I UNLOCK THE door to the apartment. Stepping aside, I allow her to enter before me, and I shut the door, locking it behind me.
“You okay?” I ask her. It’s been a long night, and she’s had quite a bit to drink.
Nodding, she heads toward the master bedroom.
“Hey.” I follow her. “Talk to me.” I can tell something is on her mind.
“Tyson?” she asks about him, surprising me. Out of all the things that have happened this week and what’s going to happen tomorrow night, I doubted the man we walked in on fucking a woman was the last thing she’d question.
“What about him?” I wonder.
“He’s a Lord?”
Well, that gets my attention. He doesn’t wear his ring. Not anymore. Most don’t in public after graduation. Only when we have special occasions at the house of Lords. Otherwise, we prefer to blend in with whatever crowd were in. “Yes.”
“Is that how you know him?” she asks slowly.
I nod.
“Why does he own this club?”
I’m even more curious as to what she’s getting at. “Why does it matter that he owns Blackout?”
“I thought being a Lord was all about power. This is just a club.”
I nod. “It is. But not all Lords prefer to sit in a high-rise office overlooking a large city. A Lord can be anywhere. Ty chose to go underground and work the dirtier side of things.” He always liked getting filthy. He was ruthless. Top of his year. He could have picked any profession, and Blackout was where he wanted to be. “Owning Blackout has its perks for the Lords,” I assure her.
She licks her lips nervously. “I heard about him … at Barrington.”
I frown. “What did you hear?” It’s not uncommon for others to talk about the Lords. Every man who attends Barrington wants to be a member. Not because of the status you get while in college, but what you get once you graduate and are out in the real world. And those who don’t make it like to run their little mouths about things they think they know. That’s why the Lords have us kill—it’s their insurance policy. If you get kicked out before graduation, you’re not going to go run your mouth about it when they’ve got leverage to bury you. I’ve seen it done before, and those sorry bastards were literally buried alive behind the cathedral.
“That his chosen cheated on her boyfriend to be Tyson’s chosen—”
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Blake,” I interrupt her, reaching up and removing my shirt. I turn and toss it onto the floor, not giving a fuck about it right now.
Her hand grips my upper arm, and she yanks me back to face her. I run a hand down my face, and she glares up at me. “You know what happened?”
Of course, I do. But I say, “It doesn’t matter what happened.”
“Ryat.” She growls my name. “Tell me. When you left me with Gunner and Sarah, we looked up his chosen, and she doesn’t exist. No social media pages. No record of ever going to Barrington. It’s like she was made up.”
I sigh. “She did , Blake.” The Lords can make anyone no longer exist. If they want. And they wanted to get rid of her existence so fast. Honestly, they failed Ty and her. They guarantee us protection as long as we are faithful to our oath. That was not the case for Ty. But then again, can you guarantee a life? I don’t think so. Not the type we live.
“Did?” she asks, wide eyes.
I nod. “Yeah, she never cheated on her boyfriend with Tyson. Because she never had one. He was a stalker.”
She blinks, her lips parting. “A stalker?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“What … what happened to her?” She stumbles over her words and licks her lips, which I know are probably starting to go numb from drinking.
I can’t go into detail about what was done to her. It was hard enough to witness Ty go through it, let alone retell it. Cupping her face, I say, “He’ll get his revenge.”
Frowning, she asks. “What do you mean? On the stalker?”
I shake my head. “Sometimes, the best revenge is to go after something that they love just as much as you loved.”
“I don’t understand.” She frowns.
Kissing her forehead, I pull her into me. It’s exactly what I would do if I was put in the same situation Ty was. Only, I’d never wait this long. Being a Lord teaches you patience, but even I wouldn’t have this kind of strength.
“Let’s get to bed,” I tell her, ending this conversation.
BLAKELY
I WAKE TO the sound of a phone ringing. “Ryat?” I mumble, reaching out to wake him up to answer it. It has to be his. No one ever calls me. Pretty sure it’s because he’s got most people blocked. “Ryat!” I growl when it continues to blare in the silent room.
My hands reach farther across the bed, and I feel nothing. Then up to his pillowcase—still nothing. “What the …?”
Sitting up, I turn to get my phone to use as a light that sits on the nightstand to see that mine is the one ringing.
Holding it up to my face, I shut my eyes because it’s so bright. “Hello?” I ask through a yawn. When no one answers, I pull it away from my face and squint to look at the screen. It says MINE, and I roll my eyes at what Ryat saved his number under while I was away . “Ryat, what are you doing?” I lie down. “Come to bed with me.” It’s got to be late or early morning. We didn’t go to bed until after one, and I can still taste the lingering alcohol on my tongue.
“Want to be my good girl?” he asks in that sexy, deep voice that makes my pussy throb.
Closing my eyes, I stretch out my legs to his side of the bed, all but moaning. Something about those words make my legs weak. Thank God I’m lying down. “Always.”
“You know what a good girl is, right?” he goes on.
“Why don’t you remind me?”
“Okay.” I hear the smirk in his voice, playing along. “It’s where I get to do whatever I want to you, and you take it.”
“Take it, huh?” I roll onto my back and stare up into the darkness, my free hand twirling a few strands of my hair around my fingers. “In the mood to hurt me?” I joke.
“Yes.”
The single word sends a chill down my spine, my nipples hardening, and my legs spread open on their own. Taking in a deep breath, I say, “Big words for a man who isn’t even here.”
He chuckles softly. “Oh, I’m here, Blake.”
“Where—?”
“But,” he interrupts me, “before we get started, tell me.”
Tell him what? My head is still a little slow, and my lips still kinda numb. I had quite a bit to drink tonight before I passed out, and I didn’t even get to sleep it off. Reaching up with my free hand, I push some hair back from my face. “What exactly?” I just come out and ask.
“To have my way with you,” he answers simply.
Yes, please. “Have your way with me,” I say without hesitation, knowing he’s about to fuck with me. And I’m all of a sudden not that tired anymore. Of course, he’s not specific. Ryat wants to keep me in the dark, just like when he kidnapped me, and we had my forced-sex fantasy.
“Get up, Blake. And get your ass down here. Now,” he commands, his playful tone long gone, before hanging up.
Dropping my phone to the bed, I jump up on wobbly legs and rush to the bathroom. I quickly brush my teeth and swish some mouthwash around to try to get rid of the lingering taste of the rum and Cokes. Then I throw on one of his T-shirts with a pair of underwear, not wanting to go down there naked. We’re obviously alone, but I prefer to have something on instead of walking through the club naked. Plus, I don’t even know where down here is. I’m going to have to find him.
Opening the apartment door, I softly pull the door shut without allowing it to latch because he has a key, but I don’t. I make my way down the single hallway to the elevator at the end and step inside when it immediately opens up for me. I press the bottom floor and silently wait for it to open.
I wring my hands in the shirt. They’re getting sweaty. I’m nervous because you never know what Ryat will want. Especially here. Like is he planning on fucking me on the dance floor? Bent over the bar? What about on the stage where the bands perform for special events?
The elevator comes to a stop, and the door slides open. “Oh Lord” by In This Moment starts playing. Listening to the words, knowing I’m about to give my Lord whatever he wants, makes the lyrics even sexier. Something tells me he picked this song as a warning. The flashing neon lights are on as if the club is open, but it’s different being here when no one else is.
Stepping onto the dance floor, I look around at the empty bar and chairs that round the tables. “Ryat?” I shout over the music. It’s louder than normal, at least I think so. Maybe that’s the start of a hangover coming on.
Patting down the shirt, I realize I left my cell phone upstairs in the bed. “Well, shit,” I hiss. When I look up, I throw my hair over my shoulder, and my pulse quickens at what I see sitting back in a corner booth.
It’s darker, the lights not hitting in the spot, but I can still make out the body that sits there. He’s dressed in a black cloak, and my thighs tighten when I see the white on his face—he’s got his mask on.
He wants to fucking play!
The thought makes the blood rush in my ears in anticipation. The song comes to a stop and changes to “All The Time” by Jeremih and Lil Wayne, and I watch him slowly slide out of the booth, then step down onto the dance floor.
I take a step back, and he stands there, tilting his head to the side. He reaches his right hand out and grabs something off the table. His hand falls to his side, and the lights bounce off the metal—handcuffs.
Fuck! My body starts humming even though I’m having trouble catching my breath now. Noticing something else in his hand, it looks like a black leather belt of some sort. No, that can’t be what it is. It’s too hard to see with the lights constantly flashing.
I keep trying to blink, to try to focus, but in the next second, I realize he’s been walking toward me this entire time, and he’s getting closer. Taking a step back, he comes to a stop.
It’s a dance. Who’s going to move first? My heart is racing, and my palms sweaty. I want him to chase me. That’s what I like, and he knows it. And he likes to drag me back to him.
So, I give us what we both want. I turn and run like hell, knowing he’s going to catch me.
