59
EMERSYN
I stepped through the door and it was like I’d been transported back to Vetticus’ study. Except, instead of Vetticus, it was Mahoney. Octavius stood in the middle of the room, and his eyes immediately slid over me from head to toe.
“Happy Birthday, Octavius,” Mahoney said with a chuckle.
“She’s stunning, Greg.”
“That’s not all she is,” Mahoney said smugly.
Octavius tore his attention away to look at Mahoney curiously. Mahoney handed Octavius a glass of whiskey and jerked his head at me.
“That is Theron North’s daughter.”
Octavius’ eyes lit up, and there was a glimmer of something dark that twisted his mouth into a sadistic smile.
“Well now, isn’t that something?” He murmured.
Mahoney chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll find a use for her. Word of caution—she’s incredibly dangerous—I advise—”
Octavius held up his hand and cut him off. Mahoney pressed his lips together but didn’t continue. Instead he handed Octavius a small black device, presumably for the shock chip embedded in my shoulder.
“I will leave you to enjoy your present,” Mahoney said.
When Octavius didn’t say anything further, Mahoney inclined his head and left the room.
“Would you like a drink?” Octavius asked.
“Champagne,” I murmured. “Please?”
I dropped my eyes, I needed him to think I was submissive so he’d drop his guard. I didn’t like how his thumb caressed the remote. Octavius nodded and moved over to the bar. He pulled an already open bottle from an ice bath and poured a generous amount into a flute.
My hand wrapped around the thin stem, and I realized this was most likely going to have to serve as my weapon. I didn’t see an opportunity for anything else. Octavius turned and went to sit in one of the armchairs by the window.
“Come here.”
“If he fucking touches you—” Griffin snarled in my ear.
I winced at the sudden outburst. I couldn’t deal with them in my ear while I manipulated Octavius.
I quickly removed the earpiece and dropped it in a plant just as Octavius sat down and watched me approach.
When I stopped in front of him, he held out his hand.
I knew this was a test, as he toyed with the remote in his other hand.
My mind raced, and even though everything in me rebelled against touching him, I put my hand in his.
“You get the best seat in the house.”
He pulled me to sit on his thigh, and his hand immediately slid up my bare leg where the slit of my dress parted all the way to the crease of my hip.
“The best seat for what?” I murmured, trying to sound coy.
He made a noncommittal sound, his small male brain already distracted by the stretch of bare skin in front of his face.
He trailed the backs of his fingers down the edge of my dress and grazed the swell of my breast. I forced myself not to pull away and to hide how revolted I felt at his touch.
His fingers continued to caress the skin at the edge of the fabric, teasing, testing—when I didn’t correct him or say anything, he became bolder, and his fingers dipped under the fabric.
In one slow move, he pushed the dress aside and palmed my breast.
“Exquisite,” he breathed.
His hand disappeared long enough to dip his thumb into his old fashioned, and he rubbed the whiskey over my nipple until the cool air of the room hardened it.
He leaned forward and licked it off. I closed my eyes and fought not to freeze, or worse, throw up all over him in disgust. He sucked my nipple into his mouth and scraped it through his teeth before biting down. Hard.
I hissed in pain and gripped his jaw. A rumble of a chuckle escaped him as he let go with a pop. He held up the remote in warning.
“Careful, doll.”
That name—
My heart thundered so loudly it filled my head with static. My jaw tightened in irritation as I slowly, and reluctantly, released him.
“A little pain can heighten pleasure,” he said.
His eyes were blown out, and there was a glitter of corruption in their depths.
“But, maybe we’re not there yet,” he mused.
He plucked the champagne flute from my hand, and placed it on the table near his own drink.
In one quick movement, he pulled my leg up and over his other thigh so I straddled his lap.
My hands came down on his chest to steady myself.
He smelled like cigars and stale alcohol fumes.
Octavius slid both of his hands up my legs.
It caused the dress to bunch around my hips, and his thumbs dug into my hip bones. He grew hard between my legs.
“I bet your skin marks up very prettily,” he murmured.
A loud bang from outside startled me, and I jerked back in his lap. His grip on me tightened.
“It’s just the fireworks. Like I said—you have the best seat in the house.”
Octavius moved the fabric of my dress to the side, baring my breasts to him again. Another loud bang, and a flash of color reflected off the walls, as the firework show continued. Octavius ran his thumbs over both nipples methodically until they were hard.
“But, we’ll start slow,” he said, then he pinched both nipples and twisted.
I fell forward into him with a yelp. This time he didn’t let up, and I writhed in his lap.
Any direction I moved, his assault continued.
I cursed and let out a whimper of pain. I wanted to punch him so badly but instead, my hands landed on his shoulders.
He released me and my breathing picked up as blood rushed back to my nipples.
“So responsive,” he rumbled in approval. “Maybe I’m not quite as patient as I thought.”
He held up his pointer finger which had a large gold ring on it. He depressed the side with his thumb, and a small blade popped out about an inch.
“Comes in handy when I don’t need a blade within reach,” he said dryly.
He trailed his finger along the swell of my breast, then bent his finger and slid the small blade down beside my nipple.
A small line of blood beaded, hardly more than a scratch.
Octavius quickly raised his drink and pressed the cool condensation on the glass against the cut.
I didn’t exactly know what to do, so I moved my hips against the bulge in his pants and pretended to gasp.
“Beautiful,” he murmured as he pulled the glass away.
His tongue licked at the cut, and I fought through the nausea by focusing on a spot on the wall over his head.
I closed my eyes and willed my control to stay intact.
Octavius’ hand wandered along the inside of my thigh.
I held my breath as his fingers brushed between my legs and two fingers slipped inside me.
I froze, and he met my eyes with a chuckle of amusement.
“I retracted the blade, doll,” he said. “Like I said, we’ll go slow. But, you will bleed for me.”
I smiled a small smile that I hoped didn’t have the sinister edge that my thoughts held.
He was going to bleed for me too. The crackle of fireworks spraying across the night sky accompanied the sound of what remained of the guests cheering outside.
Another burst of blues and reds played across his face, and I met his hooded gaze.
Despite everything in me that revolted against his touch, I slowly pressed my hips forward, and drove his fingers deeper. My lips parted as my hips ground against his hand. His breath picked up, and he abandoned the remote on the side table in favor of putting both hands on my body.
Perfect. That’s what I’d been waiting for.
He used his other hand and rubbed my clit, then pinched it. I yelped and jerked in his lap, my hand flailed out and purposefully knocked my flute over on the side table. It fell on its side where it broke into pieces and spilled the champagne.
“Oh, shit,” I gasped. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Octavius said, his voice laced with annoyance.
I continued to ride his fingers and after a moment, he was back under my spell.
I reached out and grabbed the drink he’d abandoned.
I took a sip and slid my hand to his neck.
I pushed his head back and leaned a few inches over him.
I opened my lips and dribbled alcohol into his mouth.
The way his hips jerked, I could tell he enjoyed it.
While he was distracted, I put his glass back down and subtly picked up a piece of the glass flute.
It bit into my palm, but I relished the pain.
Yeah, I was going to bleed for him, but not the way he hoped.
“Fuck, right there,” I gasped in mock pleasure.
I moved my hand with the glass to rest over his shoulder and leaned closer to his lips.
I hated how his breath felt against my face.
I hated how his fingers were inside me. I hated how he’d probably molested me in a similar fashion when I was a child.
The thought made it almost impossible to continue.
Everything in me rebelled against it—but I was almost done—
I leaned in closer. “You’re right, this is the best seat in the house.”
I slammed the piece of glass into his jugular. His eyes went wide, and he choked on a gasp. His hand flailed around in search of the remote, but I knocked it out of reach. I yanked the glass out and stabbed him again. He looked at me in shock and horror as he tried to form words.
At that exact moment, the pop and explosive eruption of the firework finale went up in the air, casting a beautiful display of colors across his face, still frozen in shock as he choked on his own blood.
“You probably don’t remember me.” I climbed off his lap. “But, I remember you.”
I grabbed the rest of his old-fashioned and tossed the drink back in one go. I wiped my mouth, tasting his blood on my lips. He convulsed in the chair, eyes wide and I could see he was trying really hard to place me.
I shook my head and laughed softly at his folly. “I’ve waited a long time for this.”
I slipped the mask off my face and tossed it aside, then leaned in close and patted his cheek.
“I’m not your doll,” I said. “And you’ll never touch another child again.”
Octavius’ hands fell limply onto his lap as he gave up the fight.
It felt like a weight had been lifted, as I realized how much of my anger had been from my failure to find, and execute him.
My throat was tight with unshed tears of relief.
It had been a long time coming and now, in a matter of a few minutes, I’d succeeded where I’d failed so many times before.
My hand burned from the glass, but nothing could diminish my joy. I perched on his lap and hummed happy birthday, while the life faded from his eyes and the brilliance of the firework show faded behind him like a morbid backdrop.
Octavius was dead.
When I knew I couldn’t linger any longer, I stood up and investigated him for any weapons. I pulled a nine-millimeter from a back holster, just as the doors slammed open.