Novel Full Chapter 137. Act Five
Chapter 137: 137. Act Five
Maisie
Jericho grabbed the body and threw it over his shoulder, like he’d done this a thousand times. He was getting rid of the body.
My body seized.
"Y- you killed him," I stammered, feeling the blood slide all the way down my breasts, soaking my chest. "He was the Queen’s—"
"He was supposed to be," came Soren’s voice from over Quinlan’s shoulder as he sneered at the body. "They haven’t performed the mating ceremony yet. But there will be a price to pay for this."
His violet eyes met mine. "Do you never do as you’re told?"
It wasn’t a yell. But it sounded like one.
He was reprimanding me?
Anger flared hot in my chest, displacing the terror and fear that had paralyzed me for a second, and I rose to my feet. "You think this is my fault?! Ever since you came into my life, I have been hunted, kidnapped, beaten within an inch of my life, experience multiple concerning assaults, and am currently undergoing an identity crisis. So fucking excuse me for deciding to take a walk after you all decided to abandon me for one freaking hour!"
I started to stump out of the booth when Quinlan caught my wrist roughly. He hadn’t spoken a word since he casually tore out a man’s freaking heart for touching me—hell, I was still trying not to panic about that bit—but when he spoke, a chill ran down my spine.
"You wanted to watch?"
It was rough with his accent. It also sounded like the rumble before an earthquake.
"That’s not—" My face caught on fire. "I didn’t—I was just—"
"Snooping," he finished.
I didn’t like his tone. He was scaring me. He didn’t sound like Quinlan at all.
His grip on my wrist felt like a manacle. "There is an obvious lesson to be learned here in obedience, and learn, you will."
My stomach cramped with fear. And a sick anticipation. Which was an odd thing to feel right after getting pressed up on and having a man’s dead body on me. I knew it then that I didn’t need a therapist, but a psychiatrist.
"Quinlan, let me go," I demanded, but my voice cracked.
He tugged me forward and licked the blood off my neck with an animal rattle that made my bladder suddenly feel full. "Let’s sate that curiosity of yours, shall we?"
My mouth opened on a small, alarmed cry as he threw me over his shoulder and dragged me out of the booth.
I was seriously sick of being treated like this.
"Put me down!" I cried.
Heads turned our way as he made a beeline up the stairs, where the only black booth in the entire theater sat. He waved two guards over, muttering something about cleaning up seven, ignoring my assault on his back.
The familiar dark and electric scent of him was all over the place as he drew back the black drapes and dumped me on a plush, cushioned seat.
I vaguely noticed this booth was significantly larger than the others, with more comfortable furniture and an array of ’instruments’ laid out on the table that made fear cripple me.
They looked like torture devices.
Surely, he wasn’t that upset with me, was he?
I scrambled to my feet immediately, heart hammering as I tried to bolt past him.
Quinlan caught me around the waist and I shrieked as he yanked me up and back. "I’m sorry, alright! Put me down!"
"No, you’re not," Soren said.
"But you will be," Mercer finished.
They were both blocking the entrance with a formed wall of pure tension and menace, a shit-eating grin tilting the former’s mouth. Between the three of them, I was trapped.
"Sit," Quinlan snarled.
"No—" I started, struggling against him, but it was useless. He spun me around and pulled me down into his lap, my back flush against his chest. Soren and Mercer slid into their seats on either sides of us, their muscled thighs pressing firmly against mine, effectively sandwiching me between them.
I squirmed, trying to get free, but Quinlan’s arm tightened around my waist like steel while Soren’s hand settled heavily on my thigh, holding me in place.
"Watch," Quinlan whispered against my ear, his breath hot. "This is what you wanted to see, isn’t it?"
The sound of a whiplash jerked my head towards the stage.
There was a naked young man sitting on a low backed chair. His hands were bound behind him, his ankles tied to the seat. Charlene stood behind him, holding the length of a whip. Another woman was knelt between his legs, his cock sliding between her lips.
He moaned as she hollowed her cheeks, and cried as Charlene uncurled the whip. I jumped in Quinlan’s thigh when it met his flash.
Quinlan’s fangs grazed my shoulder. "Your heart’s racing, May." His fingers flattened over my stomach. "I’m going to give you a choice. Two choices, actually. You are permitted to pick both."
The woman on the stage was rising to her feet and climbing onto the man’s thighs. She poised herself over his tip, reaching down to curl her fingers around him and guide him to her entrance.
The whip uncurled again, and just as she sank down an inch, the whip lashed against his back.
I needed to look away.
But the bond was humming, hot and insistent, twisting my horror into something darker. Something shameful. My thighs pressed together as heat pooled low in my belly. My nipples tightened against the torn fabric of my top.
Quinlan’s hand slid slowly down my thigh, fingers brushing the hem of my skirt. "Would you like to hear them?"
I shivered, hating how my body reacted to his voice, to the scene, to the heat of the three men pressed against me.
Mercer’s hand tightened on my other thigh, his thumb stroking slow circles that made my breath hitch.
"I would like to go home," I said, voice unsteady.
"Unfortunately, that is not included in the list of choices you get to make tonight," Quinlan drawled, kissing the spot behind my ear. "One." He pinched my chin gently, tilting it to the table. "The whip."
My stomach tightened. "N—no—"
"Two." He rocked against my ass. "My cock."