“So collapse. Crumble.
This is not your destruction. This is your birth.”
—N.T.
I wrap my wet hair in a towel, slip into a robe, and exit my private bathroom. The bedroom Raife had Aubrey lead me to is nestled deep in the ladies’ quarters and matches the rest of the mansion in its obsession of all things ebony. Unsurprisingly, an enormous bed serves as the centerpiece, although I wasn’t expecting to see the sheer canopy pulled back by lace ribbons on either side.
Fit for a princess. Or a devil’s harem.
My limbs are still shaking from the events in the Dark Room earlier this evening. I glance down and angle my leg. The wound is fresh, raw enough to make me wince every time the silky robe brushes it, but something looks off without the red. The torn skin is a pale, drained shade of pink, like a coat of lipstick that’s reached its end or a faded painting.
Heat floods my stomach as I relive Adam’s large hand curled around my thigh. The way the muscles in his arm strained when he squeezed. His deep blue eyes going dark while he stroked the wound. A shudder runs through me, and I tell myself it’s only out of fear.
What kind of man is so captivated by the sight of blood? What does that say about the kind of person he is? More importantly, what he’s capable of?
I let out a breath and pull my gaze toward the ceiling, forcing the wound from sight. Guilt churns in my gut as Mama’s narrowed eyes flash in my mind, her chapped lips curled in pure revulsion as she hovers over me. I try to swallow the unwanted shame back down. Except it’s stuck, a solid lump in my throat, because part of me knows she’s right about me. A part of me has always known. I may not have any say over the disturbing images that crawl into my brain and demand to be let out, but as Mama used to remind me, I do have a say over giving in to their temptation.
I’m the one who picks up the paintbrush. Dips it into the crimson, ruby, and candy apple reds. Shuts out the voice of reason until all I know is the intoxicating shade of madness. I’m the one responsible for the gruesome images in my sketchpad Mama stumbled upon that day. And the next. It’s like she said when I was seven and I had first discovered art through her burgundy tubes of lipstick—You’ll never be a daughter of the Lord, and you’ll never be a daughter of mine.
My fingers tap against my leg before clutching the robe, a dispersed anxiety thrumming through them. They crave the release as much as I do.
No. I clear my throat, release the material from my death grip. It’s just a little paint.
I’m nothing like Adam.
I’m nothing like any of them.
Tugging the robe down and straightening the belt, I wander through the bedroom. My eyes dart from one corner to the next, trying to pick up any details that may be useful. I’m here for Frankie only, and I refuse to let a single one of the Matthews brothers into my head while I’m here.
If the rest of the place is anything to go off, I can almost guarantee all bedrooms in the ladies’ quarters are exactly the same. A second passes before I notice there are no windows. I make my way to the only closet in the room and pull the door open. As large as the oversized bathroom, it’s meticulously organized. Expensive-looking black lingerie and silk nighties are lining the left hanging rack, while a row of dresses identical to the one I wore today hangs to my right. Shelving units store six extra pairs of designer heels.
That’s it. The only things I will own while I play their little doll.
I creep toward the front door, turn the knob, and crack it open. Peeking through the inch of space, I flick my gaze down the hall, both ways. There’s at least one camera to my left, and I can clearly spot two at the right end. With a swallow, I gently close the door and turn around, letting my back fall against the cool wood. Tomorrow, I’ll take note of every visible camera in this mansion. Tomorrow, when the sun goes down and the lights go out, I will find out what the Matthews are hiding.
If I can make it until then.
By the time Stella summons me the next morning, Aubrey has already dressed and prepped me.
While she was doing my makeup earlier, I almost flat out asked her if Griff claimed Frankie. I haven’t been able to stop wondering since he’d mentioned my sister’s flowery scent. But of course Aubrey would never answer a question like that, so instead I settled for, “How does Griff decide who he wants to claim?” She informed me that he never misses out on testing the new hires in the Dark Room, but like she’d said the night before, they usually like what he likes.
That calmed me at the time. His short time in the Dark Room with Frankie likely explained why he recognized her shampoo on me. But my nerves are erratic again when Aubrey sits back against her desk and watches Stella lead me away from the spa area and toward the Matthews’ dining room.
Stella’s long legs take brisk steps, and I struggle to keep up. She stares straight ahead. “Once you’re claimed, your master is to be your only focus.”
I nod, and she doesn’t wait for a verbal response.
“You’ll have primary household duties like the rest of the girls, but your master always takes precedence. You will leave your other duties behind the instant he calls for you. Do you understand?”
Again, I nod.
She stops once we approach the sitting room, then turns to me and exhales. Her eyes brighten when she smiles. “It’s a big day for you, Emmy. Are you ready?”
I can only continue to nod because if I say yes aloud, I’m afraid my voice will crack through the lie. In some ways, I am ready. Even eager. Every step brings me closer to finding my sister. Every step brings me closer to getting out of here.
I spent last night wide awake in my foreign bed, trying to play out all the scenarios of how this morning might go. Who might be the one to claim me. As much as I hate to admit it, there’s no way to ignore the instinct burning deep in my gut that Raife claimed Frankie. Out of all the brothers, he’s the one she would have gone for, and on the exterior, she fits his stereotype perfectly.
But what would he have done once he found out Frankie isn’t the obedient, demure submissive Stella is? Once he saw her fire, her wings. How far will a Matthews like Raife really go to train their servant? Or furthermore, to punish them?
I gulp down the lump in my throat. There’s only one way to find out.
Stella reaches up and gently squeezes my shoulders. “Well, then. Let’s go meet your master.”
As expected, the dining room is lit like a deep cave. It doesn’t matter that it’s daytime, just like the girls’ rooms there are no windows to let in the sunlight. The entire sight is déjà vu. Each of the Matthews is positioned around the dining table exactly how they were when I met them last night. Felix sits at the left end, Griff at the right. Raife and Adam are side by side at the end opposite me.
Unease settles around me. I didn’t expect all of them to be here for this. Does this mean I’m supposed to serve all four, like Aubrey?
A nagging temptation to glance at Adam pulls at my chest. Just one look. One peek at his expression to get a glimpse of his regard for me after the Dark Room. Mindlessly scanning the others, I make out Adam’s form in the corner of my eye. But it’s not enough. Clasping my hands in front of me, I lift my chin and lock eyes with Raife instead. He’s the one I want.
Except it’s near impossible to focus on him.
I can sense Adam’s heavy gaze on me by the trail of warmth heating my skin. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t shift in his seat or greet me. He doesn’t have to. A pulsing energy buzzes off his body, bouncing between us like a circuit stuck on a loop. It vibrates against my bones as if the hard lines of his body are once again pressed against me. His strong hand cradling my jaw. Warm fingers brushing my hair across my neck. Lips softly ghosting over my throat.
“Sleep well?” Raife’s question is mocking as he glances between me and Adam.
I clear my throat. “Yes.”
He grins. “Fantastic. Stella?”
Delicate fingers intertwine with mine, and Stella leads me toward the Matthews. In the center of the dining table sits a serving tray with a stainless steel dome cover. I look from the tray to Stella, my brows knitted, but she just smiles.
“Eleven minutes,” Felix says from my left, glancing down at his watch. “No time for games.”
Raife waves a hand. “Nonsense.” His lips quirk as he slowly drinks me in from my head to my high heels. “There’s always time for games.”
“On your knees, slut.” The rough command comes from Griff. When I glance at him, his eyes are black, and his lip is curled. I continue to stand, and he runs a finger over his elbow, where I know a cut remains beneath his suit. “You got a hearing problem? Slut.”
A rhythmic tap, tap, tap pulls my gaze across the table. Adam’s leaning back in his seat, the top few buttons of his black shirt undone, legs outstretched. His eyes are honed in on the silver tray between us, his jaw hard, as he continues to methodically tap one finger on the table.
“Knees,” Griff barks. “Now.”
Lifting my chin, I fall to my knees and flick my eyes to Griff. “Better?”
He quirks an eyebrow. “For now.”
“Huh.” Raife cocks his head to one side as he stares at me. “Yes, you’re right. She does look far better down there. Stella, if you will?”
“Yes, Master.” Stella steps around me to reach for the tray’s dome cover. She lifts it and sets it aside, revealing a single, thin scarf. A gold scarf. “Congratulations, Emmy,” Stella says softly as she retrieves the scarf and proceeds to tie it around my neck. “Raife Matthews is officially your new master.”
My legs grow heavy, making me thankful I’m not standing. My stomach flutters with a rush of surprise mixed with anxiety. There’s something very different about the idea of having Raife as my master versus the moment it becomes a reality. It feels too fast. Too unexpected. Too easy. Aubrey may have said he claims almost everyone at some point, but last night in the Dark Room he seemed like he couldn’t have cared less about actually claiming me. Not when he’d pawned me off to his brothers for ‘relief.’
I drag my gaze back up to Raife’s, hoping to mask my suspicion.
A full smile stretches across his sharp face. His dirty-blond hair sits in a perfect, hard shell on his head, his suit crisp, hands folded in front of him. “Well, have you nothing to say, lovely? Are you not as pleased as I am?”
It takes a second to remember my purpose here, to get my act together. Too easy or not, Raife is my key to Frankie, and I’d be a fool not to take advantage of the circumstances. As Raife waits calmly for my response, the tap, tap, tap across the table gets louder, faster.
I pull my shoulders back. “I’m more than pleased. I’m eager to serve you.” I don’t know why I do it, but my eyes shift to Adam like he has a magnetic pull over me. For the first time this morning, he breaks his attention from the now-empty tray and looks straight at me. His finger stops tapping. Something darkens in his eyes as they flick down to the gold scarf around my throat. A muscle in his jaw ticks, his stare narrows, and the next word pours out of me in a whisper like it’s meant for one person only. “Master.”
A chair scraping against the floor drowns out my whisper as Adam abruptly stands.
My breath catches in my throat.
His eyes are midnight blue flames, pure streaks of fire, igniting my skin with a burn that melts my insides. As I squirm under his stare, the feeling dips between my thighs, thrumming with heat. I suck in a gulp of air and press my legs together.
His gaze drops.
My pulse is erratic, but I can’t calm myself as I watch him work his jaw from side to side, slowly run a hand across his lips. His intensity fills every inch of the room. He glances up at the quick rise and fall of my chest, then tears his eyes from me as he turns and walks around the table, straight past me and toward the exit.
“Hey,” Felix calls, pushing out his chair. “Where are you going? Meeting’s in four minutes.”
Adam doesn’t look back when he growls under his breath, “Not going to make it.” He pauses. “Griff, you’re coming with me. We’re moving my evening appointment up.”
He disappears through the corridor, and my chest expands as I’m finally able to breathe. What the hell was that?
Griff grunts, shoves his seat back, then follows Adam.
“Goddammit,” Felix mutters, shaking his head. He glances at Raife. “Well, we need to leave. Now.”
“Yeah.” Raife’s voice is eerily calm. He’s still watching me, a strange, almost pleased, smile on his face. “I’ll meet you in the main house.”
Felix glances from Raife to me, then sighs. “Fine. Whatever. Just hurry it up.” He mumbles something else as he strides out of the room.
“I swear,” Raife murmurs, chuckling, “you never cease to surprise me.”
My brows knit. “I didn’t do anything.”
“It would certainly seem that way, wouldn’t it?” He shakes his head. “Stella, you may leave.”
“Yes, Master.” I don’t turn to look when her heels click toward the exit.
“Remove your clothes.”
My throat goes dry. “What?”
“You heard me.” He rises from his seat and moves the empty tray to the floor, then hops on a chair. “First rule as my secretary: always listen the first time.” He reaches over to mess with something on the chandelier. “Ah, here it is.”
Hard metal hits the glass table in the same moment that I stand. I’m fumbling with the clasp on the back of my dress when I realize what the object is.
A chain. It’s connected to the chandelier at one end. There are two handcuffs at the bottom.
My dress falls to the floor, my knees shaking.
Raife lowers himself from the chair and pushes it back in. He nods toward my bra then glances at his watch, almost bored. “Quick, lovely. I have someplace to be.”
My voice is small when I say, “Of course.”
I’ve never been shy about being naked in front of a man. But when he happens to be the same man who fantasized over burning me last night and is now waiting to chain me up, the nerves coil around my bones and squeeze.
I let my bra drop beside the dress, then slide off the thong that was so kindly provided by the Matthews brothers themselves.
“Mmm, lovely indeed,” Raife appraises, raking his eyes up and down my naked body. Just as I bend to remove my black high heels, he interrupts the movement with a sharp tsk. “Leave them.” He pulls a black tablecloth from a cabinet in the right corner of the room, lays it over the glass tabletop, then pats the material. “Up.”
My lips press into a thin line, but I quickly relax them. “Yes . . . Master.” I crawl onto the table, my knees sliding along the smooth tablecloth, and wait for the next command.
“Stand and extend your arms to the sides.”
I do as instructed. My body stiffens when he clasps the cold, heavy cuffs around each of my wrists, rubbing the skin that’s still raw from last night. He tugs at the chain until my arms are stretched above my head, limbs straight as a rod, and my pulse picks up, breaths going shallow.
I close my eyes and focus on my breathing.
“You see . . .” Raife trails a finger up my ankle, his voice soft. “Last night, I couldn’t help but notice your aversion to restraints.” His cold nose brushes my leg, and he pulls in a long inhale. “I can smell it, you know. Your fear. I have to say”—his fingers inch higher, up my thigh, and my eyes snap open when he strokes my slit—“it’s rather addictive.” He rubs my entrance with two dry fingers, and I tense in anticipation. But there’s no pain when he pushes them inside me. It’s a smooth glide, and I know I have his brother to thank for that. He pulls his wet fingers out and slips them into his mouth. “Mmm, yes, just as I’d hoped,” he purrs. “I can taste it, too.”
He steps away with a reluctant groan and wanders back to the cabinet in the corner. His back is to me as he shuffles through items, then he returns to the table and arranges six candles around my feet. They’re tall and white, and they form a perfect, small circle. So small, in fact, that if I were to move my feet an inch or two, I might knock them down. He pulls his lighter from his pocket and takes his time igniting each candle, one by one.
“This tablecloth is made of one of the most flammable fabrics there is. Did you know that?” he asks, his brows rising as though the fact impresses him. “Rayon. It shrinks once it catches fire, and it clings to human skin.” When the candles are all lit, he backs away and angles his head, taking in the sight.
The flames tease my ankles, a rush of heat nipping at my skin with every flicker. My throat is tight when I swallow, and a light sweat builds on my forehead. The strain of standing as still as a doll while in four-inch heels is already weighing heavily on my knees and feet.
Raife’s eyes dance with admiration. “It’s quite dangerous, really. One slip and—well, I advise that you be very, very careful.”
He smirks and withdraws a sleek, black phone from his pocket. He holds it out in front of me, angles it. I hear a distinct click. “I do wish I could stay and watch, but this will have to do until I get back.”
He turns to the exit, and my stomach flips. “Wh-where are you going? You’re leaving me here?”
He continues strolling away as he calls over his shoulder, “Second rule as my secretary: don’t ever question me.” It’s not until he’s already stepped over the threshold that he pauses and adds, “What’s that saying? What doesn’t kill you . . .” His words fade off, and I’m left with nothing but his dark chuckle echoing in my ears and a fire dancing at my feet.