fear, and he got it.
Sandman raises a fist, silencing them. “Again?”
“Again, again, again…” the crowd chats, filling me with dread.
Sandman saunters inside the gate and retrieves the axe. My corneas burn with unshed tears, but I refuse to let them fall.
“Gotta give the people what they want,” he taunts and places a lingering kiss on my cheek. “Remember, don’t move.”
The next several minutes are a true testament to my endurance. I want to break down and beg him to stop, but I don’t. Sandman throws the axe again and again, landing mere centimeters from me each time.
“Show’s over!” he finally yells and beckons me forward.
I pad to him on shaky legs, relieved that my only casualty is a nick on the shoulder.
“You did good, but the fun isn’t over yet,” he murmurs, coasting a finger along my collarbone. “There’s more in store for you tonight.”
I shudder, imagining the horrors to come.