by Sabre Rose
RYKER
I stare at the crates of alcohol as they load them into the back of the van. For the past few days, I’ve been busy organizing everything needed for the auction tomorrow. This load of distinctive drinking requests is the last of the items I need to collect.
The man beside me hands me the checklist. “Should be all there,” he says, pointing to the ticks beside each order, indicating that they have been loaded into the van.
My eyes roll lazily over the list. There’s a lot here. An awful lot. If this much alcohol gets consumed it is going to be one messy night. The perfect time to enact my plan. Well, plan is too strong of a word. Hesitant arrangements would be more fitting.
Frowning, I point to one of the orders. “This isn’t on my list.”
The man looks concerned, peering over my shoulder to see the order I indicated. “I can assure you that everything here is what was ordered.” There’s slight nervousness to his tone. He wants to keep the Attertons happy. They are responsible for most of his business.
“Are you saying I don’t know what I ordered?”
He steps back. “No. No of course not. I’m just saying it would be strange for an order to be here that wasn’t placed. I assure you we have systems in pla—”
I sigh. “I don’t give a fuck about your systems. You have three bottles of this vodka here and I only ordered one.”
“Sir, I can assure you that—”
I wave away his assurances. “Just take them back.”
“But it is a very rare brand, one that we won’t easily be able to—”
Reaching into the van, I grab two bottles of vodka and shove them into his arms.
The man’s shoulders sink, admitting defeat. “I shall credit the account.”
“I’d like the money now.”
“But that’s not how we…” He lets his words fade as he takes in my glare. “I’ll go get the cash.”
I wait nervously for his return, scared the man will call Senior to check my claim, but he comes back out, crisp hundred dollar bills rolled up in his fist.
“Please tell Mr Atterton that we are most grateful for his business.”
I nod once, shoving the cash into my pocket and hop into the driver’s seat, twisting the key and giving the man a dismissive wave as I turn back onto the main road.
It was a risky move, but the only one I could think of that would give me access to untraceable money. I drive down the road and pull over where a car is parked, a tacky homemade ‘for sale’ sign stuck in its window. There’s a phone number listed on the sign, but I know Senior would be alerted to the strange number on my phone, so I walk out the driveway and knock on the door to the house. As soon as the door opens, I shove the cash toward the man.
“Take it or leave it.”
His eyes grow wide. It’s more than what he asked for. The car is junk. He smiles, pocketing the cash.
“I’ll grab some details and we—”
“No details, just the keys.”
The man shrugs and disappears, returning with the keys a few moments later. “It hasn’t got—”
I turn away from the man, calling over my shoulder that I would collect it later.
And that’s it. That’s the entirety of my plan. An untraceable car. Early tomorrow morning while everyone else is asleep, I’ll walk back here and take the car to a location close to the mansion, ready and waiting for our escape. It’s a foolish plan, but it’s the only one I’ve got. The only way I can think of that might allow us a fraction of time before Senior is alerted to our disappearance. Now I just need to figure out how to get both Mia and Everly inside it without anyone else knowing.
“Ryker!” Senior calls as I’m unloading the crates. “Have you got a minute?”
I look at the load still left to carry into the house.
“Just leave that. The others can sort it.”
I fall into step with him, following him back inside the mansion. The cooks are bustling around the kitchen, divine smells coming from the ovens, making my mouth water. Senior strides through the commotion, not noticing as they scurry to make way for him. Katriane stands in the corner, barking orders and tasting temptations.
“I just wanted to check in with you that everything is sorted for tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir. It sure is.” I start checking off the arrangements I’ve made, listing the people who will be in attendance, the special requests that have been arranged, and the accommodation has been sorted.
Senior nods thoughtfully as we walk through the hallways, asking questions, confirming numbers and guest lists, but then he stops abruptly, and I almost walk into him.
“I’m not even going to ask.” He chuckles, and I look up to see what he’s referring to.
And that’s when I see her. Naked and clutching onto Junior as he carries her. Her eyes are red and puffy. Her skin is so pale it almost has a gray tinge to it. But when she sees me, a wave of hope washes over her. It’s so strong, I have to shake my head, warning her not to react.
“Are you all ready for your party tomorrow?” Senior asks Junior.
He rolls his eyes, pulling Mia closer to him as he nods. “I suppose.”
“You suppose?” Senior’s voice darkens. “I’m spending a lot of time and money on this party, Junior. The least you could do is be grateful for it.”
“I never asked for a party. I don’t want one. Don’t expect me to be grateful for something I never wanted.”
I take advantage of their argument to look at Mia. There are dark welts over her backside and thighs. I close my eyes, breathing deeply to control my rage over the fact that I can’t do anything to help her.
Just hold on. Wait. Be strong. I will save you.
But even as the words echo through my mind, there’s a panic inside me knowing how feeble my plan is. When I open my eyes again, tears are falling down her cheeks and splattering onto her chest. I want to rip her from his embrace. I want to take her away from this place, from him, and set her free.
As Junior carries her away, I tear my gaze from her only to find Senior staring at me intently.
“Careful, Ryker,” he warns. “Remember your place and don’t get any foolish ideas in your head. Remember what’s at stake. Or should I say, who is at stake.”
sebastian
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SEBASTIAN
Seeing my songbird on the stage takes me back to the first time I heard her sing. The world falls away, just like it did then. I’ve somewhat replicated the environment, though on a more grandiose scale.
She stands on a circular platform, raised from the floor. A single spotlight illuminates her, recreating that halo of light. She’s dressed in a blood-red gown, one that splits between her breasts, revealing their perfection. The skirt of the gown hugs her hips before falling to the ground in a cascade of ruby, pooling around her feet encased in glimmering red heels. Her lips are painted the same color as the gown. They are plump and full. They shine under the lights, tempting me to demand she falls to her knees and opens her pouting mouth for me.
The music starts and the electrifying sound of the organ fills the air. She keeps her eyes locked on mine as she opens those carnal lips and begins to sing.
Her voice seeps into my soul, lighting a fire I never thought possible. My songbird has become so much more than I ever imagined. Her presence, her touch has a calming effect, something that soothes the buzz of my blood, though right now, her voice sets my heart to flight. I’m torn between closing my eyes and losing myself to the moment, and keeping them fixed hungrily on her.
Her chest heaves as she sucks in air before hitting the high notes. Tearing my eyes from her, I hazard a glance over to my mother, hoping that she too feels the pull of my songbird and realizes how wrong she is about her. Rage drowns out the voice of my songbird when I see my mother’s disinterested expression. As usual, there’s a glass of wine between her fingers. She sits on the chair, cold and regal, fucking made of stone. But she is watching. Her face
may be blank, but there’s something in her eyes. Something that’s intrigued by my songbird.
Turning back to watch Mia, my eyes devour her, scanning her curves, reveling in the way the light reflects off her skin, and darkening when they lock on the bruising that faintly graces her neck.
Her entire body sways in time to the music as her voice rises higher and higher, inching closer to that final note. There’s a torrent of torment in her voice that wasn’t there that first time. Her throat is torn open by it, by misery and pain and passion. And it is because of me. I’m the one who took the innocence from her voice and turned it into something raw and ragged.
As she hits the final note, it hangs in the air, glorious in its execution.
She did it.
My songbird has reached beyond perfection.
mia
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MIA
The final note is flawless and elation swells, knowing that I’ve pleased him. He stands with his hands clasped into a prayer, his eyes gleaming with pride or affection or possession.
Katriane Atterton rises to her feet, her claps the only sound in the stillness. But it’s not me she turns to. I am not worthy of her attention, only her son.
“Very entertaining, my dear. You’ve trained her well.” She pats his cheek and he almost nuzzles into her touch. She backs away a little, seemingly shocked by his response. There’s an energy pulsing through Sebastian, so much so that he doesn’t notice his mother’s reaction.
“She was perfect.” He turns to me. “You were perfect. Beyond perfect.” Clasping my face between his hands, he presses his lips to mine roughly. “We need to celebrate.”
His mother takes another sip of her wine. “I believe that’s my cue to leave.”
He’s still staring into my eyes, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. A small wave of fear washes over me at the intensity I see in them. They are licked with darkness and stained with a devilish delight. The door closes behind his mother and we are alone under the glare of the spotlight.
“Come.” He takes my hand as I step down from the platform and follow him over to the piano. Sitting down on the stool, he shakes out his hands. “I need to play.”
Resting his fingers on the keys, he draws in a deep breath but doesn’t move. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a blindfold, looking over at me wickedly.
Leaning close, he whispers. “Don’t say a word.”
My heart beats a little faster as I drop to my knees, dread twisting in my gut. He wraps the strip of material over my eyes.
“It can be so much more powerful when you’re unable to be distracted by the things you see.”
He tightens the knot at the back of my head and I hear him get to his feet. His footsteps echo behind me, then his hands are under my elbows, urging me to my feet. His fingers work at the buttons on the back of my dress and then I feel the material slide down my body and fall to the floor. I’m standing naked before him, in nothing but a pair of high heels, my arms hanging limply by my sides. I jump a little when he brushes his fingers against mine, but fortunately, he doesn’t notice. Pulling my hands behind my back, he twists silk around my wrists tightly. I want to tell him there is no need. I’ve learned not to resist, but deep down I know he is not doing it to control me, he’s doing it because the thought of me helpless before him is what sets his blood on fire.
“My sweet songbird,” he coos in my ear. “Everything you were on that stage is because of me. I have given you the voice of an angel and it is time to praise your god.”
His hands thread through my hair, twisting knots around his fingers as he jerks my head back to rest on his shoulder. “Your perfection belongs to me. You belong to me.” His voice deepens and his breath tickles against my ear. “Tell me you want me. Tell me you need me. You desire me.”
“Yes, Maestro, I am yours. Do with me what you will.”
He yanks my hair harder. “I do not seek your permission. I seek your love. Tell me you love me.”
The words get stuck in my throat. I’ve lied to him many times before, why is it so hard now? Just because my mouth forms the words, does not mean I believe them. It does not make them true.
“Fucking tell me!” His voice echoes through the room, bounding off the walls and drilling into my head.
“I love you.”
“Say it like you mean it. Make me believe.”
“I love you,” I say with more conviction.
“Again!”
“I love you, Maestro.”
“Call me by my name.”
“I love you, Sebastian.” The words tear my throat, causing me more pain than the hours of singing.
He lets go of my hair and slides his hands around my waist to pull me closer. He kisses my neck softly, like butterfly wings hovering in the air. It almost feels good. Almost makes me feel safe. And then he’s gone, the warmth of his body disappearing from behind me.
A single note of the piano floats through the air and he begins to play. The tune is familiar. It reminds me of one of those jewelry boxes with the ballerina that dances when you lift the lid.
“Did you know that it is rumored that this was composed by Henry the Eighth in an effort to win over the affections of Anne Boleyn? Most disregard that belief though, due to its more Italian style of composition.” He plays some more, the notes filling the cavernous room. They sound both empty and weighted at the same time. “I still like to believe it’s true though, the way it speaks of his heart in captivity, the torment of his enraptured soul.”
The song draws to a close, but he keeps playing, another tune, one darker and more sinister. I am trapped by the notes.
“Do you have a favorite composer?” He doesn’t wait for my reply. It’s as though he’s lost in a conversation with himself. “Most people will say Mozart or Beethoven because that’s all they have heard of. They don’t know any better. But for me, it has always been Rachmaninoff. He is real. He is raw. He writes with his heart on his sleeve and that heart is black.” The tempo of the music picks up and his fingers pound the ivory relentlessly. “He revels in defiance of musical expectations. He knows pain. Can you hear it? Can you hear the affliction of his soul?”
Whether it’s the darkness, or whether it’s the way he plays the notes, but the music invades me, setting my heart pounding. He plays and plays as I kneel on the cold floor. Sebastian’s right. There’s nothing to block me from the music, nothing to shield me from the violence of the notes. By the time he’s finished, I feel like I’ve been stripped bare, my skin flayed from my body, leaving the nerves raw and exposed.
I hear the scrape of the piano stool and the echo of his steps as he lifts himself to his feet. He circles me like a predator ready to pounce, ready to devour.
“Stand.”
I lift myself to my feet shakily, finding myself unbalanced without the use of my arms or my eyes. One of my nipples tightens in pain as he grips it between his fingers.
His moan fills the air.
There’s a rustling as he removes his clothing. The sound of his bare feet on the floor as he walks over to lock the doors. I draw in a trembling breath, willing myself to stay strong, willing myself into obedience to save myself from the risk of punishment. His steps are quicker on the way back, as though his patience, his desire to draw this out is fading. Pushing his fingers into the back of my scalp, he uses my hair to direct my movements, walking me forward until the surface of the piano presses against my stomach. Then he pushes me down, pressing my cheek into the smooth coolness. His cock slides between my thighs.
“You were beyond perfection, my sweet songbird. You deserve to be worshipped. You deserve to be revered.” He leans over me, covering my body with his own. “But not by me,” he hisses in my ear. “By me, you deserve to be used.” He holds my head down, mashing my cheek into the piano as his hard cock pushes against my entrance. I squirm a little, knowing I’m not ready for him.
“Maestro—”
“Silence!”
He pushes into me at the same time as he shouts, plunging in his full length, giving me no time to adjust to his size.
A gasp of pain spreads as a foggy breath over the blackness of the piano. He thrusts furiously and cruelly, pounding himself against me in a fit of rage or passion or uncontrollable lust. My hip bones are tender, bruised against the edge of the piano. My cheekbone is shoved against the hard surface until I fear my skin will split open under the pressure. He’s like someone possessed, a demon of lechery intent on quenching his need.
I close my eyes and do my best to remain silent under his punishment, his celebration. He lets out a cry when he comes, pulsing within me, filling me with his demon seed. And then he slides out, stumbling to maintain his balance, drunk on his release.
I slump to the floor, the feel of him oozing between my legs. When his heaving breaths calm, he crouches beside me, pulling me onto his lap and stroking the hair from my face.
“You are perfection,” he breathes. “And you are mine.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MIA
Sebastian holds two diamond-encased earrings, dangling them in front of me. “Do you like them?”
His gaze is on me, but he doesn’t see me. His eyes take in the deep red of my lipstick, the flawlessness of my skin, the waves of my hair pinned to my head, the extravagance of my dress. My makeup doesn’t quite cover the swollen redness to my cheekbone, but it comes close. He is looking at me but seeing only what he wants to see.
Someone who exists for his pleasure alone.
“Yes, Maestro,” I say robotically.
“Call me Sebastian tonight.” His words are heavy and breathy. He pulls me flush against his body, pressing me against the dark fabric of his tuxedo. “Oh, how I long to take you right here, right now.” His fingers dig viciously into my side as he grips me. “But it will have to wait because I don’t want to ruin your perfection. I want to show you off to the world. I know I said I want to shield you, but just for tonight, just for this party, I want you by my side and I want everyone to look on with jealousy.”
